the feral cat was a little thing
its heart didn't match
it was alone and then not and then again
five years of the little girl
no ballerina
a tomcat and feral
but the heart didn't match
Friday, December 26, 2014
Saturday, December 20, 2014
Success or Remaining True to Your Art
Sometimes it is and either or. But why not strive to make an "and" out of it?
I was talking to an old friend about artistic purity.
What I told him was at fifteen years of age I had a huge dose of purity along with a portion of amazing ego. I would never belittle my craft by donning makeup and a persona, ala KISS. Or condescend to play "easy stuff" like the Blues.
But at almost sixty I would don the makeup in a heartbeat.
Name it...C&W, Classical, Jazz, Cover, doesn't matter.
With makeup or without. Making a statement or being The Turtles.
I also learned to master any portion of this craft is not, "easy stuff." The Blues is hard shit to play with a passion and real feel.
A tight band gets me more excited than the genre they play. A hot flame of energy and passion between audience and band goes twice as far as playing for my soul.
So if I can play in a metal band and be successful at it, and feed from the energy playing provides, where is the loss?
Happy Hanukkah
Merry Christmas
Play with your dreidels, kids!
I was talking to an old friend about artistic purity.
What I told him was at fifteen years of age I had a huge dose of purity along with a portion of amazing ego. I would never belittle my craft by donning makeup and a persona, ala KISS. Or condescend to play "easy stuff" like the Blues.
But at almost sixty I would don the makeup in a heartbeat.
Name it...C&W, Classical, Jazz, Cover, doesn't matter.
With makeup or without. Making a statement or being The Turtles.
I also learned to master any portion of this craft is not, "easy stuff." The Blues is hard shit to play with a passion and real feel.
A tight band gets me more excited than the genre they play. A hot flame of energy and passion between audience and band goes twice as far as playing for my soul.
So if I can play in a metal band and be successful at it, and feed from the energy playing provides, where is the loss?
Happy Hanukkah
Merry Christmas
Play with your dreidels, kids!
Monday, November 17, 2014
Cream, Blues, Jack Bruce
I have been, to use the vernacular, bingeing on the blues, Cream, Clapton, Bruce, Baker, Guy, Terry, gawd the list goes on for about an hour.
Mississippi Fred McDowell was my introduction, circa the summer of 1969.
How this led me to Steve Miller, God only knows.
Actually I do. My mother's teachings...I saw a sampler album from Capitol for a whopping ninety nine cents.
Besides the universal message the blues can help us convey, the beat in a good boogie woogie makes me mental. That was gift from my father. At six he taught me to play the boogie on the piano. I could only handle one hands worth at the time but I felt it in my bones.
Which is my main point.
Rhythm is the key to music. There are only 12 or so notes, so every combination has already been played, when it comes to melodic stuff.
But the rhythms we can make are infinite.
It was rhythm that first reached me musically.
That walking bass makes me squirm...I am dancing. I cannot help myself.
Is it mom's heartbeat in the womb that begins this?
Was she dancing when I was in there? Was dad playing Fats Waller...loudly?
I am giggling now that I see my own musical genesis laid out so.
My hands are too small to play the bass. At least that is what I told myself since I think there are no limitations, just mental barriers. If Jimi could play with those huge paws what is stopping me and my teeny ones?
Al DiMeola started playing the drums at age eight.
This makes a lot of sense to me.
Mississippi Fred McDowell was my introduction, circa the summer of 1969.
Besides the universal message the blues can help us convey, the beat in a good boogie woogie makes me mental. That was gift from my father. At six he taught me to play the boogie on the piano. I could only handle one hands worth at the time but I felt it in my bones.
Which is my main point.
Rhythm is the key to music. There are only 12 or so notes, so every combination has already been played, when it comes to melodic stuff.
It was rhythm that first reached me musically.
That walking bass makes me squirm...I am dancing. I cannot help myself.
Is it mom's heartbeat in the womb that begins this?
Was she dancing when I was in there? Was dad playing Fats Waller...loudly?
My hands are too small to play the bass. At least that is what I told myself since I think there are no limitations, just mental barriers. If Jimi could play with those huge paws what is stopping me and my teeny ones?
Al DiMeola started playing the drums at age eight.
This makes a lot of sense to me.
Thursday, November 6, 2014
Man, I Love To Play
Playing any gig is a night well spent.
Even an old tired standard.
We're at The TreeHouse.
Playing Sweet Home Alabama, a song I really, really dislike.
It is a two guitar tune. And the band I am playing with has only one guitar at the moment.
I understand their desire to try out tunes that were formerly beyond their sound's depth. But I would have thought of several other tunes first - Layla, While My Guitar Gently Weeps, Brown Sugar, Can't You Hear Me Knocking, Black Market...I could go on for an hour.
And it went really, really well. The audience liked it and we enjoyed playing it.
The weather was not as cold as it could have been, but it was clear and clean. Invigorating.
The front man plays lead and sings; up until this point he has had no support when he 'wanders off' to play solos or flourishes.
I was there to plug that hole. And plug away I did.
Even when it is such a trite and true tune.
I did one song and made a few bucks. A couple slaps on the back and a few compliments. It was a good night.
Even an old tired standard.
We're at The TreeHouse.
Playing Sweet Home Alabama, a song I really, really dislike.
It is a two guitar tune. And the band I am playing with has only one guitar at the moment.
I understand their desire to try out tunes that were formerly beyond their sound's depth. But I would have thought of several other tunes first - Layla, While My Guitar Gently Weeps, Brown Sugar, Can't You Hear Me Knocking, Black Market...I could go on for an hour.
And it went really, really well. The audience liked it and we enjoyed playing it.
The weather was not as cold as it could have been, but it was clear and clean. Invigorating.
The front man plays lead and sings; up until this point he has had no support when he 'wanders off' to play solos or flourishes.
I was there to plug that hole. And plug away I did.
Even when it is such a trite and true tune.
I did one song and made a few bucks. A couple slaps on the back and a few compliments. It was a good night.
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
Time Marches On
Things do not stay static.
Things constantly change.
But we as humans claw to hold onto what we held dear forty years ago. We are anything but prepared to move on with the time. No matter how hip and forward looking, there is always a voice screaming for the world to slow down.
And with all change there is a sameness to it all.
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
I am certain two Romans wondered about the latest epidemic to break out or the threat from terrorists.
I have said for a long time that people without children do not age as quickly. And I do not mean the struggle of life with children; in fact that is energizing. But when your baby gets married you can no longer escape the evidence of age. Children are mile markers in life. Without them you would blissfully have no idea how much time you have wasted on one pursuit or another.
Language changes.
'Swipe' now means to read a magnetic strip on a card rather than to steal.
'Dope' means something cool rather than an idiot.
Attitudes change.
There has been a two term black president.
Pot is soon to be legal across the country; it's a revenue stream now.
Same sex discrimination is dwindling.
While at the same time, Islamic extremists are fighting other Islamic sects as well as the rest of the infidel world.
Fear of ebola has driven some people to madness and they do not recognize it. I mean your chances of dying from the flu are one thousand times greater and few of the fearful will be getting vaccinated.
And what used to be the loyal opposition has now become the insecure and virulently racist, homophobic, war mongering, fear embracing minority that are circling their wagons against an imaginary foe. We are, after all, Americans first, right Mitch McConnell? Right Mr Speaker?
Companies can decide what laws they will obey. Unarmed black kids shot dead and the protests that brings.
People thank veterans for their service but do not want to pay for the benefits the soldiers were promised.
Same shit, different day.
The fight will never end as long as there are humans to muck it up.
Things constantly change.
But we as humans claw to hold onto what we held dear forty years ago. We are anything but prepared to move on with the time. No matter how hip and forward looking, there is always a voice screaming for the world to slow down.
And with all change there is a sameness to it all.
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
I am certain two Romans wondered about the latest epidemic to break out or the threat from terrorists.
I have said for a long time that people without children do not age as quickly. And I do not mean the struggle of life with children; in fact that is energizing. But when your baby gets married you can no longer escape the evidence of age. Children are mile markers in life. Without them you would blissfully have no idea how much time you have wasted on one pursuit or another.
Language changes.
'Swipe' now means to read a magnetic strip on a card rather than to steal.
'Dope' means something cool rather than an idiot.
Attitudes change.
There has been a two term black president.
Pot is soon to be legal across the country; it's a revenue stream now.
