Most Unusual Recording Experience; magic

So, Cliff, one of my Copper Creek bandmates from up here on Ballistic mountain, knows a guy who has let another guy we know set up some analog recording equipment in a giant log house which is not yet finished on the inside. I mean giant logs as well as big house. Huge timbers from Canada. Beautiful stuff.

The property is home to old lawn mowers, motor homes which tilt sideways, sheds, and just stuff that tends to bring out the sculptor of unusual things in me when I survey it. It is owned by a character sort of guy who knows more famous music gurus than I can remember to do the name dropping any justice, so I won't drop too many. I know Charlie Musselwhite, quintessential blues harp player has hung out there. Various bands and musicians have played and enjoyed cookouts there on his property. Another I remember is Doors keyboard player, Ray Manzarek.

Anyway, we needed some kind of demo CD if we want to hustle more gigs. The analog guy, who I knew to be an ace of a soundman from some other situations, was hot to record using his vintage, but primo, equipment and methods. If you'd have described it to me ahead of time, I would have been skeptical of the result.

We arrived before noon, were ushered inside and up the roughed in, temporary stairs to the top, unfinished floor. The bottom floor is mostly filled with wood working and construction equipment being used to gradually get the place built. This is a different world; the kind you only find in rural mountains and foothills. Of course there were a couple of mixed breed dogs, Sasha and Zox. I was pleased that they understood every word I said, and that they seemed interested. They remained outside.

There was no special sound padding or other obvious acoustical treatment in the area where we played, but for some reason the place worked very well. Maybe the shape of the ceiling or just the residual energy of those who'd been on the property in years gone by. All the buildings burned in the famous "Cedar fires" a few years ago. This log structure is built where once stood a large house.

John, the recording anomaly, was pleased that we were cooperative, and that we were prepared to play. He only had two microphones set up, with one actually doing most of the work. When he played back the first tune we played I was pleasantly surprised. The two acoustic guitars blended well and the vocals were stellar. The harp was not too bad either. I played it very conservatively but stepped up on instrumental breaks. This is more country/folk/semi-gospel, not in that order and only sometimes all at the same time.

The sound of this set up with John at the sound board is robust, and warm. I don't think I'd do an acoustic group any other way now if I wanted to record live, with everyone playing. I actually like to record that way at least as well as laying down separate tracks. Depends on what you are doing I guess.

It was really worth the 12 mile trip just to see the log house and the craftsmanship involved in this structure. And the size of the timbers. Huge. One main beam is something like 60'. Each end sticks out a ways and has an eagle head carved in it. It was hand chiseled by an Inuit Indian, I believe, up in British Columbia. A guy who makes real deal totem poles.

Dan, the colorful character who owns the place, has more stories than you can imagine. He's actually not that much older than I am. It was all spell binding.

We recorded 14 tunes. Only one or two did we re-record after first take. This stuff was going to an old reel to reel tape. Everything was tube driven. I have no idea what most of it was, but a sound board is a sound board, so that much was familiar. The main mic was a giant RCA thing that John calls his Bing Crosby mic. The other one he had just to catch the ambient room sound or something is what he called the Patsy Kline mic. Wonder if Patsy is K Kline or C Cline? I could look it up, but no, I won't. Both these microphones are definitely old school and expensive to buy today. That I know. Ribbon mics, he said.

I'm still stunned at the majestic sound. He put in a bit of echo I think. Not too much. It worked. This is pure 50's style sound recording, I'm pretty sure. Whatever it is, I enjoyed it. It took a little bit of adjustment to figure out when you'd be picked up and how much. I still can't believe the blend that was achieved. I'm all about the blend on things like this. The harmonies and vocals from Kevin, Lauren and Cliff were really on it. This will serve well as a demo to get a gig or two, or just so I have a solid representation of this adventure in my harmonica wanderings.

I guess we played a good five hours without much of a break. Not sure what took so long but I guess getting set up and acclimated took a bit; things like that. Laying down 14 tunes in a recording environment, in one day, and having anything half way worth a listen for a prospective venue is pretty good.

This is by far the most unusual recording circumstance I've experienced. It was also very pleasant. Can't wait to get my hands on the finished product. This is the 7th recording studio sort of situation I've played. For me, as little as I've pushed things, that is a lot. I've been lucky to play Sun and Ardent, and I can't remember the names of the others in Memphis--except one was at a school that had a nice fully equipped studio. Ardent and --maybe it is called Young avenue--or it is on Young avenue, or both--are the most cutting edge. I kind of liked Sun and the old studio which generally works with Black artists. Forget the name.

