I am Overflowing

Are you familiar with the phrase, "in the zone?"
When an athlete is said to be in the zone they are playing at a super human level. Their play is effortless and very close to flawless. Furthermore, when interviewed after the game they will explain how the basket just seemed ten feet wide...how the baseball looked as large as a softball.

It is a form of self hypnosis. Are you familiar with hypnosis? Most people are ignorant about the subject and  so the topic is strewn with adjectives that resemble magic and trickery.
Hypnosis, simply put is an intense form of concentration. The rest of the world is gone, nothing but you and what you are doing remains.
 An athlete in the zone is just in such a state of concentrating that he has stopped thinking about the game mechanics and has become one with the ball. Bruce Lee was right, you know. Become the glass to hold the water.

When I play on stage I close my eyes most of the time. It is for the purpose of zoning out.
Inducing self hypnosis, blocking out the audience and just becoming a part of the music playing.
It is at that point that you begin to feed from the audience. Absorb their enthusiasm...be carried by them. Much as you do for them.

I wonder if I resemble a Stepford  wife when my eyes open?

It's a New Year...A Blue Moon...And Moi

You've heard the stories actors tell of recalling things in their lives to evoke a certain emotion.
Thinking of the death of a loved one to bring tears to the eyes, et cetera.

I just spent the last hour trying to apply this technique to my guitar and damn if it doesn't work.
I put on a Weather Report album with the intention of just noodling around for a while.
When a certain song began.
It made me think of a friend from when I was a kid in New Jersey.
What Doug's last name is, I cannot recall. But he and I shared much in terms of musical taste and ability.
And he used to make me laugh a lot.
A lot.
He made up his own language in an effort to disguise his cussing from his mothers' sensitive ears.

Anyway...
We both loved Weather Report, so when this song began I don't know what made my eyes close but I began to think of him. A smile came across my face.
I noticed my playing had also taken on an aspect of sheer goofy, laughing until you cry mirth.

This woke me from my reverie.
The next song began in a minute. It was more subdued.
I thought of a time when I was quiet and peaceful.
My playing took on the patois of quiet joy. A language of it's own.

I have a new technique!

Cyrcadian Rhythm

On a workday I awaken everyday at 7 am. I cannot sleep past that. I work from home and I could easily sleep an extra hour anytime I wish and still get my work completed.
On a weekend I can sleep in?

These same rhythms seem to pervade my entire musical being.
I begin to write a song and depending on the time of day when I begin, I may not be able to lay it down and go to bed. Or if I do manage to fall asleep, I awaken early with the song bouncing about my head. I guess this is a form of OCD (not the pedal). I cannot allow it to lay unfinished.

Other aspects of my life I can plain ignore.
But if I feel a sense of responsibility I cannot allow it to sit unattended.

I wonder what causes this sense of responsibility in things I care little for?
Work?
And then why the same feeling when I DO care...Id Est - a song I am writing?

The songs created under these conditions are not my best. Feeling responsible is not conducive to creativity, I guess.

Fulltone OCD

Overdrive is a touchy subject.
Most will resort to some coloration, almost none boost to breakup without distorting...heavily.

I have been playing with this thing for a couple of hours and so far I am amazed by the clarity and the drive!
This thing can scream. Or not.

Three dials - Volume - Tone - Drive.
And a HP/LP switch.
LP is straight amp - HP is boosted.
The pedal can show 30db of boost - no small feat.
Tone is a treble bleeder.

I have the Volume at 10 am, Tone at Noon and Drive at 9 am.
Used alone there is no coloration whatsoever.
It is just a drive.
Oh, and what a drive it is!

Mix in a Chorus or some Fuzz and you'll swear you are hearing things.
Or maybe not. No huge noise output when you're not playing.

It can make use of anything from 9 VDC to 18 VDC. Clarity and amount of drive change with the voltage.

