Same as it ever was
Not really.
I haven't posted here lately because I have a highly secretive blog going with a couple friends of mine and that has had my attention. I can't tell you what it's about, but I can say the end result is supposed to be a movie. Maybe if I feel like giving you a treat I will "double-post" some of the fine entries.
So, I got to go to Murfreesboro, Tennessee today and man are they booming. I asked a few of the kind citizens about the town and all they could say was "Man, we are booming down here." I guess so.
But still, honestly, what do they have? All I noticed was a kick-ass City Hall, lots of traffic problems and an identity crisis. Boom on 'Boro.
There's a big
blogger meet tomorrow night right here in Nashville, TN and you're invited. (I can only make that last statement because I was invited and the big cheese told me I could invite anyone I wanted - and that happens to be you).
I just had an interesting discussion with a random man on the sidewalk in front of my house. I was checking my mail box and somehow a hello transformed into a full-on inquiry about the nature of innovation. Can it be taught? Can you put a group of top managers in a room and hope that something truly innovative comes out of it?
We decided that it comes down to the people and that the creative "gene" is uncorked at an early age. But, I also posed the question of creative types who close off their ingenuity for the sake of "becoming successful" in the most mundane and straightforward money-making sort of way. The guy in the tie who wishes he could just....let....loose once in a while. It's surely still in there somewhere. Sort of like the Viagra spot with the "wild man" who used to get hard looking at a Farrah Faucet poster and now sees Brittney Spears as a night of hard work.
We also discussed the education process. He happened to be a grad student from a local University and quite literally was questioning his life. "Is this what my life has come to?" I always have the most interesting discussions with this guy. He's actually my neighbor.
So, band practice is about to crank up. We're working on 8 songs for our debut show which will also be our cd release party. We're not jacking around here, man. And yes, I will be wearing J-Lo shades that night.
My next post will be called "The convenience store guy's dissapointment." Until then. Your life is mine.
A big baby
So, yesterday I find out that the sound is traditionally harsh underneath the balcony at the Ryman. Now I feel like an ass because I ranted and raved about how bad the sound was for Elvis Costello, but I guess it's simply a flaw in the venue.
Sorry "vis".
I really don't have much to say at the moment because it is the first nice day of the year in Nashville and I am sitting inside looking at it. Oh, now... don't get me wrong, I've been out there. Soaking in the sun through the moon roof in my sweet new ride.
There's a man on the loose in Nashville. They're calling him the "West Side Attacker" and he's broken into or robbed over 20 homes/people. His attacks are becoming more brazen by the day and it is almost as if he wants to get caught. Sometimes I wonder if this is the natural progression of a criminal's mind. Every new crime has to up the ante on the risk factor. This has to be the case because it is very likely this cat could probably just walk away from it now and not get caught. I think that's probably true with serial killers too. They just can't leave it alone because it becomes the reason they wake up in the morning. Pushing the limits of their twisted minds. Surely church won't touch them with the intensity of a slick new murder mystery that they have written themselves into. Then it probably gets to the point where they are sick of themselves and don't really care if they get caught or not. That is truly fascinating in the sense that I think humans are genuinely wired to be good natured and no matter how crossed our impulses become, there is always a universal "grounding effect" that wins in the end. "I give up. I was wrong, I just couldn't stop doing it and now it is a relief that you have caught me."
Things work out.
Well, I need to get outside for a while. Catch you later.
I know his aim was true
Saw Elvis Costello last night and I think it would have been a good show if I could have fucking heard it! I am serious when I say I was in row X (which is a mere 24 rows from the stage for you non-linguists) and I could not hear his guitar for most of the show. Normally I wouldn't give a rat's ass about guitar - because I like drums and if the drums drown out the whole band it typically makes me happy - but tonight not even the drums were getting in the way. (I'm not even sure they were mic'd. Surely they were, but it was one of those deals where the toms were loud and clear and the bass and snare were lost... gone... smothered in a oozing lava of keyboard).
