Get Off My Lawn!!!!

"Get off my lawn!!!" Remember that? You know the grumpy old neighbor that would yell at you for running across his lawn? That sad mean old bastard. Now. Now I occasionally have that same inclination. Damn. I'm turning into that mean old man all of us kids used to despise. Damn his eyes! *laughing* I say this knowing full well I'm not him, but I understand him now. The whole "empathy requires understanding" thing.

Kids lack the much more complex theme of respect. They confuse fear with respect. We adults still do. They immediately level the playing field and make everyone equal. The lines of property blur. Awareness of others feelings are drowned out by their own selves yelling out to the world "I'm here! Look at me!" This is being a kid. Self discovery. Triple underline the word "self".

It's not really about others until the teenage years. Then we become hyper aware of how others see us and having the conflicting feeling of wanting to be approved and assimilated by our peers and yet needing to rebel at authority to assert our individuality and our specialness. A balancing act hard to achieve with many stumbles along the way.

It was wondrous Hell being a kid. I couldn't wait to grow up. Getting control of my life. Or so I thought. Finding for myself that control is just an illusion to make us feel safer in this beautiful and sometimes cruel world.

I want my inner kid to live and thrive. I want my inner adult to lighten-up but still rule. Growing up diminishes the selfish tendencies and adds the understanding of others, re-enforcing the true reality of our connectedness with everything. To hurt someone or some thing hurts ourselves too. That we are not alone, nor can we every truly be alone, even though our bodies and physical reality seems to deem it so.

Yep. I want to hold on to the magical discovery and wide-eyed wonder of a child, and the wisdom and understanding of being a part of something much greater than ourselves.

September, Yucca Street, and Tree Living Punkers...

Sitting here sweltering at my computer transports me to 1985 Hollywood, Dire Straits - "Money For Nothing" came out, I'm seventeen years old, and my first studio apartment. It was hot like this, hovering around 100 degrees, my air-conditioning unit would ice up and I would have to chisel away the ice to get the cooled air out an into my 300 square foot room. In these "olden" times, Hollywood was much skankier on the strip. The day I moved in, there were all these women at my apartment complex. Lots of smiles and stare-downs headed my way like arrows at Little Bighorn, while I was unloading everything I owned in Chevy S-10 pickup. I thought to myself "Wow! I haven't even moved in yet and adventure is already swirling around me!" I started to talking to one girl, we were laughing and getting along pretty good, when more women came into the complex...then it hit me...internal dialogue-"Hookers!" Oh Hell...this isn't the adventure I thought it was. Embarrassed and feeling really dumb, young, and full of...I quickly unpacked my truck and stayed inside. Alone. You have to understand, that up to this point in my life, I stayed in my room playing guitar and never left but to eat, take out the garbage and mow the lawn. My social skills and worldly knowledge were of the pre-school age. *laughing*

Living in Hollywood at this time I grew up quickly, someone was mistakenly killed at my front door by a gang. It could have been me. My life threatened on two occasions by drugged out psychos, and someone else pulled a knife to take my candy apple red Gibson Flying V Heritage guitar from me. You know how many lawns I mowed to get that guitar? "Fuck you! You're gonna have to take it from me!" I pulled out my own knife that I always had cupped in my hand when walking the streets for this very occasion. Fortunately the guy found it to be too much work, so he just walked away cursing. Yes...I know...a Gibson Flying V...it was the 80's. I was in a metal band. I had just played the Rainbow Bar, I was underage, so when I to played, I had to wait outside most of the time except when and only when I was on stage. It was the time of Depeche Mode vs. Megadeth. You were on one side or the other. This is very funny to think about now. It was also when I saw the movie "This Is Spinal Tap" and when I seriously thought about jumping the metal ship and going to blues. Teenagers...

When you're seventeen, you think that because maybe you're smart, you know everything sans experience. It is in experience that life reminds you that you don't know shit no matter how many books you've read. I was humbled in Hollywood. Watching dumpster diving for food, drugs take over people's minds, whores puking up their job they just finished 5 minutes ago. Humbled.