The other recording environment I liked very much was my first experience. That good friend in Greensboro, Joel, got me that gig. He may have done me a better turn than he knew b referring me to them.

A guy paid me to lay down harp on his unusual tunes. An engineer by day, and soundman at heart, had a basement made into a studio and it was pretty nice. I liked the people there, and the experience was truly a breath of fresh air and a relief during a time of stress domestically. A woman is to blame, of course.

Oh well, what can you do. Live and learn. And going forth learn to weigh the value of certain talents against the dearth of other, more important, qualities in a more rational way. Still, how could I trade that time of proving to myself that I could be a decent father to a little girl I loved dearly?

Ok, enough of that.

Thanks, Joel, for recommending me for that first recording opportunity.

They called me back in to play on their annual Christmas album that they used to make with musicians who had recorded there during the year. It was one of the few things (maybe one of only two) that I did for three years that wasn't related to caring for the woman-to-blame and her little girl. Believe me, I did not have the blessing and support of the lovely malcontent, even though I actually got paid some money.

I said enough of that. Sorry.

Well, I was told by Dan, the log house on forty acres owner, that I am welcome back any time, and that I can record on my own or with Copper Creek, or just come by for no reason. Someone is giving him a grand piano which will be in there before long. It won't likely being going up stairs.

There are so many instruments and things floating around there. I saw a pile of effects pedals, so maybe I'll see if I can experiment some time.

Here's the view of one end. I only had a minute to capture a little bit. I ended up on the junk side. On the other side is a swimming pool, a small cottage, a stage by the pool, and to the left it goes down to a creek and there are more trees and vegetation. The property used to be abundant with trees but the fire did them in.

Much gardening goes on there. It used to be zoned agricultural. The change up of zoning classifications is another matter altogether, and it hasn't worked well for Dan. You buy a place, work it, and plan your life based on the rules of the day. Then they change and can radically impede the progress of reasonably laid life plans. He seems to roll with the punches.

We played right behind those two windows on the top floor, at this end. You don't get much sense of the logs and such from this video. You can see one of the eagle heads to the right, atop all that scaffolding.

The place is actually more hospitable than I portrayed, and the things due to go in are going to make it a great jam house. He's tearing down the stage by the pool, "That's a fire hazard!", and laying one down out of concrete, slightly up the hill, to mention just one item. It is coming together a bit at a time.



Guess I just keep playing even though I always wonder why. This Saturday, if you are in the area, head over to Crest Community center because we'll be playing there. It ain't really rock n roll, and it ain't really not rock n roll. I'm sure I'll do at least a few minutes of some kind riffraff jazz.

Distilled Moments of Perfection

Every now and then I understand; I get it. Those times may be brief and fleeting, but they are the split seconds--sometimes minutes--which make life worthwhile. Or livable.

I had one of those moments tonight. For an instant, I had no thought of anything except, "this is great", as the rain and wind played their tune on Ballistic Cabin. I had just returned from an open mic night at Valley Music with Cliff and Linda.

I'd just finished making a sandwich which included a few good things, and a sprinkling of Richard's Delicious Seasoning. The rain picked up, filling the place with that muted sound which, if I'd opened a window would sound like a huge mass of people cheering or applauding. Or maybe thousands of angels surrounding the place doing a drum line routine.

I was settling in for the night and had not yet indulged the usual thoughts about what needs doing, what is not done, why am I so dumb, what will I ever do, woe is me, etc. No thought of any abstracts such as past and future, just the thought that I felt content, and pleased in that instant.

It seems that the real trick is to feel that good about life while doing things which make the world go round; like earning money, cleaning house, wooing women, wandering the earth...

At any rate, in that small moment of time, I think I had a grip on it, on life. Sometimes those moments are as frequent as one every day or two. Sometimes a year, maybe more, might pass without such a pause in all that bothers, or could bother.

Time passes between flashes of pure innocent pleasure, contented delight in being me (yet there is never a time when I would trade with anyone), where I am, how I am, at that specific point in time. I'm mostly OK with my life and my existence, (maybe passively resigned to it) but rarely so untouched by thoughts of the thoughts of others, my own shortcomings, blablabla.

It was a moment of perfection. I've had some serious ones which changed my life for a time. Maybe one of them saved my life many years ago. There I go, back to the past.

