Saturday, February 27, 2010

The Experiment


Journal: Thursday, February 25, 2010. 4:45 PM

The past two weeks I have been the evening engineer for Olympic coverage for Latin America. As always, it’s been an inspiration to see the results of such hard work and dedication. And then I look down at my gut with a stained wife-beater and a couple beer cans screwed into it… one for my beer, one to spit my chaw juice into.

I don’t have, or have ever had, athletic ambitions but the achievements of the Olympians, medals not withstanding, bring me back to my music career and my album. You are doubtlessly growing tired of hearing about my plans instead of hearing about results and progress.

I couldn’t agree more so this blog is no longer about what I’m planning to do, what I need to get done or what I hope will happen. I’ve given myself a “results only” rule. If it hasn't happened yet. I'm going to talk about it.

In the past couple weeks I have also been enjoying my new box set of “Band of Brothers”. I know it was on a million years ago in media time, but it’s an awesome relevant story for any time.

If you haven't already seen the 10-part series you simply need to. Not into war or historic movies? You need to watch it. Are you soft, pink and oily? You should probably watch it too.



I have found the story of the 101st Airborne even more inspirational than the Olympics. Seeing once again what they, and every soldier during the war, endured, overcame and sacrificed, my own life seems so blessed and pathetically easy.I also look forward to seeing the next WWII production from this same team "The Pacific"... as soon as it comes out on DVD for no-cable-or-satellite me.

I take another sip from my beer.

BLEEECK! -Wrong can!

As a result I am embarking on an ambitious 21 day experiment.

Ya wanna here about it?

Too bad! Remember my new policy about discussing things I haven’t actually done yet?

Next week I will tell all… at least regarding the first week.

Hey, you don't really think I wear wife beaters and chew tobacco do you?

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Stage Fright

Journal:
Saturday, Februrary 20th, 4PM Stage A, Tennis Channel Hayden Studios

I have been working seven days a week since the Olympics began and happy to have the work. I can also use it as a lame excuse for why I have no idea what the rest of this blog will be about as I sit here and type.

I am on stage sitting behind a lock-off camera while a host rehearses tennis news items off the teleprompter. There is only her, myself and a makeup person on the green screen stage. I have my laptop set up on a gray rolling case. I am wearing a headset in case the director wants to me to change the camera shot a smidge.

I brought my bass to work with me. If I get a quiet moment later this evening I will attempt to take some pictures of myself for a humorous movie poster fake that I have had in mind for a while. I'll post the result here on the blog as well as on my Facebook page. If I pull it off it'll be pretty funny.


...

Something just brilliant is bound to come to me any minute now...

Or not...

Well okay,  it's a bit embarrassing, but that's never stopped me before: Since I haven't been on stage very much in the past couple of years I think I have developed a little stage fright. I have been planning to prepare material to play locally by myself a sort of open mic set to get me started. I find the prospect of being alone on stage pretty horrifying frankly.

I think one of the reasons I became a bass player is so that I could be on stage without actually being seen. Many bass players are bass players for this reason.

In a classic paradox, once I was on stage though, I started resenting the fact that no one seemed to notice I was there or what I was playing. This is one of the many reasons I developed my unique style and have waged 'war' on the established guitar-centric popular music world.

Now, my stage shyness, realizing that the other half of my personality has put it on a crash course with he spotlight, has quietly found ways to keep me away from the stage. A sneaking fear that has made it convenient to put off going to open mics let alone practice the tunes I'm going to play. I have trouble even thinking about getting booked for a regular gig.

It's not being on stage itself that is the problem. Once I up there I'm fine. It's taking the steps to getting there.

Like any phobia there's no rhyme or reason to it. I feel nervous about being on stage by myself and especially singing even though I've done it before. Like many areas of my life I need some outside factor to trick me into action.

I was in a quasi band with another guy who was fearless about walking up to a club owner and saying. "I think you should let us play here." He is no longer around though and I can't use him for a mouthpiece and a crutch anymore.

I remember the first time I played solo at an open mic a few years ago. Someone on the Jeopardy crew asked me if I was playing out any where. "I'm playing at the Kibutz Room this Sunday," I replied.

"Great, I'll come see you," he said.

Oh oh!

Now I had done it. I wasn't lying, I was planning on going to the open mic they have on Sunday nights and playing a couple tunes during the acoustic portion. My subconscious probably took solace in the fact that I would probably blow it off for one reason of another and now those dreams of safety and comfort were trampled by the fact that someone might actually show up to hear me.

So I practiced, showed up and played. My friend actually came, lisen to me play and bought me a beer. He'll never know how grateful I was that he unknowingly pushed me out of my comfort zone.

I have attempted to do that on this blog: to hold myself accountable by making my goals known here. It hasn't worked as well frankly. Perhaps it's easy to assume that a goal I set several weeks ago like, say... "I will play in front of an audience by February," will be forgotten by everyone and I can sneak past without anyone knowing.