One morning I went to my truck to go to the grocery store and my truck hood was all dented in and scratched up. There was a small group of punkers who practically lived in the tree above my parking spot. One of them apparently fell asleep and fell out of the tree and on to my truck. They were really sorry about it and they pooled their money together and bought me a case of Keystone beer. I was really mad, but I couldn't be mad for longer than a minute. I realised these guys had nothing. Not even a place to live. If you take the money they spent on the beer for me, it probably was 60% of what they had. Damn. That's a lot. In my mind that case of Keystone was one of the biggest offers of restitution and compensation from someone in my life.

I still think about those guys every time I see a parking lot and a big tree looming above the spaces. You never know what might drop out and change the way you look at things forever...

The Grand Illusion...

Art and Money. The grand illusion, and the great mind fuck. We need to stop trying to put them together. Money is made by a lot of things, but art isn't one of them. It's by demand. You wanna chance at making money? Be popular. Of course you can't decide to be popular. You are chosen. Popularity by itself does not even guarantee financial gain. Hence, the mind fuck. Artists should just try to make good art, art from within, truth or anti-truth, make their own way, and acknowledge art is for people. Money may or may never come. That is the true fact.

The idea that good art will bring you money is wrong. We all know a lot of bad art makes huge amounts of money. The idea that hard work will bring you money is wrong. Full time artists and coal miners can attest to this fact. Pure popularity alone will not bring you money, but it helps. The reality is that when the light shown upon an artist making him or her known to the populous, them being accepted and demanded by others increases the artist's worth in the monetary sense. Demand. Build demand and they will come. Pure economics.

Economics tell us that too much supply makes a lower demand and short supply makes a higher demand. If we go further...it's not just the amount of demand but the amount people are willing to pay. That's why some people see subscription service as the future. Small amount to pay but huge amount of people. Verses the other model of high amounts sold to fewer people.

However you wanna play it, it comes down to demand. That is the mysterious quotient, the hidden ingredient, the mystical mumbo-jumbo that is just what it is, like Nature, we don't have any control over it. Some people say you can, but these are the same people who will tell you about it for $39.99. *laughing*

If we as artists can just accept this like we do about many other things in life, we can get back to doing what we do, let the people decide what they want, and finally see who the "man is from behind the curtain".

You'll find it's your Uncle Vito, your niece Petunia, your neighbor Mrs. Feldman, and that damn asshole who almost hit you when you were crossing the street.

Remembrance and Residue...

The next morning from last night's show is always an extra hazy one. A happy hazy one. A slow moving 8mm movie morning that might even run into the afternoon. The strong urge to not really do a damn thing and just be.

So much happens during a show. It's like riding a roller-coaster and then trying to describe it. Hell I don't know what happened, but the next day, when everything is in slow-motion I can remember...and feel the residue. If you are quiet enough you can feel the residue running through your veins and mind. Of course it might be just the magic brownie/cookie I ate the day before, *laughing* but seriously, going deep inside I can replay everything. When I mean everything, I mean the "feeling", not the events so much. Movement is the facilitator of emotion for me. How I move, walk, or jump will push my emotions up or down.

I know you might be thinking "Dude...it's just a show. Some songs...and it wasn't even a big show. Why all the hubbub?" True. Though for me to perform a show I have to get emotionally involved and to connect with whomever is out there or on stage with me. It affects me greatly. Putting out all that energy weakens me a little the next morning, hence my dazey-hazy ramblings and perception. I get a second rush of endorphins the next day. Happy doing what I'm doing, even if I don't know how I'll be a able to go to the grocery store or pay my bills. I am crazy? Most definitely. I am humbled to be a full-time artist and I am grateful.

Record and Release...

Record and release...inhale and exhale...that's how I liken it. I'm beginning the next EP "Paper Sun" today. I'm in no hurry, heck my newest EP "Los Feliz" won't be officially released unto the world until this Sunday...August 23rd. No physical copies will be made. It's a first for me. I'm an old-school music man...I like physical mediums. I don't like it, no matter how much it makes sense financially. I need to bone up on my financial skills though, however feeble they may be, it's about surviving now. So no Limited Edition Vinyl, no CD's in any packaged format. The people have spoken (most of them anyway) and they couldn't care less about it being in their hands, couldn't care less about large high quality graphics, even sound quality. It's about convenience these days. Portability. It used to be radio took care of the music portability. That's dead. The lack of a music loving DJ has turned a once personal and creative endeavour into a spew from the highest bidder. It's down to us. We are our own DJ's.

It is word of mouth now.