Ok, my thoughts are jumbled right now because Elvis is one bad mother fucker and I was just floored at the nearly impossible feat of him playing at the Ryman Auditorium and dealing with bad sound. NOBODY sounds bad at the Ryman, not even Styx who I saw there the night before. And if you can dial in Styx, surely a straight ahead act like Elvis and the Imposters is child's play. Wrong.
The set was minimalist, the lights unfancy, and the band was simply bass, drums, guitar, voice, and keyboards. The Ryman mystique was in our favor and everything was in place for a perfect show. And surely it couldn't have been a physic's abnormality - but yes... a sonic mystery unfolded right before my ears.
It was as though a fuse had blown and the band kept playing. We've all been there, the show cranking along, when boom... the amps are gone, but you can still hear the drums and vocals in the distance. Total buzz-kill. Ok, it wasn't quite THAT bad, but you get the jist.
Even with all of the sound issues, it was still a good night. Elvis has a way about him that brings out the "good people." I was keyed in on a guy about 10 rows in front of me who was jumping and flapping around and all I could think was, I bet I would have a good conversation with that guy. Same with the people next to me and those I couldn't see in the balcony. Elvis is a common thread for thinkers. I think.
About half-way through the show we were offered a bonus. Emmylou Harris came out to a thunderous welcome and sang a song with Elvis. Then she sang another. And another. And another. And all the while, I'm thinking, "Ok, thanks for coming, but that's enough." She finally left after the fourth or fifth tune.
Yeah, I'm being a little harsh, I know she's a legend, everyone loves her, and she looks great for 60, but I did not go out of my way to get free tickets to see an Emmylou Harris show tonight. Seriously, am I wrong here? I think a couple songs is fine... Maybe three, but four or five? Too many. Bring out someone else if you want company, man. And I probably wouldn't even be bitching so hard if he didn't invite her out for a SECOND time at the end of the show. She had to do 7 songs. That would have been like Styx having Kenny Loggins sing Come Sail Away for the encore.
I have no right to let loose on someone like Elvis Costello. He is critically acclaimed and a certified song-writing genious. He puts the chill in cool and has done nothing to harm me. Then again, you never know, he might agree. We all know he's from another planet, but not everyone recognizes that he's not perfect. Even though he is, but that's another entry.
If you want to read something nice (and far more intelligent) about the Elvis Costello show at the Ryman, check in with this front-row
ass-kissing reviewer.
They didn't get the damn shot
At about 10:00 CST I was walking through the office and someone asked, "Did you hear about Michael Jackson?" No! What? "I think he has fled the country." You're kidding. "Nope, he didn't show up for court this morning and not even his lawyers know where he is." Damn. Really? So, you think he left the country. "Stranger things have happened." Wow, is that an understatement.
Thirty minutes later I was parked in front of the TV watching Fox News Channel with an eerie feeling like I had seen this before. There was a camera posted on top of what seemed to be the entrance to the court house aimed right at the street. Not much was happening except some guy in a dark suit with long silver hair was standing next to a hot brunette in a skirt and heels. She was talking on her cell phone, he was looking at his watch, than at the street. He did this repeatedly.
They of course were looking for Michael and the voice on TV was his spokeswoman trying to moonwalk her way out of another jam. "Michael is very aware and diligent with regard to making his court appearance. It's just that he had severe spasms in his back this morning and had to be rushed to the hospital."
Subsequent reports uncovered that he did indeed go to a hospital with back pain, but you couldn't help wonder why he didn't call his lawyer. At least I wondered. Then I got to thinking, maybe I can see why. He's probably a little depressed and we all know how the blues can take away our urge to talk. And besides, Mike is a soft spoken gent as it is. He's also a little self-centered (which in my opinion is a major reason for depression).
Now, I'm not going into the case because I'm not there. I haven't read about it and unlike Geraldo, I am not going to shave my pubes if he gets convicted. I just think that Michael genuinely lives in a fantasy world. One created by fame and one accelerated by himself.
So, millions of us hear the announcement. If he is not in court by 9:35 the judge will revoke his bond and Michael Jackson will be arrested. Then we're informed that he is about 8 miles away with 5 minutes to spare. I'm on the edge of my seat. FOX is counting it down... There's no way he can make it... It wouldn't seem that way, but reports have his motorcade moving at 90 miles per hour. (I was genuinely disappointed they didn't have a physicist handy to do the calculation).