Boutique pedal?
I dunno.
They run about $150. But can be found for $130 new or about $100 used, depending on the version.
You know how guitarists are - they seem to covet the older builds. Easier to mod, more desirable tone, whatever. The latest iteration is the fourth in the line.

I just retired an MXR Distortion + and a Danelectro Fab Overdrive.
Anyone want to offer me a few bucks and save me from having to list them on CL?

Weather & Music

Some of my livelier pieces were written during storms.
Some of the most somber ones came forth during weeks of sunshine.

Is it the type of weather or the repetition of weather that causes this?
Did Grunge come about because of Seattles never ending rain?  Or was it the RAIN that made it popular?

Artists have to either paint what they see or reproduce it from memory.
If Van Gogh had been in England rather than the continent, would his art have been darker while his life brighter?

If the position of the stars can influence us, then the weather which is much more personal, must.
But I wonder at the mechanism.

The Kids Are Alright

I recently put an ad in the local CraigsList looking for a new band - Guitarist Available.

If you're not familiar, CL has become something of a pirates cove - scammers, links to other dubious websites or offers to buy your jewelry are the usual fare of replies I receive.

However one was from two kids that live nearby. Just to be a mensch I answered their inquiry.
Two sixteen year olds answer an ad referencing Beatles, Weather Report, et cetera?
I also mentioned (I always do) that I studied with Al DiMeola, "way back when."

They could have surmised my approximate age and yet they continued to correspond.
They even sent me a questionnaire to asses my commitment to music.

In my last missive I said, "I am old enough to be your grandfather."
Let's see if they write again!

Music does have a way of bridging time and space.

Update: Here is the reply - "Really? My Grandfather is in his mid to late 60s
  But it's cool."

The Kids Are Alright.

C'est La Vie

By Emerson, Lake & Palmer


C'est la vie
Have your leaves all turned to brown
Will you scatter them around you
C'est la vie
Do you love
And then how am I to know
If you don't let your love show for me
C'est la vie

Oh c'est la vie
Oh c'est la vie
Who knows, who cares for me
C'est la vie

In the night
Do you fight a lover's fire
Do the ashes of desire for you remain
Like the sea
There's a love too deep to show
Took a storm before my love
Flowed for you
C'est la vie

Oh c'est la vie
Oh c'est la vie
Who knows, who cares for me
C'est la vie

Like a song
Out of tune and out of time
All I needed was a rhyme for you
C'est la vie
Do you give
Do you live from day to day
Is there is no song I can play for you
C'est la vie

Oh c'est la vie
Oh c'est la vie
Who knows, who cares for me
C'est la vie

I Always Loved The Cute Beatle

Maybe I'm Amazed
by Paul McCartney

Maybe I'm amazed at the way you love me all the time
Maybe I'm afraid of the way I love you
Maybe I'm amazed at the way you pulled me out of time
And hung me on a line

Maybe I'm amazed at the way I really need you
Baby I'm a man maybe I'm a lonely man
Who's in the middle of something
That he doesn't really understand

Baby I'm a man and maybe you're the only woman
Who could ever help me
Baby won't you help me understand,

Baby I'm a man, maybe I'm a lonely man
Who's in the middle of something
That he doesn't really understand

Baby I'm a man and maybe you're the only woman
Who could ever help me
Baby won't you help me understand, oohhh

Maybe I'm amazed at the way you're with me all the time
Maybe I'm afraid of the way I leave you
Maybe I'm amazed at the way you help me sing my song
Right me when I'm wrong
Maybe I’m amazed at the way I really need you

Oh maybe I'm amazed.
Maybe I'm amazed.
Yeah, yeah yeah.
Yeah, Maybe I'm amazed.
I'm amazed, with you.
Oo-oo. Oo-oo.

Merry Christmas to Everyone!

Nevermind...New Beginnings

The Intro To Santana's 'Black Magic Woman.'



A Workup for the Stones 'Can't You Hear Me Knocking?'