"World of Mouth" actually. It is quite exciting in these Wild West Days of the Digital World. The Old Analog World has fallen, and in the little gap between worlds is high adventure! What's gonna happen? Up until even a few months ago I didn't even have a glimmer of what might be. I do now...and it's exhilarating to be at the beginning of a movement!

I must kill my old ideas of "how it used to be". The only thing that will remain from my old way of thinking is to try to make everything I do the best I can. No short cuts. Art is about people, not technology nor accounting techniques. The mechanisms have changed but the art shouldn't. I'll use technology as a "tool", not the maker. The rest is to the wind!

Okay...now I'm gonna warm up my recording gear...yes...it still needs to be warmed up. I am from another world, making my way into the new one...

Record and release...

Ineffable...

Here I am trying to express the inexpressible...all things ineffable. Leaving me tongue-tied. Some words that have vastness of emotion are easy to talk about...Hate for instance. It's simple to me. Perhaps it's my idea of it. I cannot say that I truly hate anyone. The thing that stops hate in its tracks is empathy and understanding. Not matter how vile and depraved someone can be, I see the humanity in them, the confusion, ignorance, and self-loathing that brought about their downfall. If I believed in the Devil I'd feel sorry for him too. What kind of man am I? Is this inescapable empathy for all things one of my many great weaknesses or my saving grace for my other "all too human" shortcomings? Hate is too simple. It simply doesn't exist in me.

But its apparent (I say apparent, because I do not subscribe to this fancy.) reflection, its opposite that so many equate to... is Love. So cliche'. So true. Hence cliche'. No words. So much passion and violence done in its name. Worth living for. Dying for. What can one say without continually waxing poetic over it so much that the meaning is lost and only clever words are left in its wake. Ineffable.

For me there is only Love and no opposite exists for it. For to be truly opposite it must have the same depth, power and scope...and I have found nothing to equal it, opposite or otherwise.

Simon Cowell I'm not...

So...my friend Edwin Decker sent me a message asking if I might fill in for him as a judge for the Viejas Casino Country Band Contest. I have never judged anything before and I'm always game to a new experience, so I told him in no uncertain terms "Hell Yes!".

Now here begins the quandary. I don't wanna be a poison-pen critic who slices up their artists for the mere pleasure and power to do so, at the same time I don't wanna be a milk-toast writer who just white washes everything until it's so bland you can't sink your teeth into anything. To further things, I am an artist. I'm on stage all the time. Stuff goes wrong, even badly wrong. I've walked in these band's shoes a thousand times over. I know. I empathize. That being said, I can criticize because I've been doing this thing for 20 years and I've seen it all. So here goes, the evening progressed as follows:

I met my Judges Cathryn and Richard at the Judges table. I've known Cathryn in the San Diego music scene for quite a few years, but Richard I just met. An old pro like myself, I instantly liked him. The judges table itself is smack-dab in the middle of the room, on a riser 3 feet high with spot lights highlighting every move and expression we make and microphones, for our commentary after each band plays a 30 minute set. Simon Cowell immediately comes to mind. Ugh...the man everyone loves to hate. Well...I ain't no friggin' Simon Cowell. I'm not a pure critic. I am an artist, but please don't let me sound like Paula Abdul! *laughing* We searched around for pens and the first band is announced "Ward James and the Ramblers".

Ward comes up to the mike a proceeds to tell everyone that this band has only been together for four days. He had a "disagreement" with his former band. Okay Ward. We now know. They start playing and it's immediately obvious they haven't been a band long. Very jittery beginnings and endings. The Wramblers are young. A lot younger than Ward. It turns out they were all 18 except Ward. I liked the bass player, he had good energy and a solid bass player. The guitarist was good too, he just needs to season and age and he could be a great guitarist. All of them do. They could be a really good band in time. Just not tonight. Ward has a good voice, especially when he went to the Johnny Cash baritone. He traded solos with his guitarist, which was not a good idea. He seemed to have his mind on other things and was very sporadic and unmusical. Leave the solos to the lead guitarist and sing your butt off and get some crowd rapport going Ward. It will serve you well. The crowd was excited. Mainly because they brought out a bunch of fans, a good idea. There's power in that, and they needed all the support they could get. When it came to myself commentating on their performance I could've easily drew blood with all the criticisms, but why? They knew everything already. They were on stage. They knew how it was supposed to be. So I just accented the positives and told them it takes moxy for a young/four-day band to get up on stage and try to win a contest.