So here I am asking you to give me a hard time about any goal I set, any claim I make. Don't let me get away with anything. I need to play that Kibutz Room open mic and others... Soon! Don't let me weasel out of it, no matter what excuses I conjure up.

No wait... I take that all back... DELETE, DELETE!!!

I've been on stage hundreds of times

Saturday, February 13, 2010

All You Can, From Where You Are

Journal:
Thursday, February 11, 6:38 PM, Tennis Channel, Hayden Studios, Culver City, CA
This week I have been working on compact disk artwork for a friend of mine. It’s for a CD that I happened to play bass on as well on around 10 tunes.

The Winter Olympics start tomorrow and I will play a small, small…  small, small small role in them here at Tennis Channel. I will serve as engineer for a number of the Spanish language rebroadcasts that Direct TV sends to their Central and South American markets. This is a studio and we rent the studio space out to a number of other productions having nothing to do with Tennis. For example, today “Tosh.0” is taping on our main green screen stage. As I type, I can hear the occasional laughter/applause from the studio audience out on stage.

Saturday, February 13, 5:57:03 PM, Tennis Channel.
There was some excitement here about an hour ago. We lost power off the grid. It's not even as exciting as one might think though as we are on seemless battery and diesel UPS. Still, it was something out of the ordinary, especially since I was flying solo as an engineer; something else that's relatively new.

I am proud of the fact that I have been posting this blog every Saturday for fourteen weeks now without missing one. That may seem a simple task but for me that’s a great accomplishment. Consistency is not my hallmark by a long shot. That’s one of the big reasons I am having a hard time getting my album done. It’s something I need to be better at.

The mode of song writing is over and the actually work of recording, editing and mixing the album. I already have more songs that I can fit on two CDs, yet new songs keep coming to me. I have had to painfully ‘pinch off’ that flow while I work to package the songs already written. After that: administration and promotion. Now there’s some finger-painting paste-eating kindergarten creativity for ya!

Hold the coffee, pass the Ritalin.
--------
All You Can From Where You Are

Sometimes when I get discouraged I remember a quote from Nkosi Johnson, an African child who died of AIDS at the age of twelve, but not before significantly changing perceptions of HIV/AIDS in Africa and elsewhere:

“Do all that you can, with the time you have, from where you are”.

I think that is beautiful. It’s powerful, even if it didn’t come from a child who knew he was dying.

To are credit or detriment, we are today where we are, as a result our actions, inactions and circumstances.

Love it, hate it, doesn’t matter. It also doesn’t matter what those actions, inactions and circumstances were, they're done! All they can offer us now is some lessons on what might and might not work in the future.

Ah there it is: The future.

No matter how we strain our eyes and shine our flashlights ahead into the inky abyss of the unknown, all we can make out are illusions. Featureless shapes that shift and morph freely from our expectations and best guesses to the unexpected realities they suddenly become as the razor’s edge of the present passes over them turning them to stone.

We also don’t know how long that future will keep coming at us, in this life anyway.

Our lives’ are a gift. That’s how I try to see it. I’m pretty sure that’s how Nkosi saw his twelve-year life. “…In the time you have,” does not mean life’s a race to the finish line. It simply means life’s a gift, whether we use it that way or not.

The most powerful part of Nkosi’s statement is the first part: "Do all that you can."

To me that means don’t hold back, the old “Don’t die with your music in you” saying that has always hit home pretty hard with me. Whatever you have to give, give it; whether it’s good works, love, art, or professional scab collecting, do it, and do it well. Play your instrument as though there is always a master listening.

What it also means is that not everything is within our power. We shouldn't spend any time on what we can’t.
A great deal of what it will take to make our dreams come true and make us happy in life are simple things within our power that we are already capable of.

We just have to decide what we want from life, do the simple things that bring us closer to that end and keep doing those simple things when it gets hard, boring or unpopular.

 “Do all that you can, with the time you have, from where you are”.
Nkosi Johnson

Saturday, February 6, 2010

The Ledgend of Alabacious T. Bartholomew, Part II

Journal Friday, February 05, 2010 9:19 AM
I am back home and will be here for a while. I have not even taken my bass out of it’s gig bag. Shameful because I have to practice the next song I mentioned making a simple video of.

It often feels like there’s this membrane-like barrier that is just over my head. I make progress on the album, in my career, losing weight, or just habits and mental processes I want to change. As I climb higher I push against that membrane stretching it tighter the and tighter higher I climb. Some period of time later, whether it’s a week, a month or longer, it snaps me back to where I was before.

I can work to overcome obstacles both internal and external but breaking through the barrier to a new plateau, a plateau I won’t fall off of, seems impossible some times.

I think it is dealing with this barrier, not wealth, talent, intelligence or even ‘who I know’ that will determine whether I am successful with this album and other things.

I know I have to change what I am doing to get different results than I have in the past 45 years.

Some days I can see it, see the potential of what I am doing and see it reaching an audience. Other days I see this—my working on my album—going on forever. Today is one of those days where it’s hard to imagine overcoming myself and busting through that barrier. There’s always tomorrow though, and I am a lot further away from throwing in the towel than I am from finishing the album and getting myself ‘out there’.