I'm Done - Thanks For Listening

Fear - Kick It To The Curb

I understand why evolution found fear useful.
But in todays world, it needs refining.
Toned down a notch or two.
Or more.

Most regrets faced during mid-life crisis are rooted in a fear.
Men get a motorcycle and a girlfriend - conquer death and the other mortal fear - women.
How many of our actions while growing up were driven by fear?
Fear of appearing stupid.
Fear of being perceived as not manly. "Queer."
Fear of not fitting in?
Fear of rejection?
That over riding, palm staining, stomach churning case of nerves...butterflies...fear.

Now when I go to perform, I get nervous...fear - but it sharpens me?
Fear being used the way nature intended.
The application of the emotion is where the fault lies.
When I stand backstage, awaiting to be called on stage, my stomach feels the exact same way it feels when I talk to a woman who I feel is "beyond" me.
Once I get on stage I begin to feel calm.
Once the first song starts my fear is forgotten...completely.

But when I seek the company of a woman I think is beyond me and my stomach starts to quake it doesn't aid me, it hinders me.
Is that the inner voice of reason/God speaking the truth to us?

It's not so much that I have conquered fear, rather I have confronted it and acknowledged it.
And have told my fear that I would not be subservient to it any longer.

When I met a woman whom my inner voice told me was too familiar to be true, I knew no fear.
Only a sense of wonder and discovery - about the two of us and about myself.

I guess the emotion does work.
My bad.



Why the confusion between the two?

Keep Your Eyes Averted!

When you're looking for love,
It doesn't come.
Being lonely is not a lot of fun.
When you're looking,
You are no fun at all.

When you cry,
You cry alone.
No one cares to stop or intercede.
When you cry,
You know no relief, you just want to die.

So close your eyes,
And look no more.

But I can't see past the tears,
Nor the lies that led to fears.
I worry that I'll always be this way.



And then I stopped listening to my drunken monkey.

Fostex MR - 16 HD/CDRW Reset

I was recording some new pieces when I decided to transfer the material to my pc.
On the MR-16, you enter a System Menu, connect it to the pc and transfer the data.
When finished you are to press the Stop key to exit USB mode.
Usually you are met with a "Wait One Moment," screen, followed by the return to the System Menu.

However, under some circumstances the whole recorder can freeze on the "Wait.." screen.
One condition is interrupting the USB (usually by powering down - which at this point can only be done by removing the plug), another is removing files the recorders hard disk needs - d'oh!

Take a breath.
Power the unit while holding the Enter knob. You are looking for the System Menu and for the Power light to stay lit. If you have to cycle power more than once to 'catch' the System Menu, so be it.
Once you make it into the System Menu, go to the second page and choose, "Disk Format." Confirm it by Entering a 'Yes.'
All better!
When you exit the System Menu, you should be looking at the normal Start Screen.
The Song number and time left, which in this case should say "2...1,000"
If the Power switch stays lit and the 'Hall" presence comes on by default, then you are home free and finished.

If not, I can only suggest repeatedly trying the above technique until you get it to work - or email me and we can try to work it out.

Hard disks can be tough on users.
Breathe.

Why Do They Call It, "Falling" In Love?

Fiddler On The Roof.
Given enough time and something in common, affection can develop.
Some call that love.
I call it like-honed-to-a-point.

The reason the act of finding true love is referred to as "falling," is because of the precipitous nature of the decent.
The same is true in music.

If I have to labor and craft a piece, over and over it generally falls into my mediocre pile.
That which strikes in a fit of passion and needs little refining is superlative.
And it is funny how easily I can recognize which mode is occurring when in the throes of creativity.

Okay, explain that to me.
We've heard not to second guess ourselves, but that is a talent well sharpened among us humans.
What is it about that inner voice that is so true?
Is that God speaking to us?
Through us?
Is that our divine nature?

Not all instinctual choices are the best. Society and the times demand we suppress some of our "first choices."
But notice, it was the speed with which the emotion establishes itself or the amount of creative flow that determines true love.