And there the camera sat. Perched above the door. Come on man! Where's the shot? The copter shot of the motorcade? This whole thing reeked of porn without the lesbian scene. I was sure he was in a Ford Bronco and the LA Highways were cheering him on like OJ. Another white black guy on the lamb from LA's finest.
When his black GMC caravan rolled into the court yard (and was it just me or did they pull up on the sidewalk?) there was no fan fare, just 3 or 4 guys who hustled back to Michael's truck and helped his limberness to his feet. And, just like it was choreographed, there was the infamous Joe Jackson holding the umbrella as Michael gingerly walked toward his living grave. Classic.
There is no bigger fan of Michael Jackson's music than I (with the possible exception of Michael Jackson) and his legacy only grew stronger in my mind when he showed up in pajamas (I think if I were pressed, I might have predicted it), but all I kept thinking was this man is either a genius or is completely fried. Yeah, tell me something I don't know right?
I guess what I'm getting at is I have no idea why I was watching and why I tolerated several co-workers popping their head in my office and laughing like they were glad to see Michael go through this torture.
The truth is I think laughing at him is weak. He's an easy target. He has given so much joy to people in this world, but hasn't figured out how to give it to himself. It is genuinely sad, yet understandable.
Sometimes I think that it's too bad he wasn't just another normal "child star" who just faded away like Gary Coleman or David Cassidy. At least then he would have been forced to live in the real world. But no, his life had to be a long, delusional, and devastating fantasy.
The Origin of Rap
Posted in cooperation with The Matriculators and is a work in progress...
Let's cut right to the chase... Is the origin of rap music, along with its attitude and cockiness, linked to hundreds of years of oppression?
OR... Is it linked to country music?
WHAT??????
Is rap music itself the original "ryhme biter?" Well, after my visit to the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum today in Nashville, I think it would now be very difficult to disprove this.... Shall I begin with a few of the MANY examples I found seemingly around every corner?
1) Jimmie Rodgers, aka "The Father of Country Music" sang: "If you don't want me mama you sure don't have to stall, 'cause I can get more women than a passenger train can haul." (sound like any rappers you know?)
2) Endless pictures of Lester Raymond Flatt with his cowboy hat "pimped" to the side. (quite possibly a direct link...)
3) "Stringbean" from the blockbuster country music television show Hee Haw wearing his pants WAY below the equator. (coincidence?)
Based on this evidence, wouldn't it be more accurate if P-Diddy gave "mad props" to his boy and "OG" Jimmie Rodgers once in a while after bragging about how many bitches he can get? Can we actually say that rappers are being completely true to the game if they are only sending "shouts out" to their home boys, and not the TRUE Fathers of Rap?
True fathers of rap like
Webb Pierce, who dialed-up cadillacs with guns as door handles and silver dollars glued to the dash board. Pierce had more weapons displayed on his car than 50 Cent could ever script into his videos and the "realness" of Webb was that he drove through town flaunting his "gangster" prowess in the face of every cop in Music City.
All the world's a stage
The Counterparts at Exit/In - Nashville
Thou shall not fear Counterparts
He looked more like Tennessean celebrity columnist
Brad Schmidt than
Alex Lifeson, but he obviously knows how to play and the girl next to me liked his black leather pants. I'm talking about the lead guitarist for "Counterparts" - a Rush tribute band.
Yeah, I know what you are saying, "what on earth would a hipster like me be doing at a show like this?" Well, I am, in fact, kind of a Rush connoisseur. It started back in the day with "Fly By Night" and continued through "Moving Pictures" when I took a new direction in my musical tastes.
Rush began to intrigue me in the late 70's after the school burn-out* turned me onto FM radio. He was the best guitar player in our class and claimed that Rush was the band of note in those days. My first purchase was "2112".
I listened to that record hundreds of times and while I didn't understand the mechanics of music or how to play it, I knew there was something about Rush that was difficult. Three people putting out a complicated symphony that a mainstream audience could enjoy.