Next up is Justin Newman.

It's just Justin. No band. Wasn't this a "band" contest? This can either bode well for him or not. Solo acts can be a double-edged sword. Truly powerful or disastrous. Well...it was disaster.

Justin decided to use a loop machine and a heavy metal guitar pedal for his acoustic guitar. Always a bad idea. Use an electric guitar for electric guitar sounds. Use an acoustic for acoustic ones. Hello?! Technology isn't that wondrous yet! I couldn't hear his voice because of the metal acoustic-guitar was too loud. He didn't have the guitar chops for that type of guitar sound either, and is this supposed to "Country" music? I know it's good to push the envelope, but it's just not appropriate in this genre. Even the Blues Brothers had to adjust so they wouldn't get anymore glass bottles thrown at them! The next song...more fiasco. This time he changed the song he was gonna play and forgot about the different tuning he needed to do it. So rather than stop and tune, he proceeded to continue completely out of tune and tried to fix it mid-song. Bad idea Justin. Just stop...say "I'm tuning 'cause I care" and start the song over. Better a false start than four minutes of nausea inducing out-of-tuneness. Is that a word? Nope. *smile* Now hears the kicker, when he turned off all his loop and metal effects and just sang "Wicked Game" on his acoustic, he kicked ass. If he would'a just let himself be himself with out all the wiz-band-doo-dads, he might've won this contest. His voice was that good. But no. He didn't. He lost me, lost me, had me, and then lost me again with his final fiasco of a White Stripes tune with the metal guitar. White Stripes? In a country show? With a metal guitar? Really? Okay...

City Limits hit the stage. Slowly. Really slowly. "They don't tour" is what I thought to myself. They took forever setting up. Weekend warriors with some corporate party experience under their belt. I was a bit wary when I saw the singer/guitarist plug in his glowing LED electric guitar. Thankfully there wasn't a fiasco, fireworks, Pantera solos or such. They were a very competent band. The sound guy should've been shot, but it wasn't the band's fault. The sound guy thought it would be a good idea to have the kick drum be the loudest thing in the room and that it should sound like it should be on a Motley Crue album. Yes...sound guy...I'm talking to you! This is a Country band show and its the snare/rim shot you should here prominently, not the kick for rock/house music. Anyway...I digress. This is the thing. You know when you tell someone "Yea...that guy is a really nice guy." ? It isn't so much of a complement as an insult. This band was a nice band. Granted, no fiascos, but they're are walking the fine line of mediocrity. Nice. A nice band. I'm just saying...put some more life into your show guys. Take some chances. Have some fun, not just hitting all the right notes and the right time. There is more to music and performance. The audience liked them, many danced. Of course the audience would like them. They are a good band.

Oh...that reminds me...what's up with not being Southern and singing with a Southern accent? I'm from Memphis. The South. I've lived out here for a long time. Even I don't have a accent anymore. Why is it that this really thick drawl comes out when the song starts? The thing about country music is that it needs to be sincere. Sincerity is what makes a good country song. When I hear someone impersonate a Southern accent, all of the sincerity goes out the window. You use your own voice that you were born with and sing the truth...and the people will listen.

Lastly...Tequila Rose comes out for their set and the final band of the night. They are tight and relaxed. The singer Rachael is a good singer, not amazing, but she used her sass and woman power to her advantage. If you got it, use it I say. No southern accent and doesn't sing with one. More honest I think. The harmonica player is good too. They played "A Thing Called Love" which was the best song of the night. Good blues harmonica and electric slide. Being from Memphis...this helped win me over. Their bass player was rollin' and ramblin', laying down the groove solid and free. Free...yea...this band was actually having fun on stage. This is what's its about! Fun. The audience participation was less than the previous band. Perhaps they didn't really bring many people? But in the end the crowd yelled for them the loudest, and I agreed with them.

Side note - Ed. Ed you brotha-from-a-different-motha! Thank you for the Patrone shot that Colleen (I believe that was here name) gave me last night. Colleen, if that is your name...you're a too-cool-for-school-trouble-maker-lady and I thank you for the welcome you gave me for my foray into the land of Simon-Al-Paula-Freak-Show.

I'm gonna go back to sleep now....