In the areas of creativity, love, food...the choice that is clear quickly is the true one. The one that develops over time is an acquired taste.
Mind you, not that acquired tastes are necessarily a bad thing.
But they are not the perfect thing - the best thing.

Passionate outbursts are by their very nature overpowering.
Slow, smoldering outpourings generally end up looking very much "crafted."

So if you feel it, run with it.
Don't second guess yourself.

Only The Present is Hard And Fast

The future is malleable.

When I was in 9th grade my heart, all my passion went towards one girl.
I was in love.
We had little in common. But there was "something magical" about the effect she had upon me - when I looked into her eyes I melted. I could stare at a photo and be just as twitterpated.
So I must be in love, right?
Nah - She resembled my mother. But had nothing remotely like my mother in her makeup - she was foreign to me. The fact that we were intimate made my perception even muddier.

Fast forward 30 years.
She looks nothing like the girl I knew. My fascination has gone.
All these years I carried her around my neck when the truth was, she and I were not meant to be. Easy as that, and just as simple to understand. Of course, at the time I didn't get it at all.

The future changes things.
Let me amend that. The future changes some things we think immutable.

The countersign is, that once we recognize the difference between learning to love someone and being meant for someone, we can be truly happy.
I also believe that the odds of finding that soul-mate are good.
Keeping them is another story, altogether.

How High The Moon?

Does the Moon have an effect upon creativity?
Does your sign matter?

Rhythms in life as anything else in this life have ebb and flow to them.
My spurts of creative juice seem to occur during the same times of the year.
Although the duration has been increasing for each creative stretch.

I wonder if eventually I will be creative 24/7?

Some of the distilled product is worthy, some is not. But the sheer volume seems to pick up at certain times of the year.

I think that men and women are both influenced by cycles and outside forces such as tides, the Moon.
Women are not the only ones to have monthly cycles. Perhaps the male counterpart is 21 days...who knows?, but we follow similar basic patterns.

Women suffer from menopause and men have midlife crises.
Same shit, different day.
Different symptoms but it is the body shifting gears about midway through life.
Child bearing and rearing are no longer needed.
The skills and life lessons gleaned by the previous generation need to be handed down.

We shift from hunters to scholars.
Perhaps that's why my art seems to refine and yet at the same time widen with age.
I can do more and do it better than when I was younger.

I can touch the Moon.

Without You

Without you,
I have no one to share.
No worries, no cares.
I drift easy, without you.

Without you,
I have no loves.
Won or lost.
I have no struggles, no way to grow.
I love alone without you.

Without you,
The sun still shines.
The world continues to turn.
But my heart and life are cold and alone.
I live alone without you.

Flights of Fancy

Most of the wanderings my mind embarks upon are not sorted or strange.
Every now and then, however, my thoughts take flight and scare the bejeesus out of me.

I revolve about something that my mind has latched on to and will not let it go.
Why do I get fiercely jealous?
I am rarely envious, people can have what they wish.
I don't care when it comes to possessions.
But feelings of amour, and rational people lose their minds.

And I take it to another level by an order of magnitude.
I wonder why that is?
Why are my passions a thousand times as intense as most of my fellow man?
Why is it that I fall for those whose passions equal or better mine?
Like two stars colliding in slow motion.

The current fashion for mens' behavior is typified by the colloquialism, 'bros before hos.'
Men don't cry over women, today. Or they won't admit to it.
So what is it about those like me that we are more than ready to show the world we love someone?

Keep on flying...

What Exit Are You From?

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/12/07/business/media/07reality.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=mtv%20reality%20shows&st=cse

The SNL joke revolved around all New Jersey-ites knowing which exit on the NJ Turnpike (I-95) they reside near.

Bad joke, but I can laugh at myself.
(Why does N.J have all the toxic dumps and California all the lawyers? N.J. got to choose first.)

Although I was born in LI, NY I lived in N.J. from 1962 until 1983, so I consider myself a a Jersey boy - sorry Bruce, I had to.