Same sex discrimination is dwindling.
While at the same time, Islamic extremists are fighting other Islamic sects as well as the rest of the infidel world.
Fear of ebola has driven some people to madness and they do not recognize it. I mean your chances of dying from the flu are one thousand times greater and few of the fearful will be getting vaccinated.
And what used to be the loyal opposition has now become the insecure and virulently racist, homophobic, war mongering, fear embracing minority that are circling their wagons against an imaginary foe. We are, after all, Americans first, right Mitch McConnell? Right Mr Speaker?
Companies can decide what laws they will obey. Unarmed black kids shot dead and the protests that brings.
People thank veterans for their service but do not want to pay for the benefits the soldiers were promised.
Same shit, different day.
The fight will never end as long as there are humans to muck it up.
Thursday, September 18, 2014
Why Are We Wired This Way?
Why does a driving bass line send me over the moon?
I can play them over and over until it drives those around me to flee.
The Perry Mason theme makes me sway to & fro involuntarily.
When Jimi Hendrix hits a particularly high note with an almost screechy quality to it, or Santana eliciting a cry of sorrow.
There is some thing that is hardwired within me. Similar to the need to be loved. It is something I was born with.
Some people get the same thrill when looking at art, or reading a book or working with their hands.
What evolutionary purpose does it serve?
I suspect it is twofold.
On one hand it is symbolic language allowing for sharing, communicating. And this furthers movement of the species.
On the other it is the exploratory arm of evolution, looking for the next big thing.
In my heart though where I feel it the most acutely, it just feels right.
Sometimes the satisfaction is by myself. I write something particularly good...a tasty lick. I play a piece well. Sometimes it is in front of an audience. An audience also adds to the mix the energy that people bring. The back and forth sharing between the stage and the crowd can be electric; almost as good as sex.
We also know that songs with a beat that mimics the human heartbeat makes us dance involuntarily.
So there are physiological as well as mental considerations. But there seems to be something from the ether that connects us to music.
There is pattern matching, complete this sequence sort of puzzles throughout a musical piece. Our brains look for conclusion, closure. So we anticipate endings or phrases. And then when a new song is heard we look for familiar themes or use of dynamics. And we attempt to learn this new pattern as quickly as possible. Some of us focus on the lyrics, others the music.
Whatever the cause, I am wired this way.
I can play them over and over until it drives those around me to flee.
The Perry Mason theme makes me sway to & fro involuntarily.
When Jimi Hendrix hits a particularly high note with an almost screechy quality to it, or Santana eliciting a cry of sorrow.
There is some thing that is hardwired within me. Similar to the need to be loved. It is something I was born with.
Some people get the same thrill when looking at art, or reading a book or working with their hands.
What evolutionary purpose does it serve?
I suspect it is twofold.
On one hand it is symbolic language allowing for sharing, communicating. And this furthers movement of the species.
On the other it is the exploratory arm of evolution, looking for the next big thing.
In my heart though where I feel it the most acutely, it just feels right.
Sometimes the satisfaction is by myself. I write something particularly good...a tasty lick. I play a piece well. Sometimes it is in front of an audience. An audience also adds to the mix the energy that people bring. The back and forth sharing between the stage and the crowd can be electric; almost as good as sex.
We also know that songs with a beat that mimics the human heartbeat makes us dance involuntarily.
So there are physiological as well as mental considerations. But there seems to be something from the ether that connects us to music.
There is pattern matching, complete this sequence sort of puzzles throughout a musical piece. Our brains look for conclusion, closure. So we anticipate endings or phrases. And then when a new song is heard we look for familiar themes or use of dynamics. And we attempt to learn this new pattern as quickly as possible. Some of us focus on the lyrics, others the music.
Whatever the cause, I am wired this way.
Sunday, September 14, 2014
Family Matters: Murder New York Style
Auntie Anita's Blog
Family Matters: Murder New York Style, edited by Anita Page
Read the book, see the movie...tell your friends!
Family Matters: Murder New York Style, edited by Anita Page
Read the book, see the movie...tell your friends!
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
Play Time - The Active Mind NEEDS Play Time
I play computer games.
Not all of them. I do not buy every iteration of NHL that Electronic Arts releases - heh,
(Bruins on the cover for 2015)
But I have owned a computer since 1980 and one of the things I do for distraction is play games.
Since the days when Sublogic made the first flight sim, I have been there.
That is a Piper 172 banking to the left (port). See the pretty mountains on the horizon? It was a 6 x 6 grid which if you flew in one direction continuously would lead you back to the starting point. The world depicted was 36 square miles and spherical.
I have not been really involved with any game since Legions in 2007. When it petered out I basically stopped playing games. Mistake.
Besides the social aspect (I play in a clan of over 200 members) there is a therapeutic feature in playing these games. They are causing the other side of the brain to fire up.
Last May I found a game called Insurgency. I have been playing it ever since.
And then I get asked to write a guide for the game?
And one respondent says,
"+1 on this, I may have it framed and hung on the loo wall."
Proud papa, indeed.
A Touch of Etiquette
Not all of them. I do not buy every iteration of NHL that Electronic Arts releases - heh,
(Bruins on the cover for 2015)
But I have owned a computer since 1980 and one of the things I do for distraction is play games.
Since the days when Sublogic made the first flight sim, I have been there.
I have not been really involved with any game since Legions in 2007. When it petered out I basically stopped playing games. Mistake.
Besides the social aspect (I play in a clan of over 200 members) there is a therapeutic feature in playing these games. They are causing the other side of the brain to fire up.
Last May I found a game called Insurgency. I have been playing it ever since.
And then I get asked to write a guide for the game?
And one respondent says,
"+1 on this, I may have it framed and hung on the loo wall."
Proud papa, indeed.
A Touch of Etiquette
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
Why One Ego Versus Another? Why Not Working In Unison?
Any reason one human feels the need to climb on the back of another?
I have a huge ego, I play music for live audiences and love it.
But I need not hurt any human to make myself feel better.
I like to share.
That is my ego.
Talk too much.
Play too much.
I share.
But I don't look for pecking order. Or how to climb the ladders in life, social or business.
When one human steps on another to make themselves feel better, what is it they lack? Why don't they want to share?
My greatest joy is watching a youngster be inspired or a look of bliss from person in the midst of a memory the music may have evoked.
I feed off the communal energy inherent in a gig.
Some seem to want to rule that energy, not share it.
Their loss.
But it impacts us all.
A band is the marriage of the group members. Four or five individuals that must live together, learn all the foibles of the rest of the group and accept them in an effort to make the band sound good.
It's those selfish ones that play louder and want to be heard alone and shining that can detract from our collective fun.
Chill the fuck out.
I have a huge ego, I play music for live audiences and love it.
But I need not hurt any human to make myself feel better.
I like to share.
That is my ego.
Talk too much.
Play too much.
I share.
But I don't look for pecking order. Or how to climb the ladders in life, social or business.
When one human steps on another to make themselves feel better, what is it they lack? Why don't they want to share?
My greatest joy is watching a youngster be inspired or a look of bliss from person in the midst of a memory the music may have evoked.
I feed off the communal energy inherent in a gig.
Some seem to want to rule that energy, not share it.
Their loss.
But it impacts us all.
A band is the marriage of the group members. Four or five individuals that must live together, learn all the foibles of the rest of the group and accept them in an effort to make the band sound good.
It's those selfish ones that play louder and want to be heard alone and shining that can detract from our collective fun.
Chill the fuck out.
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
Al DiMeola
In 1972 a friend of mine offered to get lessons for me with as he put it,
"The best guitarist in the world."
I scoffed and let the comment go. After all, I was the best guitarist in the world at sixteen.
Maybe six months later I caved and called to schedule a lesson.
I had my mother drive me to Bergenfield and drop me at the address given.
I climbed the staircase outside to the second floor door and knocked.
A guy my size, wearing glasses answered.
The room had a full drum set, a couple of guitars and an amp.
I had been instructed to bring the album I would like to learn and had brought Jimi Hendrix Axis: Bold As Love.
Al introduced himself and took my album. He put the song on. When it finished he played the song back, note for note.
I lit a cigarette.
As he continued to play and show me his chops I lit cigarette after cigarette...I think I consumed an entire pack.
This guy was amazing and I could not believe what I was seeing and hearing.
For the next year or so I went over to his house every Wednesday at 7 pm for my hour of Al's time...$10.