It was a fine time at the open mic night. I played with a guy who asked me to sit in. I didn't have a clue what either song was, but people appeared impressed, and said so. I'm so vain--if no one, or only one, had said anything I'd feel like I'd slipped up and queered the deal. (I like that expression because it is so almost politically incorrect. Even though it is technically safe and sound.)

I forget the song, but Cliff played a little tape he had in a portable cassette player through the microphone. I wish I could remember the song. It was a big hit for the Eagles, and the tape was of the guy who wrote it, singing it for the first time publicly, ever, by himself way back when, before he became part of the Eagles. Before there was The Eagles, I think. Famous song. Everyone but me knows it. Not the one about the girl in Winslow Arizona. Happy something or feeling whatnot. I don't know.

It was a significant little piece of modern music history there, and the only recorded record of it. The guy was playing Cliff's coffe house in the 60's at an open mic. They called it hoot night back then. You hear him say, "this song is really not completely worked out yet.". As it progressed, the crowd at Valley were blown away, singing along quietly. It was one of those tunes which marked a point the the lives of many people.

Well, I'm glad I could be so specific about the name I am dropping and the song he wrote.

If You Don't Live Here, You Really Don't Know

People are bizarre and difficult creatures. They are the best we've got, and I belong to that class of being, so I can't say I hate them. Some people say that, "I hate PEOPLE!". To me, that makes zero sense since the person saying it is a people. If you really feel like we shouldn't exist, or that wolves and bears should occupy our space, then off yourself, or at least make your dwelling a home for such animals. No cages allowed--just let them in.

The misanthropic cry does not always relate to placing bears or other creatures above humans. Often it is just an expression of dislike for one's species, pure and simple. When you look at some institutions, and behavior of masses and countries, it can be understandable.

My frustration--one facet of my frustration--comes from the tendency of people to think they know what it is to be me. They assume they know how my brain and self view operate. I don't even know. I know that even though I may have demonstrated some ability or talent in a particular instance, I often have no sense that I can duplicate that effort in any way. I didn't say "always". I said "often".

I know the difference between believing I can do something and feeling like I have no idea how to do the particular thing. Even if I've done it a hundred times. That cog wheels up in the gears that make me go and the screen goes blank. If I'm lucky, there is some way to fake the task, and maybe even get the gears going again in the process. Some things don't work that way.

To compound the annoyance of that glitch, I have friends who simply think I am being self destructive or a wimp and that I voluntarily lose ambition or continuity of effort. Some people, who aren't here to do it, have had the ability to help me turn the wheel past the missing teeth in the gear. I don't know where they are now--the ones who are still alive.

My plan is still to get past that, but I am sure I will endure the ire of those who do not understand what this means. People who mean well, and firmly believe that what is obvious to them is the totality of what will work for me. One day it will, and the next, maybe not.

I guess one manifestation of the way this works is how I am able to immediately see the solution to a complex puzzle, or what one player in a chess game can do to get out of trouble and win, at a specific point in time. Another day, I may be totally incapable of seeing how the simplest puzzle is solved, and would have not the slightest clue about what to do in the chess situation. I might spend an hour looking at it. It is not consistent.

Someone told me such things do not vary to that degree--that IQ does not vary to any significant degree like that. Well, in my case it does. Massively. I could give you some accurate numbers, but I won't.

So, once again the case is made that it is better to seek to understand than to be understood. You are out of luck if you expect to be understood. And I don't care if I am understood all that well. I do care if I am second guessed in ways which are far from the essential mark. Thus, I hope I do not do that to others. It is why I don't suggest too strongly to others what they should do with whatever talent and resources they possess. If their windows cloud over, or become screens for imaginary scenes, the way mine do, I may be suggesting the wrong thing, or in the wrong way.

The benefit of this kind of fog is that I think it can be harnessed in some way. It may be that great creations and ideas lurk in that mist. Lately it has been more of an effort than usual to maintain a clarity and focus. I think I'm cycling back into an easier phase. Maybe I am.

People are creative little bastards. Most of them know what they'd do if they were you, but not what they'd do if they were they.
The ones who have a real handle on what they'd do if they were they are the luckiest people in the world. And I am guessing that they are the happiest and most successful. I don't know what I'd do if I were you or I. Ain't that a pickle? I guess that given certain scenarios I know what I'd do. But overall, I really don't know.