It was
Neil Peart who caught my ear first. He plays with force and intricacy at once. It's the kind of drumming that I cannot grasp, but relish everytime I hear it.
I would eventually pick up drums and can hold my own, but STILL cannot understand what is going on with Peart. The other night I was talking with some drummer friends of mine (who actually get paid) and they were saying how they don't feel any soulfulness in his drumming. Like it was simply written on paper and articulated by amazing chops. I disagreed, but they were coming from the Latin drumming perspective, which helps me understand their point, but none-the-less doesn't explain how a drummer that is continually put in
the upper echelons of drumming lore does not play with soul.
So, as you can imagine I was paying close attention to the "Counterparts" drummer and he was wicked in many respects. He played with speed that I can only dream about and had amazing chops to pull off some of the things that Peart did. But there was one small problem. He was doing it on an electronic kit.
In the day, Neil Peart's set looked like the inside of your local drum store. He played 360 degrees of craziness and used about 100 different instruments to get his signature sounds... The Counterpart's drummer did it by flipping a switch and my biggest problem with electric drums is they always sound perfect. Acoustic drums are not that easy to play.
Aside from the fact that he sort of "fudged" the part and his cymbals were rubber, he was pretty amazing. As I mentioned, there is no way I could even come close to what he did. I can't hear the breaks, let alone play them.
Rush is sort of a "musician's" band in the sense that even if a bass player hates the music, they respect
Geddy Lee's talent. Before the show several friends of the band told me that the Counterparts were "really good," and all I would say is they'd better be to attempt something like this. Promoting yourself on the radio, playing at
Nashville's premiere live music venue, and on top of that it is your first show as a band - yes, the pressure was on, and for the most part, they delivered.
The singer had a vague resemblance to Geddy Lee both in physical stature and voice. But his congruence with the latter many times reminded me of when Lee was in a stretch of his career when he wasn't sure if he would sing anymore. It almost seemed like it was painful for the Counterparts singer. But, the truth is - it probably was.
I don't know "jack" about playing bass, but this Geddy Lee impersonator (I really should get names when I decide to write about a band) was a "hell-of-a" bass player (how's that for insightful praise?). I'm not quite sure he played the
same gear either, but that's up to you fanatics to decide.
The Counterparts is a talented trio. They went after one of the hardest cover challenges in rock and roll history - and they are obviously passionate about Rush's music - but there was something missing.
In my opinion, I thought they were fun, but they just weren't that tight. There were several times when I saw them looking at each other with a hint of confusion and disappointment that they "missed" it. They are good, yes, but if they want to pull this off and do it right, they have a lot of practicing ahead of them.
My guess is it was first show jitters and rightly so. Rush fans are STILL rabid and they know when things aren't right. And things aren't quite right - yet.
* He's now a born again Christian.
Two hot women with the publisher of Midtown Flavor.
Great night gone bad
Picture above courtesy of
Uptown Mix (which I hear will no longer be happening and that is sad news for Nashville. Last year they had Los Lobos, Will Hoge, Better Than Ezra, Guided By Voices, Joan Jet, Big Head Todd and the Monsters, Ben Folds, Wilco, The Violent Femmes, Steve Earl, and Robert Randolph just to name a few). How I screwed this one up I don't know, but it's just another in the long line of missed opportunities. Therapy seems to be helping.
The inspiration for our new band
We are in the process of starting a new band all inspired by this woman.
Her name is Jocelyn and she's talking to a nice young boy at Chapel Bistro (Which I would like to ask everyone to boycott because one of the owners -on a drunken-stuper power-play fired a good friend of mine and since another one of the owners is Governor Bredeson's attorney it is a slim chance that justice will be served. It is very sad because my friend is one of the nicest guys you would ever meet and the restaurant had just come off of its biggest weekends ever. He was fired because the chef left the table linens out on the back pourch. Table fucking linens. Stupid world stupid man. I hope he finds help for his obviously unhappy life).
I was always afraid of these as a kid
Gotta love it when the "Fun House"
recording studio is your neighbor.
Home Sweet Home
Site of my future crib. Should
be some good "telescoping" into
the Embassy Suites.