Sometimes Al was delayed because of rehearsals with his then band, Barry Miles in NYC.
I would sit in Mrs. DiMeola's kitchen, sample the spaghetti sauce and talk, waiting for Al to return.
In 1976 I went to Carnegie Hall to see Al playing with his new gig, Return To Forever. As the show ended my pal and I walked to the backstage entrance to try to get in to see Al and say, "Hi."
The mutual friend who had introduced us was there in line.
"Mike, can you get us in?"
"No can do man, way too heavy."
I was crestfallen and started walking away.
I felt a hand on my wrist and a soft voice,
"Let's go see Al."
It was Mrs. DiMeola. She took me by the hand, up the stairs passed Mike who looked imploringly at me to the backstage area.
"Albert, look who is here to see you!"
I could see a look of,
"Aw ma...AL, AL, not Albert."
But he said nothing except,
"Hey man!"
Al was the fundamental pivot point in my guitar studies. Everything changed after he left NJ for the Jazz world at large.
And here I am 40 years later still feeling his influence.
Thank you, Al.
"The best guitarist in the world."
I scoffed and let the comment go. After all, I was the best guitarist in the world at sixteen.
Maybe six months later I caved and called to schedule a lesson.
I had my mother drive me to Bergenfield and drop me at the address given.
I climbed the staircase outside to the second floor door and knocked.
A guy my size, wearing glasses answered.
The room had a full drum set, a couple of guitars and an amp.
I had been instructed to bring the album I would like to learn and had brought Jimi Hendrix Axis: Bold As Love.
Al introduced himself and took my album. He put the song on. When it finished he played the song back, note for note.
I lit a cigarette.
As he continued to play and show me his chops I lit cigarette after cigarette...I think I consumed an entire pack.
This guy was amazing and I could not believe what I was seeing and hearing.
For the next year or so I went over to his house every Wednesday at 7 pm for my hour of Al's time...$10.
Sometimes Al was delayed because of rehearsals with his then band, Barry Miles in NYC.
I would sit in Mrs. DiMeola's kitchen, sample the spaghetti sauce and talk, waiting for Al to return.
In 1976 I went to Carnegie Hall to see Al playing with his new gig, Return To Forever. As the show ended my pal and I walked to the backstage entrance to try to get in to see Al and say, "Hi."
The mutual friend who had introduced us was there in line.
"Mike, can you get us in?"
"No can do man, way too heavy."
I was crestfallen and started walking away.
I felt a hand on my wrist and a soft voice,
"Let's go see Al."
It was Mrs. DiMeola. She took me by the hand, up the stairs passed Mike who looked imploringly at me to the backstage area.
"Albert, look who is here to see you!"
I could see a look of,
"Aw ma...AL, AL, not Albert."
But he said nothing except,
"Hey man!"
Al was the fundamental pivot point in my guitar studies. Everything changed after he left NJ for the Jazz world at large.
And here I am 40 years later still feeling his influence.
Thank you, Al.
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
Life
Given a choice, we can either laugh or cry over every thing we experience.
It is all in how you look at it.
I choose to laugh, live & love.
It is all in how you look at it.
I choose to laugh, live & love.
Sunday, July 27, 2014
Death
It's not yet 1 o'clock and yet I am having a stiff drink.
I awoke to loud banging at around 8:30 am.
Shadow, the stoner cat...she loved catnip, was literally throwing herself against a wall.
I took her and laid her on my bed and began to pet her.
It became evident she was suffering "seizures" of some sort. I sat with her trying to relieve her pain and stress. It tore at my heart. The vet had nothing but very expensive, "maybes."
Yeah Death sucks. Part of life, blah, blah, blah.
And I am struck by a weird dichotomy building within.
I am so hurt, I think more than if Shadow were human; and there lies the rub.
I hear voices.
"It's just a cat."
"We could go into large debt and still not affect a good outcome."
Would I worry about money when a human is involved?
Of course not. So why did that thought even cross my mind? If we can spare the animal pain and treat it, who cares about money? Worry about the outcome and the money later.
Just a cat?
The fuck?
I am sure Shadow never thought of me as anything but the same albeit larger member of the species we all share.
Me? I fought for treatment until I felt overruled when the I was hung up upon.
I do not subscribe to public displays when the emotions are so intimate. I don't make love in public, I do not want to mourn in public.
But I do want to acknowledge life, no matter how foreign, is a link in a vast web.
We are all connected.
I awoke to loud banging at around 8:30 am.
Shadow, the stoner cat...she loved catnip, was literally throwing herself against a wall.
I took her and laid her on my bed and began to pet her.
It became evident she was suffering "seizures" of some sort. I sat with her trying to relieve her pain and stress. It tore at my heart. The vet had nothing but very expensive, "maybes."
Yeah Death sucks. Part of life, blah, blah, blah.
And I am struck by a weird dichotomy building within.
I am so hurt, I think more than if Shadow were human; and there lies the rub.
I hear voices.
"It's just a cat."
"We could go into large debt and still not affect a good outcome."
Would I worry about money when a human is involved?
Of course not. So why did that thought even cross my mind? If we can spare the animal pain and treat it, who cares about money? Worry about the outcome and the money later.
Just a cat?
The fuck?
I am sure Shadow never thought of me as anything but the same albeit larger member of the species we all share.
Me? I fought for treatment until I felt overruled when the I was hung up upon.
I do not subscribe to public displays when the emotions are so intimate. I don't make love in public, I do not want to mourn in public.
But I do want to acknowledge life, no matter how foreign, is a link in a vast web.
We are all connected.
Friday, July 18, 2014
Microphone Placement
I had heard some mention of my mixing.
"Your guitar is not loud enough."
"The guitar is in the background too far."
"Push the guitar."
And it did not seem to matter if it was live music or Band In A Box type backup. The guitar was not center stage.
I adjusted input levels. I increased volume on the amplifier. Lowered the back up tracks. None of which really seemed to solve the situation. The guitar got louder, yes. But the presence was still off. I was playing in a soup can in the back yard over a piece of string.
Oh wait...playing in a soup can.
Number one indicator of poor microphonics.
I slapped my forehead, (yeow) and proceeded to start playing with the placement of the mic in front of the guitar amp. A forty five tilt this way, ninety degrees and perpendicular to the face of the speakers. An oblique turn that way.
What a profound difference the movement produced.
Studying the response curve can actually be helpful. Whoda thunk?
Sometimes a 3d plot is provided so you literally see where the mic is best at capturing your sounds.
Gawd...
No, I will no redo my catalog but I was tempted.
Onward and upward!
"Your guitar is not loud enough."
"The guitar is in the background too far."
"Push the guitar."
And it did not seem to matter if it was live music or Band In A Box type backup. The guitar was not center stage.
I adjusted input levels. I increased volume on the amplifier. Lowered the back up tracks. None of which really seemed to solve the situation. The guitar got louder, yes. But the presence was still off. I was playing in a soup can in the back yard over a piece of string.
Oh wait...playing in a soup can.
Number one indicator of poor microphonics.
I slapped my forehead, (yeow) and proceeded to start playing with the placement of the mic in front of the guitar amp. A forty five tilt this way, ninety degrees and perpendicular to the face of the speakers. An oblique turn that way.
What a profound difference the movement produced.
Studying the response curve can actually be helpful. Whoda thunk?
Sometimes a 3d plot is provided so you literally see where the mic is best at capturing your sounds.
Gawd...
No, I will no redo my catalog but I was tempted.
Saturday, July 5, 2014
One Of The Best Things
New life, life in any shape or form...life.
I am invited to play an annual event at a local road house.
The temperature is well over ninety seven Fahrenheit, but there are mist-ers and swamp coolers and a pool.
The first band is slated to go one at four pm. At four thirty pm the band leader is passing out business cards to everyone.
They go on at five thirty pm.
(Faux pas one...go on when you are scheduled and if you can't, remove your gear so the next band gets on)
They are pretty good, new. There are rough edges to the standards but the original material is flowing. Some of it good. The theme is music, motorcycles and money.
The "sound guy" is also the keyboard player, you cannot hear his keyboards at all.
The bass player has a five string that he plays well. But midway through the first set he broke a string?
(Faux pas number umpteenth - restring before gigs, unless strings are new - bass strings? They'd have to be one or two years old at least to have broken)
Okay...as I said they are rough, but you can tell it is coming together. The drummer is a woman who kept a very good beat and could drive a truck if allowed to. Liked her a lot.