The Legend of Alabacious T. Bartholomew, Part II
If you have not yet read part one this would be an excellent time to click on the Part I link to the Left.

When Reverend Bartholomew approached the board of deacons with the idea of replacing the church organ with his unconventional barbed wire gizmobass contraption there was much closed-door debate on the subject. Those who had visited Albacious’s farm to witness the monstrosity knew that half a row of pews would have to be ripped out to accommodate the instrument and that it would effectively drown out the choir. It was for this later reason that they voted unanimously to approve its installation.

The reverend set to work immediately to move his creation to the church and make good on his promise to compose new hymns for it.

This began one of Bartholomew’s most production periods in which he composed an over a hundred hymns and spirituals. The songs were less traditional than the hymns the congregation was used to singing. Alabacious thought the old hynms translated from German were too lighthearted and forgiving. He felt his congregation needed more fire and brimstone and that the songs they sang should be nearly as painful as damnation itself—to serve as an example.

His monstrous instrument served this end aptly.

No recordings of his early works and hymns were ever made but a few titles have survived. Recovered titles include: “To Hell In a Hay Wagon”, If it Feels Good, You’re-A-Sinning”, “You’re a No-Good Sinner”, “Sin Sin Sin”, “Repent, Rejoice, Repeat”, “The End is Nigh By the Four of July”.

As time went on Reverend Bartholomew refined his techniques and his skill on the instrument. He spent more and more time playing and composing for the psycho-gizmo bass and less time preaching and farming. His music was thriving but his life was crumbling around him.

His farm was going largely untended his barn falling into disrepair. He barely acknowledged his wife and children and could no longer tell Bobby and Bobby Jr. apart (they were not twins).

Sermons were thrown together and were often improvised lists of openly aired grievances with each member of the congregation including his own children and crying babies. Tent revivals soon became mere vehicles for his gizmobass; concerts where previously taboo things, like discussing foreign policy and breastfeeding, became commonplace. They were beginning to resemble an early Midwestern Woodstock.

The board of deacons had finally had enough. The Reverend was asked to leave the Church and his wife both to his brother, Edwin.

He wordlessly packed his Psycho-gizmobass onto its thresher and left town.

From that time Alabacious’ home was the road. He traveled from town to town playing in speakeasies and even speak-with-a-bit-more-diffulties. In this un-Christian world he picked up habits of eating with his elbows on the table, leaving his hat on indoors and using words like “darn” and “swell” without the “pardon my French” disclaimer.

Now that the Reverend was traveling mobility became a more important factor. He refined the instrument adopting the concept of a guitar-like neck and body. This also meant that large farm tools and small animals could no longer be hurled at the bass. The calluses that had formed on his hand from the barbed wire and a hard life of farming and bible pounding, however, had become so hard themselves that they served aptly as a substitute. He eventually removed the barbs from the wires, which reduced audience casualties.


An artist's rendition based on police reports
 
Alabacious’ big break came when he ran into a prominent musicologist who was traveling through the Midwest recording the folk music of the plains. The musicologist was killed instantly by the Reverend’s ungainly bass cart and the headlines from the accident eventually earned him the notoriety that led to recording contracts and an endorsement deal with the Sunshine Pork Rind Company.

The Reverend did not find much acceptance from his own though. Gospel and country singers refused to share a bill with him He became well known in folk music circles and moved to New York as a result, living for years in Greenwich Village. He felt compelled to preach to the artists around him, calling them “Satan’s cheerleaders” and “candy-ass commie sinning bastards”. They only found amusement in his fervor. He was very popular at parties despite his abrasive personality and his tendency to use his bible to “pound some sense” into any guest he suspected of fornication. Most in the art community saw him as an ironic amusement; an impromptu absurdist and performance artist.

He gave regular concerts in cafĂ©’s, small theaters and even in the subway. The Port Authority banned him from his subway concerts based on their suspicions that he had indirectly caused a derailment of the D train in November of 1949. Again, the press from his debacle served his career: A music professor from Columbia University invited him to play at the school which eventually led to a booking at Carnegie Hall in May of 1952.

Tragically, Reverend Bartholomew’s life ended a week before what might have been his breakthrough concert, thus damming him to obscurity. He had been bent on forcibly baptizing some teamsters with water from the East River. After many attempts to cleanse them of sin, it seems the teamsters did not appreciate his methods of salvation and returned the favor with cement shoes added to the equation.

It is not known what became of his psycho-gizmobass guitar or his body of work; scraps of music, a few scratchy recordings and a half eaten bag of pork rinds are all that remain of the pious preacher from the plains.

I’m not even sure how it is he has become such a big influence on my music with so little to go on. Perhaps it is his shear audacity of innovation that still hangs in the air refusing to go away until someone, like me, finds the perfect sound for his one-of-a-kind instrument, until every sinner has shamefully repented and barbed wire is back in vogue.