The Drummer for Jocelyn
Blue Mother Tupelo
I give you one guess as to what this band was up to tonight. Go for it...
You're right. The blues... but not only blues, deep Mississippi blues. Greenville,
if I remember correctly.
The stage was set and the drummer was up front. Just how I like it. John is a mean looking sumbitch when he plays and he does it with the patience of a new father. I'm telling you, it's kind of scary when he lunges ever so slightly and comes down on the cymbals with both force and the grace of God. I would be scared out of my loafers if I didn't know him. He's a kind soul.
Dressed in earth-tone brown. The man and woman took me right back to the 60's, then lifted me to heaven with their harmonies.
The Cat's Wrap
How can I possibly forget how much I fucking hate eating "wraps"? Surely there must be a good one out there somewhere, but I have never come close. I don't like - how they cut them up like they are something different then a fucking burrito. I hate the sauce. And it never fails that I find the restaurant with a "chef" that thinks sliced turkey should come from a package hanging on a hook in the meat section.
You probably don't know this about me, but I also loathe onions. I am hyper-sensitive to their taste (yes, even when "you can't taste them") and will go out of my way, sometimes even tell old stories about how my friend and I wanted to start a restaurant called "The No Onione" (imagine rolling your "n" like it were in Spanish or something).
Tonight, I was very clear when I asked the cute young server girl with the pierced nose (I wish I would have done that at some point, but now I drive a BMW and live in a trendy loft and don't think people would give me my props) to give me the "Best Burger in Nashville," but make sure there are no onions on it. "Oh, you can't even taste them, trust me I don't like onions ..." whack! Cut her off mid sentence with - I hate to be a bitch here, but if they are on, in, or around my burger, I don't want it. Well, they put them right in there, huh? Forget it, I'll just have a turkey WRAP.
The minute she set it on my table I wanted to jam a fork in my scrotum because I knew I wouldn't like the taste, smell, or texture of this piece of crap - but I dug in anyway because "I was hungry". I wasn't even that hungry, it's all just a habit... eat because it's there. So I took a cautious bite and what did I discover? You guessed it a big, clunky, nasty, fucking chunk of onion. I was afraid to look down. Kind of like when you are bleeding, but are afraid to face the reality of the wound. But I sucked it up and took a closer look... and just like seeing one ant, then swiftly lifting the soggy bag of oranges to uncover an explosive army, I found my wrap LACED with disgusting, raw barf-triggers. I spit it out.
Now, I haven't been a server in a while. Well, never have been, but I have bartended for years and learned that you should listen to a customer and am I repeating myself here, but I clearly stated that I am not a fan of onions. She blatantly ignored that fact and served me up a disgusting wrap steeped in my poison.
She quickly took it back and had the "chef" fire up another one - and for good measure the kind soul put two extra pieces of ass-wipe on my plate the second time. Two more tantalizing pieces of "wrap guts" that I would be forced to plow through because I am in the fucking "clean plate club." Another superior nugget of wisdom dropped down my family tree. "Michael, now you eat everything on your plate, there are people starving in this world." Well, give THEM this crap. Or better yet, don't give me so much.
This world simply needs more moderately-priced restaurants that actually serve good food. How hard can that be? Trim your damn menu and do a select number of dishes the right way. More is not better. Or, if you want to have variety, do it like the Chinese - offer 300 different meals that are all made from the same three ingredients.
So, speaking of Chinese, I'm watching my neighbor's cat while they spend 10 days in Japan. I have been dying to take a vacation like that, but there is always a part of me that thinks, that seems like a long ways just to stay for 10 days. I'm the kind of person who would need at least a month to assimilate into the culture. With my luck I would just be falling in love with some foreign chick and have to get on the plane. Then cry my way back to Tennessee and write country love songs about a Japanese woman.
Anyway, the cat. What is up with cats? I like them, and they definitely have personality, but there is always something missing. Their lack of speech, I think. It's like trying to be friends with a mime. They are "cool" and everything, but it's like, "hey man, I am sad today" and they give you the ole "fake tissue" or something. If any other friend did that to you, you would probably beat their ass to a pulp.