Then I remember the guitar player from George's in 2010 as the guy who got upset when he didn't get enough stage time and left in a huff.
At the start of their third set (?) George goes up to the mic and announces a few guest players; his way of getting people on and not waiting for the band.
He calls me, I respond...on with the show.
We play, it's fun and the beat picks up a notch, where people had been sitting before they were standing, clapping and almost dancing.
And then came the children.
There must have been twenty children in attendance. A whole area was cordoned off for them with a pool, and a huge area to ride - bikes, scooters, pedal cars - I had a fleeting thought of how cool this place is for the kids.
And then I noticed the kids were dancing. The two year old that kept falling down. The ten year old trying to makes the moves she's seen on the television. The raw joy and passion was so innocent and beautiful; I have a very primal reason I do what I do.
I am passing my passion to the children.
I get to share my heart with them and they reciprocate in an overwhelming wave.
I am helping to bridge some gaps that exist between parents and their offspring.
This, more then anything else was heartfelt and true. It tugged at me. Like a kid at my side.
When it got dark and the fireworks began, the children filtered off, one by one.
I laid my guitar down and followed them.
I know where I belong.
I am invited to play an annual event at a local road house.
The temperature is well over ninety seven Fahrenheit, but there are mist-ers and swamp coolers and a pool.
The first band is slated to go one at four pm. At four thirty pm the band leader is passing out business cards to everyone.
They go on at five thirty pm.
(Faux pas one...go on when you are scheduled and if you can't, remove your gear so the next band gets on)
They are pretty good, new. There are rough edges to the standards but the original material is flowing. Some of it good. The theme is music, motorcycles and money.
The "sound guy" is also the keyboard player, you cannot hear his keyboards at all.
The bass player has a five string that he plays well. But midway through the first set he broke a string?
(Faux pas number umpteenth - restring before gigs, unless strings are new - bass strings? They'd have to be one or two years old at least to have broken)
Okay...as I said they are rough, but you can tell it is coming together. The drummer is a woman who kept a very good beat and could drive a truck if allowed to. Liked her a lot.
Then I remember the guitar player from George's in 2010 as the guy who got upset when he didn't get enough stage time and left in a huff.
At the start of their third set (?) George goes up to the mic and announces a few guest players; his way of getting people on and not waiting for the band.
He calls me, I respond...on with the show.
We play, it's fun and the beat picks up a notch, where people had been sitting before they were standing, clapping and almost dancing.
And then came the children.
There must have been twenty children in attendance. A whole area was cordoned off for them with a pool, and a huge area to ride - bikes, scooters, pedal cars - I had a fleeting thought of how cool this place is for the kids.
And then I noticed the kids were dancing. The two year old that kept falling down. The ten year old trying to makes the moves she's seen on the television. The raw joy and passion was so innocent and beautiful; I have a very primal reason I do what I do.
I am passing my passion to the children.
I get to share my heart with them and they reciprocate in an overwhelming wave.
I am helping to bridge some gaps that exist between parents and their offspring.
This, more then anything else was heartfelt and true. It tugged at me. Like a kid at my side.
When it got dark and the fireworks began, the children filtered off, one by one.
I laid my guitar down and followed them.
I know where I belong.
Saturday, June 28, 2014
The Fine Line Between Playing and Listening
When I am in the audience of a good show, my musical batteries are immediately recharged and in fact I am champing at the bit on the ride home.
The best way for me to unwind after watching a good show is to play.
When I play for an audience, my musical batteries are recharged and I am on a three day high.
The line is fine between listening and playing. You cannot play well if you do not listen to what is going on around you. The bass player that comes in a half beat behind or the drummer who insists on upping the volume. The sweet Call & Answer when two like minds execute with precision.
You have to hear to have a reply.
And as in language, when talking with someone - if you spend the time they are talking thinking of your reply, then you are not hearing what the other person is saying.
Listening is an art in which it usually takes a moment for a reply to formulate. The reply may then take the next thirty two bars but you have to have heard what preceded to be able to properly answer.
Harrison's is a local road house. George invites you and twenty other musicians to play for an evening. And if we're lucky each invitee brings a friend.
After the first time or two, you generally know all the players. Have an idea what to expect.
And then a night like tonight blooms.
It was Black Magic Woman that started it, but the percussion section really took off. The drummer had some instant help from a conga player. Then people at the tables were drumming to the beat. All of a sudden it took off.
The interaction was sublime. Everyone was actively listening to the others.
The bass player heard the drummer and the chords met each measure with precision. The zone opened and I stepped through.
By the time we hit the last three chords that everyone was anticipating it was leap in the air and windmill time for me.
(The fuck I am doing?)
Listening...
The best way for me to unwind after watching a good show is to play.
When I play for an audience, my musical batteries are recharged and I am on a three day high.
The line is fine between listening and playing. You cannot play well if you do not listen to what is going on around you. The bass player that comes in a half beat behind or the drummer who insists on upping the volume. The sweet Call & Answer when two like minds execute with precision.
You have to hear to have a reply.
And as in language, when talking with someone - if you spend the time they are talking thinking of your reply, then you are not hearing what the other person is saying.
Listening is an art in which it usually takes a moment for a reply to formulate. The reply may then take the next thirty two bars but you have to have heard what preceded to be able to properly answer.
Harrison's is a local road house. George invites you and twenty other musicians to play for an evening. And if we're lucky each invitee brings a friend.
After the first time or two, you generally know all the players. Have an idea what to expect.
And then a night like tonight blooms.
It was Black Magic Woman that started it, but the percussion section really took off. The drummer had some instant help from a conga player. Then people at the tables were drumming to the beat. All of a sudden it took off.
The interaction was sublime. Everyone was actively listening to the others.
The bass player heard the drummer and the chords met each measure with precision. The zone opened and I stepped through.
By the time we hit the last three chords that everyone was anticipating it was leap in the air and windmill time for me.
(The fuck I am doing?)
Listening...
Friday, June 20, 2014
Peer Review in a College Course Setting
From the onset I have to say that I understand Gary Burton does not have the time to critique four hundred submissions - and certainly not in the two week period between assignment due dates.
But what incentive do I have to pay for an education upon which my grade is 70% peer review?
Advice, yes, feedback, most definitely. My grade?
What credentials do my "peers" have?
In a word, oh, Hell no.
If I sought out peer review as a way to move my education I might also take a course whose grading system was peer review.
But I didn't. I sought out Gary Burton. I want his feedback.
This is why Berklee puts three TAs at Mr. Burton's disposal.
The obvious difference being someone attending his class in Massachusetts is paying a thousand times as much as I would pay for online matriculation and credit.
The material is worth my time. My hunt for knowledge is worth the time and effort.
The degree offered online, sadly in my opinion, is not worth a tinker's dam.
Post Script - before anyone supposes I did not do well and am grousing, this is not the case. I am just not satisfied with the paradigm the online schools have adopted.
I do not have a suggestion yet (actually I have too many - less subjective work, more tests, quizzes and easily measurable work - when subjective work is used limit the number of pieces to be used in grading), but I am thinking about it...I hope they are as well.
But what incentive do I have to pay for an education upon which my grade is 70% peer review?
Advice, yes, feedback, most definitely. My grade?
What credentials do my "peers" have?
In a word, oh, Hell no.
If I sought out peer review as a way to move my education I might also take a course whose grading system was peer review.
But I didn't. I sought out Gary Burton. I want his feedback.
This is why Berklee puts three TAs at Mr. Burton's disposal.
The obvious difference being someone attending his class in Massachusetts is paying a thousand times as much as I would pay for online matriculation and credit.
The material is worth my time. My hunt for knowledge is worth the time and effort.
The degree offered online, sadly in my opinion, is not worth a tinker's dam.
Post Script - before anyone supposes I did not do well and am grousing, this is not the case. I am just not satisfied with the paradigm the online schools have adopted.
I do not have a suggestion yet (actually I have too many - less subjective work, more tests, quizzes and easily measurable work - when subjective work is used limit the number of pieces to be used in grading), but I am thinking about it...I hope they are as well.
Monday, June 9, 2014
Sound And Memory
A funny observation, funny in the strange sort of way - sounds have very little to do with memory.