Well, now it seems that MTV has decided to sully Italian Americans as well as New Jersey as a state with their latest offering, "Jersey Shore."
The participants use the term "Guido" much the same way Hip-Hop personages use "nigger."
I find the use of either term to be incredibly ignorant and reprehensible.

Racial or in this case ethnic epithets do nothing but perpetuate the stereotypes.
I am far more Italian than some of my Italian friends.
(And some of them are more Jewish than me)

And the kids on this show defend themselves in much the same way as the Hip-Hop 'artists' will defend their transgression.

"The show’s cast members have defended themselves in interviews, saying that the term some people find offensive, to them simply refers to a lifestyle of muscled, well-coiffed and deeply tanned men and women."

What a crock of shit.
It epitomizes a thick necked, violence prone barbarian with no intelligence who is more interested in looking good than being good.
It drives all Italian-Americans into a small, tiny pigeonhole.

The other offering is no better.
ABC’s new series “Find My Family” is exploitation at its worst.
Of course a happy reunion will make for nice ratings, but I wonder if the producers will see fit to show the aftermath as well?
In fact, I fear that is precisely what they are banking on.

If the reunion was tearful just wait until the anger, questions and unresolved issues surface.
DRAMA of the first degree!
Bingo - a ratings giant.

How crass and Scrooge-like that at this time of year there are people who will shamelessly exploit the plight of others for their own aggrandizement.

These people who for whatever reason could not raise their children do not need the entire television viewing audience there when the child asks the natural questions.
Or when the rest of the family interferes to the point of making a bad scene worse.

For shame, ABC!

I hope ABC gets a visit from the Ghosts of Christmas.

I Don't Know What It Is...Other Than Love

Other than love,
What would make my madness so complete?

Other than love,
Why would I hurt this way?

Other than love,
Who but you know what I feel?

Other than love,
Is this real?

When you smile at me,
What can it be?
Other than love.

White Noise is a Symphony

If I look at a random pattern, for instance, the striations in a marble piece...will form pictures. On my bathroom floor, there is a human face and a the face of a fox.

If you turn a fan or any other white noise source on, I hear music.
I've heard metal, classical, it really depends on the source of the noise.
Like the hum from an air conditioner versus the buzz of a nearby highway.

I noticed this getting more pronounced as I grew older.
Once, as a young twenty something I saw the face of Jimi Hendrix on my wooden bedroom floor. (No, no drugs were involved)
I took a sharpie and outlined it. My friends could easily recognize who the face belonged to and I was told I had 'talent.'
I dismissed the notion and lived for another 25 years in a coma.

When I awoke, I had been given a rare and beautiful gift.
A Muse.
She inspired me to reach into places I hardly knew existed, let alone explored.
Now, five years later, my love for my Muse has matured.
And with it the gift has grown more focused and somehow better implemented.
I see more things more often, and they are very appreciated by others.
I can take tracing paper into my bathroom and emerge with a fine drawing of a fox or a seventeenth century, wigged personage.

What I can tell is the talent is refined by age.
Now, someone needs to figure out what the mechanics of the process are.
I also need a way to better record the sounds I hear in my head.

Do writers get images the same way?
A woodworker his inspiration from the pattern on a rug?

Where do Muses come from and why do we need them so?
They set us free, but how?
I am sure mine could not explain it to anyone, it just happened.
It was a by-product of another process.
Go look up 'caudate.'

Timing is Everything

God, I know this to be the truth.

In music, in life, in love - without timing, nothing.

However


Things which are in sync, can often go out of sync.
Rhythms have little logic to them, they just feel good.

The more important the task, the more significant the need for exquisite timing.
The more the important the task is on our own personal hierarchy, the more timing must be observed.

When something is out of sync, we can rewind to the beginning (a do-over, rarely seen in this life) or we can re-evaluate our mis-steps and rectify.

Fuck it, I choose to rectify.