Certainly cats are fun to play with, but face it, once they get bored with chasing that mouse on a string it all kind of goes to hell. "Hey cat, what do you want to do now?" They just look at you, then start purring or something. Nothing personal, but I feel a little strange being alone in a big house snuggling with a cat.
Well, I'm off to polish the Beamer.
www.pithinthewind.com
The Future is Now
Interestingly enough I may soon have the responsibility of three jobs for the same amount of pay. It's a long story with both happy and sad endings, but for some reason I feel a stream of relief this evening.
My friend Michael called at 7 am today and whenever that happens I'm thinking "Oh shit! Something must be wrong." So, I call him back and he's like "Dude, wanna get some breakfast?" I said, "huh?"
We ended up skipping breakfast and talking online marketing. It's an interesting time in the marketing world. So many rules are flying out the window that I can hardly keep from jumping myself. It is kinda freaky when some 16 year old kid knows more about what's going on on the Internet than a 40 year old marketing professional.
Truthfully it is exciting. The world is still about relationships and I think that is where I excel. (With the exception of long term ones with women).
Then I have a meeting with a radio executive today and he's telling me at some point in the near future you'll be listening to your car radio, watching stock quotes and (here's the kicker) punching a button in your car when a pizza commercial is on and ordering it on the spot so it's waiting at your door when you get home. I think that shit is funny.
He also talked about how each radio station will have a total of 7 stations in the digital world of radio. So long major towers and non-encroachmen rules. There will be 150 radio stations right here in Nashville. Which, he also stated is why satellite radio is actually in more trouble than people think.
I think he's right because people will always want a "local" feel to their radio station. Imagine the coolest XM radio station with a local connection that is totally dialed into local clubs and bands. It's human nature to support local unless local is a piece of crap. Time will tell whether or not radio stations will be able to reverse the trend.
Which, of course, is a similar dilemma for local television stations. The internet is pounding them in a big way. It is up to tv stations to use their current muscle and build a future that is -in large part - online.
On demand is the buzz word here and people will not go back. They will want their news when THEY want their news. No more of this News at 10 and if you miss it tough break crap. They will want to hand pick which stories they want, when they want them.
The good news is that people will always want that stuff and those who do it the best will always thrive. Just like any business. I don't care if you're selling pizza in pizza alley. If you are good, you will survive.
Going to dinner with someone. Catch you later.
Midnight At the Oasis
Remember that song? "Midnight at the oasis, send your camels to bed." What lyrics! I should look them up because even though I probably sang them a million times in my 78 camero (with Jensen Triaxel speakers and a Clarion power booster) that is the only line I can remember, except for "won't you take me for a ride." It's probably some sexual masquerade that slid right by my naive high-school Chuck Taylor wearing ass.
It's been a few days since my last incomplete post. I am contemplating what it means to be making my thoughts available for everyone in the world to see, but not getting any "comments" posted. Obviously people are intimidated by my terse entries.
Well, starting the band back up. A woman friend of mine is a supremely talented artist and we do a keyboard/drum duo thing. She sings and pounds the ivory, I dance and play drums. It's like the White Stripes in reverse, except that I think we are potentially more bizaare. Not to mention sloppier.
We wrote about a dozen songs together about a year ago and before the relationship grew into a convoluted mess of emotions. She ended up recording a lot of the songs with another guy (and it was probably a good thing because he is a talented mother-fuker). Now we are rekindled and ready to put it out there. I'll post something for all of you when we get it recorded.
Oh, I bought the loft. I'm so random... I just went in with a check book and listened to a little speal and said, sure, I'll take it. 180,000 dollar promise and I don't know what I want to do tomorrow, let alone 6 months from now when the place will be built. They have a saying in AA... don't make any major decisions within the first year of deciding not to drink. I just made two monsters (the other being a new BMW, which freaked me out enough as it was) . The irony is that the biggest decision I could make is probably walking through the door of an AA meeting, but I guess I shouldn't do that for a year.
Fuk it, everything will work out. It's just weird thinking about that sort of commitment. I'm mainly hoping that it is worth about 30 grand more by the time I move in in case I have to sell it. In the meantime I'll just sit here and try not to worry about it.
Stay close.