I can play a song from thirty, forty, fifty years ago. And while they usually will cause the recall of a specific event - the morning I blasted my new record, Hey Mr. Bassman at 6 am., they are not soul blanketing feelings.
My father came running out to find me dancing up a storm. He laughed and then explained that disturbing a parents sleep was a venial sin. Please wait until 8 am.
What does strike my soul like a hammer to a bell is a smell.
Smells seems to open floodgates of memories.
I smell a wood fire and I am transported to Watkins Glenn with my father. We are pacing back and forth trying to stay warm.There are fires, but none in my tent. I was walking in my neighborhood, smelled a fire and found myself frozen to the sidewalk.
Or Cape Cod and the Dunes at Truro.
Or when Bert & I burned our Grand Funk records. The smell of burning plastic causes the memory to literally hit me in the head.
The scent of a flower and I see high school all over again. I feel eighteen.
If I smell the sea I hear Coney Island or Far Rockaway. My lungs ache inside of five minutes. It is a memory.
I wish a song or an album held more than one event.
Knights In White Satin is always the same sad recollection.
I can play a song from thirty, forty, fifty years ago. And while they usually will cause the recall of a specific event - the morning I blasted my new record, Hey Mr. Bassman at 6 am., they are not soul blanketing feelings.
My father came running out to find me dancing up a storm. He laughed and then explained that disturbing a parents sleep was a venial sin. Please wait until 8 am.
What does strike my soul like a hammer to a bell is a smell.
Smells seems to open floodgates of memories.
I smell a wood fire and I am transported to Watkins Glenn with my father. We are pacing back and forth trying to stay warm.There are fires, but none in my tent. I was walking in my neighborhood, smelled a fire and found myself frozen to the sidewalk.
Or Cape Cod and the Dunes at Truro.
Or when Bert & I burned our Grand Funk records. The smell of burning plastic causes the memory to literally hit me in the head.
The scent of a flower and I see high school all over again. I feel eighteen.
If I smell the sea I hear Coney Island or Far Rockaway. My lungs ache inside of five minutes. It is a memory.
I wish a song or an album held more than one event.
Knights In White Satin is always the same sad recollection.
Sunday, June 8, 2014
Here It Comes...Fireworks & Airshows
One of my genius neighbors has begun a nightly countdown to July 4th.
Otay.
Never mind it is illegal, what it does to the neighborhood animals as well as the nearby yards...it is the height of imposing your tastes upon the rest of us.
On the plus side, a gig each week leading up to July 4th at Harrison's and then the Fourth, itself.
And besides the ample work from George, another friend has a gig at the local jazz club this week.
Feast or famine.
When all is said and done it'll be famine either way.
There is also one more Farmers Market in San Dimas, so I'll expect a call from Jerry my local keyboard playing compadre.
Back to my explosive friends. I do understand the fun in watching things go B*O*O*M*, but as with all things - there is a time & place for everything.
June 8th is early.
Otay.
Never mind it is illegal, what it does to the neighborhood animals as well as the nearby yards...it is the height of imposing your tastes upon the rest of us.
On the plus side, a gig each week leading up to July 4th at Harrison's and then the Fourth, itself.
And besides the ample work from George, another friend has a gig at the local jazz club this week.
Feast or famine.
When all is said and done it'll be famine either way.
There is also one more Farmers Market in San Dimas, so I'll expect a call from Jerry my local keyboard playing compadre.
Back to my explosive friends. I do understand the fun in watching things go B*O*O*M*, but as with all things - there is a time & place for everything.
June 8th is early.
Saturday, May 17, 2014
Mother...
It is not waiting for the elusive Muse to strike.
All those days waiting for inspiration to strike, what I was in reality waiting for was understanding.
If you understand your craft you are more facile.
It was not a lack of creativity, that's why you picked the guitar up to begin with. The mood was with you.
So what prevented your genius from coming through?
You don't understand your art as well as you think you did. THAT is a hard admission and usually made after the fact when it is easier to come to gripes with.
The class I have been taking has opened a new door. And another, and another and another.
Gud Gawd
And now I see that lack of inspiration is just an excuse. I have always been inspired. Air, a good woman, a book. I am easily inspired. I go to a show and my urge to play rises. And on & on.
If inspiration wasn't the lacking factor...then what was?
My lack of available tools with which to construct.
I got the new Band In A Box last Christmas and it enabled me to skate even further along with my fundamental lacking holes in my musical education. Key word - enabled.
God Bless Gary Burton for his no nonsense, fundamental approach to teaching. His class has once again shown me I do not know it all. Not even close.
And I love it.
Thinking that you do know it all leads to ruts and boredom. Absolute power can be imagined. And yet still corrupt you.
I am stoked that I do not have all the answers. But perhaps I do have the key to finding the answers that are out there. Looking, exploring, stretching. Just keep reminding me at regular intervals so I do not forget.
All those days waiting for inspiration to strike, what I was in reality waiting for was understanding.
If you understand your craft you are more facile.
It was not a lack of creativity, that's why you picked the guitar up to begin with. The mood was with you.
So what prevented your genius from coming through?
You don't understand your art as well as you think you did. THAT is a hard admission and usually made after the fact when it is easier to come to gripes with.
The class I have been taking has opened a new door. And another, and another and another.
Gud Gawd
And now I see that lack of inspiration is just an excuse. I have always been inspired. Air, a good woman, a book. I am easily inspired. I go to a show and my urge to play rises. And on & on.
If inspiration wasn't the lacking factor...then what was?
My lack of available tools with which to construct.
I got the new Band In A Box last Christmas and it enabled me to skate even further along with my fundamental lacking holes in my musical education. Key word - enabled.
God Bless Gary Burton for his no nonsense, fundamental approach to teaching. His class has once again shown me I do not know it all. Not even close.
And I love it.
Thinking that you do know it all leads to ruts and boredom. Absolute power can be imagined. And yet still corrupt you.
I am stoked that I do not have all the answers. But perhaps I do have the key to finding the answers that are out there. Looking, exploring, stretching. Just keep reminding me at regular intervals so I do not forget.
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
THIS Is Why I love Learning For Its Own Sake
Late last year I signed up for an introductory class from Rochester University, The Music Of The Beatles.
(Online learning has come a very long way...wow)
Coursera
A taxing deep class it was not. There was some discussion of song forms but for the most part even if you just took the tests, never having heard a word of the lectures, using the internet as your reference, you could pass.
40,000 signed up.
4,000 completed the class.
3,000 received a Statement of Accomplishment.
Fine. Let's ramp up the skill level. Yeah.
What possessed me to enroll into a class present by Berklee College of Music, Jazz Improvisation with Gary Burton, I cannot say.
This is no 101 introduction.
The Beatle class consisted of an hour and a half worth of videos. Each had a question at the end and then there was a quiz on all the videos at the end of the lectures.
In the Berklee class, Gary Burton makes five two minute videos. Each succinctly (no, really?) explaining the point to be conveyed.
And then he unloads with, for example (week 2) six modes - are they major or minor (explain your thoughts on separate paper) and then play each mode for 30 to 60 seconds uploading your work to Soundcloud.
Shameless Plug - 'Hey You'
This is serious work.
Half of these applications of the modes are things I never thought of. As a young man when confronted with these modes I tended to play by ear. With rehearsal I can play anything. But I could get away with it, if need be. This assignment took me over three hours to complete. And at that, it was a C at best.
(I knew I could do better but I want to complete this and not endlessly tweak towards imagined perfection - I know what I know)
But it opened a door. And I am of the age and focus to be aware. A light went on.
Tonight I decided to work on some pieces I had written and yet until today could not lay a solo over...not to my satisfaction. And there comes a point when you accept your guitar and it's voice, with all the foibles. The inner critic says - "Let it go," like the assignment.
As soon as I started playing I looked at the neck and without hearing his words, I got what Mr. Burton hoped to get across. I learned something.
I can play with the tunes that had stymied me?!
I have no barriers?
Okay, so the Bruins didn't win, I did.
P.S.
Modes in music are a second way of looking at most "normal" scales. Modes can be Major or Minor or even Altered. My point is they are nothing new. Just a slightly different way to look at scales and the chords that underpin them.
Al had taught me of scales which I devoured and modes which I did not. As I said, I have a great ear and can play with Chick Corea with no qualms without understanding what I am doing.
All at once, the long lost information Al left me coupled with this terse, almost unfriendly man online (he has smiled once so far?) blew the horizons of my musical world wide.
This.is.so.cool.
(Online learning has come a very long way...wow)
Coursera
A taxing deep class it was not. There was some discussion of song forms but for the most part even if you just took the tests, never having heard a word of the lectures, using the internet as your reference, you could pass.
40,000 signed up.
4,000 completed the class.
3,000 received a Statement of Accomplishment.
Fine. Let's ramp up the skill level. Yeah.
What possessed me to enroll into a class present by Berklee College of Music, Jazz Improvisation with Gary Burton, I cannot say.
This is no 101 introduction.
The Beatle class consisted of an hour and a half worth of videos. Each had a question at the end and then there was a quiz on all the videos at the end of the lectures.
In the Berklee class, Gary Burton makes five two minute videos. Each succinctly (no, really?) explaining the point to be conveyed.
And then he unloads with, for example (week 2) six modes - are they major or minor (explain your thoughts on separate paper) and then play each mode for 30 to 60 seconds uploading your work to Soundcloud.
Shameless Plug - 'Hey You'
This is serious work.
Half of these applications of the modes are things I never thought of. As a young man when confronted with these modes I tended to play by ear. With rehearsal I can play anything. But I could get away with it, if need be. This assignment took me over three hours to complete. And at that, it was a C at best.
(I knew I could do better but I want to complete this and not endlessly tweak towards imagined perfection - I know what I know)
But it opened a door. And I am of the age and focus to be aware. A light went on.
Tonight I decided to work on some pieces I had written and yet until today could not lay a solo over...not to my satisfaction. And there comes a point when you accept your guitar and it's voice, with all the foibles. The inner critic says - "Let it go," like the assignment.
As soon as I started playing I looked at the neck and without hearing his words, I got what Mr. Burton hoped to get across. I learned something.
I can play with the tunes that had stymied me?!
I have no barriers?
Okay, so the Bruins didn't win, I did.
P.S.
Modes in music are a second way of looking at most "normal" scales. Modes can be Major or Minor or even Altered. My point is they are nothing new. Just a slightly different way to look at scales and the chords that underpin them.
Al had taught me of scales which I devoured and modes which I did not. As I said, I have a great ear and can play with Chick Corea with no qualms without understanding what I am doing.
All at once, the long lost information Al left me coupled with this terse, almost unfriendly man online (he has smiled once so far?) blew the horizons of my musical world wide.
This.is.so.cool.
Why Do You Play Music?
It is form of expression. It is a way for me to unload feelings or thoughts in such a way that no two people will see it the same way I do, but perhaps will enjoy it as much.
We all like to tell stories. Some of us are better at it, and some have issues when speaking to groups of people, but playing is Tale Spinning (Weather Report).
Sometimes it is incoherent ramblings. They can be fun, are somewhat difficult to follow and easily done.
Sometimes you have a heartfelt story to share with others. This is a difficult thing to accomplish. This is where you want your vision to align with the audiences; that's tough. Lyrics make it easier (obviously), but still leave room for interpretation.
Maybe you have a bout of playfulness. As with word play, you start riffing on a theme and with subtle changes and shifts you move the tune forward thematically.
My first interest was to attract girls. The bands at school dances seemed to be the object of all the young ladies desires. So this was an in.
That summer (1969) my parents sent me to summer camp; the overnight trip was to Woodstock.
We went to bed every night to the strains of Tommy.
My love of all things music bloomed. Music for its own sake.
Now, it is an integral part of who I am. I can easily express myself non verbally. I can release tension. Or reinforce new things I've learned. Or laugh or cry.
Artists can 'doodle,' musicians 'noodle.'
Part of the integration is the eternal desire for knowledge. I take a class...I take another. The first was an introductory sort of class. The second is a no nonsense music theory class.
Stretching muscles, gray or otherwise, is a good thing.
What does music do TO you, FOR you?
We all like to tell stories. Some of us are better at it, and some have issues when speaking to groups of people, but playing is Tale Spinning (Weather Report).
Sometimes it is incoherent ramblings. They can be fun, are somewhat difficult to follow and easily done.
Sometimes you have a heartfelt story to share with others. This is a difficult thing to accomplish. This is where you want your vision to align with the audiences; that's tough. Lyrics make it easier (obviously), but still leave room for interpretation.
Maybe you have a bout of playfulness. As with word play, you start riffing on a theme and with subtle changes and shifts you move the tune forward thematically.
My first interest was to attract girls. The bands at school dances seemed to be the object of all the young ladies desires. So this was an in.
That summer (1969) my parents sent me to summer camp; the overnight trip was to Woodstock.
We went to bed every night to the strains of Tommy.
My love of all things music bloomed. Music for its own sake.
Now, it is an integral part of who I am. I can easily express myself non verbally. I can release tension. Or reinforce new things I've learned. Or laugh or cry.
Artists can 'doodle,' musicians 'noodle.'
Part of the integration is the eternal desire for knowledge. I take a class...I take another. The first was an introductory sort of class. The second is a no nonsense music theory class.
Stretching muscles, gray or otherwise, is a good thing.
What does music do TO you, FOR you?
Friday, April 25, 2014
I Don't Believe in God, but He Believes in Me
There are times when the normal discourse uncovers gems...humans or nature or nothing at all.
I believe in God.
And the reason is stupid. I read a cartoon by an evangelist. Jack Chick.
Chicks Tracts
His reasoning is dogma...he really offers nothing new. But I read one and the two and then three and was smitten by the idea of sacrifice.
Jesus sacrificing for me...for all of us.
Me sacrificing for...
My mother sacrificing...
I see a pattern.
I am Jewish...Emanuel was one of US. And yet we disowned Him and our cousins embraced Him. - who was the loser in this exchange? Not so much loser but...a freely given gift that was rejected.
(And my mother, the consummate Jew by culture; rejects Jesus, but holds nothing else. To her, Jesus is rejection of her Jewish identity - to me, affirmation)
Sholom Aleichem - a Yiddish author - my mothers touchstone.
He wrote a tale in which a very pious man upon arriving in Heaven was asked what boon he would enjoy, having lived such a pious life, asked for a bagel.
After the angels attempt to explain the honor being bestowed, the man is asked again - what boon may Heaven do for him.
"Okay, with butter."
The Russians are fatalists, everything is bad, why fight?
Jews are supposed to be unassuming and free of desire - yeah, riiiiiiiiight.
I have been exposed to Jewish traditions and literature. I see great care for others, and a sense of duty and of tradition. Then I see Christ...much of the same. With one small difference. No differentiation between "them" and "us."
Churches of this world have made it a difference, Christ did not.
He was talking to Jews, who didn't hear the message. It was adopted by those Christ was not speaking to.
Nah...
We are ALL God's children.
I've heard this in many settings...Jewish, Black...
I've yet to see a majority embrace it.
I believe in God.
And the reason is stupid. I read a cartoon by an evangelist. Jack Chick.
Chicks Tracts
His reasoning is dogma...he really offers nothing new. But I read one and the two and then three and was smitten by the idea of sacrifice.
Jesus sacrificing for me...for all of us.
Me sacrificing for...
My mother sacrificing...
I see a pattern.
I am Jewish...Emanuel was one of US. And yet we disowned Him and our cousins embraced Him. - who was the loser in this exchange? Not so much loser but...a freely given gift that was rejected.
(And my mother, the consummate Jew by culture; rejects Jesus, but holds nothing else. To her, Jesus is rejection of her Jewish identity - to me, affirmation)
Sholom Aleichem - a Yiddish author - my mothers touchstone.
He wrote a tale in which a very pious man upon arriving in Heaven was asked what boon he would enjoy, having lived such a pious life, asked for a bagel.
After the angels attempt to explain the honor being bestowed, the man is asked again - what boon may Heaven do for him.
"Okay, with butter."
The Russians are fatalists, everything is bad, why fight?
Jews are supposed to be unassuming and free of desire - yeah, riiiiiiiiight.
I have been exposed to Jewish traditions and literature. I see great care for others, and a sense of duty and of tradition. Then I see Christ...much of the same. With one small difference. No differentiation between "them" and "us."
Churches of this world have made it a difference, Christ did not.
He was talking to Jews, who didn't hear the message. It was adopted by those Christ was not speaking to.
Nah...
We are ALL God's children.
I've heard this in many settings...Jewish, Black...
I've yet to see a majority embrace it.
Sunday, April 13, 2014
Use What You Have Readily Available
I've been suffering from Firebird GAS. I mean a severe case. Daily thoughts since maybe last November.
And then I thought, what for?
I have such a huge palette as it is, what more do I need, tonality wise?
I need to take my own advice and turn some knobs. On the guitar, amp, HALO...whatever.
As it stands I can almost approximate that signature Firebird sound.
It's delay or chorus, bridge and middle pickup. After that, it's Mr. Winter and his phrasing. If I mimic that, I sound like him, even if the tone is not spot on.
Don't get me wrong, I want one...I hunger for one.
But I know I have the means to make that sound already.
We chase tone when in fact it is the right hand that allows us to sound like (insert name here).
And then I thought, what for?
I have such a huge palette as it is, what more do I need, tonality wise?
I need to take my own advice and turn some knobs. On the guitar, amp, HALO...whatever.
As it stands I can almost approximate that signature Firebird sound.
Don't get me wrong, I want one...I hunger for one.
But I know I have the means to make that sound already.
We chase tone when in fact it is the right hand that allows us to sound like (insert name here).
Thursday, April 10, 2014
The Reason We Do What We Do
It is an absolute, unbridled joy to play music in a live situation. The interaction between the band and the audience. Between band members. The energy that flows through the venue from a half hour before the show until an hour after.
Farmer's Markets are not the glamorous gigs. Nor are they especially well paying. But they are a blast. This audience is not coming to hear music nor drink but they are out to enjoy a night out. To laugh and have life fulfilled.
Very few expectations on the part of the crowd or the band. The band is here to lend atmosphere, to ratchet up the pleasure by an order of magnitude. Unobtrusive, accessible and helping to pace the stroll up and down the boulevard.
I've made connections doing these sort of gigs and I have made friends too. That ten year old that came up to me in 2010 and asked about my guitar.(I handed it to him)
He must be a young man now, perhaps he plays in a band? I wonder if he passed by on Wednesday and recognized me?
Seeing folks out and about, smiling and enjoying themselves is probably the best form of payment I could ask for. As we were playing, an older gentleman took his wife's hand and twirled her about in front of us while we played. Sigh...
Let's have a good time while we're here, mkay?
Farmer's Markets are not the glamorous gigs. Nor are they especially well paying. But they are a blast. This audience is not coming to hear music nor drink but they are out to enjoy a night out. To laugh and have life fulfilled.
Very few expectations on the part of the crowd or the band. The band is here to lend atmosphere, to ratchet up the pleasure by an order of magnitude. Unobtrusive, accessible and helping to pace the stroll up and down the boulevard.
I've made connections doing these sort of gigs and I have made friends too. That ten year old that came up to me in 2010 and asked about my guitar.(I handed it to him)
He must be a young man now, perhaps he plays in a band? I wonder if he passed by on Wednesday and recognized me?
Seeing folks out and about, smiling and enjoying themselves is probably the best form of payment I could ask for. As we were playing, an older gentleman took his wife's hand and twirled her about in front of us while we played. Sigh...
Let's have a good time while we're here, mkay?
Saturday, March 29, 2014
An Open Letter to Kevin Spacey
Kevin,
Dude.
I love House of Cards. I love the acting, the writing, the photography, the entire show.
I recently discovered the original BBC production and have noticed a disturbing trend. You follow the original line closely. Perhaps too closely.
Stamper, Tim or Doug. It is the same character.
The female reporter. Mattie or Zoey. Was there any forethought in having her name also have the 'ie' sound.
Differences in politics. Differences in certain sensibilities. But essentially the same show; so far.
Will the US version follow the UK to its conclusion? In some ways you could say it was to be seen coming from the start. But - I dun wanna.
Please oh, please oh, please oh puhlease find a way to wend a new path and tale.
First, because that means we already knows what will happen. I might as well go back to awaiting Homeland.
Second, because that means you have ceded all creative areas of the plot line to the original. And while the differences are great, they are not enough to base a series...are they?
You are banking on the fact that most of your audience will have not seen, nor sought out the original.
Or that even knowing the ending we'll continue to watch, binge or otherwise.
I will, I am a student of the craft and find you very engaging, but I wonder about the rest of the world.
Whatta ya say, FU?
Dude.
I love House of Cards. I love the acting, the writing, the photography, the entire show.
I recently discovered the original BBC production and have noticed a disturbing trend. You follow the original line closely. Perhaps too closely.
Stamper, Tim or Doug. It is the same character.
The female reporter. Mattie or Zoey. Was there any forethought in having her name also have the 'ie' sound.
Differences in politics. Differences in certain sensibilities. But essentially the same show; so far.
Will the US version follow the UK to its conclusion? In some ways you could say it was to be seen coming from the start. But - I dun wanna.
Please oh, please oh, please oh puhlease find a way to wend a new path and tale.
First, because that means we already knows what will happen. I might as well go back to awaiting Homeland.
Second, because that means you have ceded all creative areas of the plot line to the original. And while the differences are great, they are not enough to base a series...are they?
You are banking on the fact that most of your audience will have not seen, nor sought out the original.
Or that even knowing the ending we'll continue to watch, binge or otherwise.
I will, I am a student of the craft and find you very engaging, but I wonder about the rest of the world.
Saturday, March 22, 2014
So Many Songs & So Little Time
Under A Slow Canopy
Bass and guitar were recorded live while the drums, piano and viola were added later.
(LOVE YOU BIAB)
Dippity Do
What forms on your Dippity in the early morning.
Bass and guitar were recorded live while the drums, piano and viola were added later.
(LOVE YOU BIAB)
Dippity Do
What forms on your Dippity in the early morning.
House Of Cards
The music of both series, the BBC's and the Netflix iteration is iconic, atmospheric and incredibly well done.
The writing for both shows is tense, superb, gripping and very compelling.
The acting? Can't touch this. Both the BBC & Netflix casts are insanely well chosen.
So what is it about patriotism that excites a soul?
What is it about stirring patriotic tunes?
Not the music itself for the most part. I find Sousa to be pretentious and overdone. But play some flag waving piece and it'll stir things deep within. Even Urquhart's March with it's incredibly British orchestration.
(Reminds me of Penny Lane - which is McCartney telling us of his youth in Liverpool)
I think more than love of country is the love of fellow man. Part of the reason I play at all. My great need to share. To care for and help my brother is my wish and desire.
And I think these tunes bring that feeling to the forefront. It is more about belonging to something, being part of a community with a shared goal and promise. Not a flag.
But the people that did for that flag...who in reality were doing for the friends next to them.
As I do every time I play.
The acting? Can't touch this. Both the BBC & Netflix casts are insanely well chosen.
So what is it about patriotism that excites a soul?
What is it about stirring patriotic tunes?
Not the music itself for the most part. I find Sousa to be pretentious and overdone. But play some flag waving piece and it'll stir things deep within. Even Urquhart's March with it's incredibly British orchestration.
(Reminds me of Penny Lane - which is McCartney telling us of his youth in Liverpool)
I think more than love of country is the love of fellow man. Part of the reason I play at all. My great need to share. To care for and help my brother is my wish and desire.
And I think these tunes bring that feeling to the forefront. It is more about belonging to something, being part of a community with a shared goal and promise. Not a flag.
But the people that did for that flag...who in reality were doing for the friends next to them.
As I do every time I play.
Thursday, March 20, 2014
What We Do
Music.
To some a hobby, to some a way of life.
Some people are consumed by music. Eat it, breathe it, live it.
I don't.
While I am music, I cannot abide 90% of the radio offerings. I have friends that turn on the radio the moment they enter their cars and can find a groove no matter what sludge of classic rock is being played.
On my last road trip I took along a dozen CDs and played two of them. But I did play my guitar and heard tunes in the howling of the wind.
I think ads play a huge part in my channel surfing habits that rarely allow a song to go completely from beginning to end. That ad fade in as the song ends cause an involuntary button press on my part.
I compose at a whim. There is something very satisfying in the construction or reception of a new tune. Sometimes it is inspired and just flows. Sometimes it is a construct. Something to be assembled.
Good tools are a prerequisite for me.
The changes to Band In A Box this year were just what I needed to take my use of BIAB from a secondary way of doing things to not only my primary tool but newly infused with that joy of discovery.
I can compose while driving more easily than I can listen to ClearChannel garbage.
Actually, I do not think it as strange as that some people can just sit with any noise in the background and be happy.
While music may be integral to life, some embrace it while others are just breathing in and out.
I get a charge from any exposure. I go to a club, I get the urge. I see a good video, I get the urge.
So the trick for me is to keep the exposure up there. Go to a jam. Walk into a bar. Find a YouTube video.
I'm easy.
Yes, you
To some a hobby, to some a way of life.
Some people are consumed by music. Eat it, breathe it, live it.
I don't.
While I am music, I cannot abide 90% of the radio offerings. I have friends that turn on the radio the moment they enter their cars and can find a groove no matter what sludge of classic rock is being played.
On my last road trip I took along a dozen CDs and played two of them. But I did play my guitar and heard tunes in the howling of the wind.
I think ads play a huge part in my channel surfing habits that rarely allow a song to go completely from beginning to end. That ad fade in as the song ends cause an involuntary button press on my part.
I compose at a whim. There is something very satisfying in the construction or reception of a new tune. Sometimes it is inspired and just flows. Sometimes it is a construct. Something to be assembled.
Good tools are a prerequisite for me.
The changes to Band In A Box this year were just what I needed to take my use of BIAB from a secondary way of doing things to not only my primary tool but newly infused with that joy of discovery.
I can compose while driving more easily than I can listen to ClearChannel garbage.
Actually, I do not think it as strange as that some people can just sit with any noise in the background and be happy.
While music may be integral to life, some embrace it while others are just breathing in and out.
I get a charge from any exposure. I go to a club, I get the urge. I see a good video, I get the urge.
So the trick for me is to keep the exposure up there. Go to a jam. Walk into a bar. Find a YouTube video.
I'm easy.
Yes, you
Thursday, February 20, 2014
Position Player
Al DiMeola was my guitar teacher for almost two years.
What Al taught me:
Rhythm is key
Emulate the people you like without knowing why
There are only two or three positions for each key signature
Knowing chords will interlock with the positions that you play within
The single biggest thing that makes me what I am as a musician is my adherence to position playing.
My middle finger serves as anchor, 99% (Modes are the other 1% - start the scale on another finger and now you are playing modes) of the time it is firmly on the root.
So for any given key signature I have three positions. The I can explore the relatives of the root.
We're playing in F?
I can play in C, G, F, Bb and each of those has the three positions.
Remember Spirograph?
After a while you are enmeshed in this web that covers the entire fretboard.
It's hard to find a wrong note. Wrong interval yes, note...not so much.
Rhythm being key was something Al didn't teach as much as led by example.
My first might at his house for my first lesson...upon entering his room my eyes lock upon a drum kit. Turns out that is where Al started.
Ah ha.
John McLaughlin uses Konokol.
Ah ha.
So I have melodic movement (positions) covered. Now, I have to work my rhythms.
What Al taught me:
Rhythm is key
Emulate the people you like without knowing why
There are only two or three positions for each key signature
Knowing chords will interlock with the positions that you play within
The single biggest thing that makes me what I am as a musician is my adherence to position playing.
My middle finger serves as anchor, 99% (Modes are the other 1% - start the scale on another finger and now you are playing modes) of the time it is firmly on the root.
So for any given key signature I have three positions. The I can explore the relatives of the root.
We're playing in F?
I can play in C, G, F, Bb and each of those has the three positions.
Remember Spirograph?
After a while you are enmeshed in this web that covers the entire fretboard.
It's hard to find a wrong note. Wrong interval yes, note...not so much.
Rhythm being key was something Al didn't teach as much as led by example.
My first might at his house for my first lesson...upon entering his room my eyes lock upon a drum kit. Turns out that is where Al started.
Ah ha.
John McLaughlin uses Konokol.
Ah ha.
1st position
2 octaves Major Scale
2 octaves Major Scale
This playing approach came from Larry Coryell, who taught his idea to Al and John McLaughlin.
Friday, January 31, 2014
Sunday, January 19, 2014
I Love My Guitar
No, not the piece of wood and metal, but what it allows me to do.
My guitar is a good friend. It explores with me. It takes me places I have not been. Revisits the places I enjoy.
But each time I glance at it, I smile. It is a comfort to me. Knowing what comes from it, how it frees a part of me that normally lives inside.
People that bring out parts of your personality, revel in it with you...Best friends, right?
Well, this qualifies, even though it is an inanimate piece of stuff, a tool.
Friends sit with me, do for me, want to spend time in my company without a second thought.
I haven't heard my guitar wondering what it was going to do for the next few years. It seems content to hang out.
It also challenges me in ways most people will not. It is work to push people in the right direction. Be a motivator for someones betterment. And what's funny is I think it is me criticizing and critiquing.
It ain't easy.
I do for it as well. I bought it new springs and a steel tremolo block from Callaham.
Raw Vintage Springs
Callaham Trem Block
And then the big switcheroo.
The almost too good to be true Villex passive mid boost.
It does not have a name yet. And I don't know why. Most of my guitars get named fairly quickly. There is usually just some aspect that stands out and makes naming easy.
This one seems to be, "Pal."
--------
Being sick throws everyone off, but for a musician or someone that breathes music, having a clogged ear is a nightmare.
I wonder what illness throws a carpenter?
My guitar is a good friend. It explores with me. It takes me places I have not been. Revisits the places I enjoy.
But each time I glance at it, I smile. It is a comfort to me. Knowing what comes from it, how it frees a part of me that normally lives inside.
People that bring out parts of your personality, revel in it with you...Best friends, right?
Well, this qualifies, even though it is an inanimate piece of stuff, a tool.
Friends sit with me, do for me, want to spend time in my company without a second thought.
I haven't heard my guitar wondering what it was going to do for the next few years. It seems content to hang out.
It ain't easy.
I do for it as well. I bought it new springs and a steel tremolo block from Callaham.
Raw Vintage Springs
Callaham Trem Block
And then the big switcheroo.
The almost too good to be true Villex passive mid boost.
It does not have a name yet. And I don't know why. Most of my guitars get named fairly quickly. There is usually just some aspect that stands out and makes naming easy.
This one seems to be, "Pal."
--------
Being sick throws everyone off, but for a musician or someone that breathes music, having a clogged ear is a nightmare.
I wonder what illness throws a carpenter?
Thursday, January 9, 2014
Fake It Until You Make It Part Deux
Tips for appearing to know what you are doing.
1. Stop looking at the neck. I seek out someone in the audience to make eye contact..."He's playing to me!" Or close your eyes altogether.
2. Dress the part. Punk means no shirt and tie. By the same token, unless you are in a dirt band, dress up a bit. Looking good adds, does not take away.
3. If you fvck up big time, laugh.
4. Talk to the audience while tuning. Good anecdote time, especially if it segues into the next song.
5. "I meant to do that." is part of your repertoire. Be a cat.
6. Don't blow through people after you leave the stage. Many of not most come for the meet and greet afterwards.
7. Sloppy drunk or high is bad, mkay? A nice buzz is great. Enhances your interactions. Falling asleep on stage is really bad.
8. As part of #7 - eat before you drink before you go onstage. No burritos, nice and light but enough to mitigate what lies ahead.
9. If you introduce me to your mom with the words, "You two have a lot in common," you are so off the list.
10. Share with anyone in the venue that has a direct impact on your sound - sound guy, lighting, the girl bringing you drinks...all of them.
11. Really, stop looking at the neck.
1. Stop looking at the neck. I seek out someone in the audience to make eye contact..."He's playing to me!" Or close your eyes altogether.
2. Dress the part. Punk means no shirt and tie. By the same token, unless you are in a dirt band, dress up a bit. Looking good adds, does not take away.
3. If you fvck up big time, laugh.
4. Talk to the audience while tuning. Good anecdote time, especially if it segues into the next song.
5. "I meant to do that." is part of your repertoire. Be a cat.
6. Don't blow through people after you leave the stage. Many of not most come for the meet and greet afterwards.
7. Sloppy drunk or high is bad, mkay? A nice buzz is great. Enhances your interactions. Falling asleep on stage is really bad.
8. As part of #7 - eat before you drink before you go onstage. No burritos, nice and light but enough to mitigate what lies ahead.
9. If you introduce me to your mom with the words, "You two have a lot in common," you are so off the list.
10. Share with anyone in the venue that has a direct impact on your sound - sound guy, lighting, the girl bringing you drinks...all of them.
11. Really, stop looking at the neck.
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