And I have to guess that when it comes to me, you don't either.

An Old Plot Line

A teleplay I recently watched reminded me of a plot I've seen more than once. Spoiled rich heiress, or fiance of el jefe, or similar dame, is shipwrecked and ends up on the island or in the raft with the lowly boat help. Usually the heiress is a knock out of a white girl, and the peon is a swarthy, tough, intelligent Mediterranean or some such non-whitish guy. The woman finds him sexy, of course.

They argue at first due to her spoiled and unrealistic outlook on life, class, caste, and reality. Soon enough she is in no hurry to be rescued, as she schemes to invent ways to have him perform kinky acts upon her while making it appear not to be her idea. She at least arranges a thin veil of plausible deniability, just in case.

It would be great to be shipwrecked in good weather, land on an island which has easily obtained food, no hostile wildlife, plenty of water, and the dame finds me irresistibly clever and strong--in that Clark Gable don't give a damn way.

Actually I do better in that environment. Give me a piece of string, and some penny loafers and I'll build a shelter. Leave me in the middle of civilization and I can hardly make my way. I starve spiritually, physically, and emotionally. It should not be that way.

Civilization developed to provide safety, technical and philosophical advancement, relative peace, etc. Much has been accomplished since the cave days. Air conditioning for one. Go live in Miami for awhile and tell me you don't care about A/C. It should be good, but I have trouble.

The fault for this is not that human society is so evil or wrong. It is my inability to make use of, and recognize, reality in this setting. It is a fault of my conditioning, and possibly my organic make up. Whatever, I do not blame the world for the fact that I have not thrived in it. Just how it is. And it is not quite over, so who knows.

So, I think if all else fails, I will go get shipwrecked in the Caribbean. I prefer that to the cold Pacific. No northern oceans for me. I want the warm stuff, and I am afraid of everything in Asia so I may not go there to be marooned and lost.

I hope I find the right socialite/ hot rich, politically incorrect snobby lady to rescue in the process. Maybe this is a project that could grab my attention. "bout time

Maybe A Last Laugh; crime and punishment series

As the previous post amply describes, I feel a bit of disrespect and chagrin from the way the Orange Picker boys first lied to me, then denounced me publicly for no good reason. I am what I am and I was born when my mother saw fit to let me out of the oven. No crime in that.

If the previous post was too long to endure, here is the synopsis:
The young brothers asked me to play so I played few times with them in public
it went well enough
They asked me to play Monday night.
I said OK. Then they sent a message at 630 saying they wouldn't be able to make it
I went to the venue to catch other acts and see what sort of people attend
They showed up and didn't notice me.

When they were on stage, the guitar player went on about how the harp player they had last time was really,
REALLY old, in a context which seemed meant to explain why I was not there. And in a ridiculing, derogatory manner.
The event MC did tell him the harp player was good. That was nice.

I've been a little miffed, and sometimes angry, ever since.

Today, I get a message from them asking if I can play on Friday night at the Egyptian Tea room and hookah parlor. Oh, so maybe someone told you that you sucked last time out? And maybe said you were better when the harp player was there? I don't know. One can daydream.

After seeing the guitar guy do his very bad Rico Suave imitation while playing, I was grateful I did not play with them Monday night. Not something I care to be part of.

Beyond that, if you lie to me, then publicly try to defame me for condition of birth, I doubt we have much to discuss. Ignorant people, who are clueless regarding themselves and others, young or old, are to be avoided and afforded no extra respect. My feeling is that attempting to explain the error of his ways would sound like a defense, could result in me punching him, and generally be no fun and not productive.

But I couldn't pass on a little opportunity to reply. Joel thinks they may be too dense to even get the little joke, and the lesson in it, and I think he may be right. I get it and that is what matters.

After several hours I replied in text to their text:
Sorry. I'm playing a benefit at the OLD folks home.
Raising money for viagra, memory loss research, as well as ego disorders

This gave me a little satisfaction. How they take it, like it, or anything else doesn't matter any more. I ,at least, got to say NO, and in a way I wanted to say it.

I'd love to hear what you think, but I won't hold my breath.

I'd already agreed to practice with the friends up here on Ballistic Mountain anyway. They feed me and appreciate my old and feeble way of making a harmonica squeak.

I've tolerated betrayal in one form or another many times in my life, and when I got fed up I always wondered why I put up with it for even a minute. This time I actually cut it off immediately. If any further contact is attempted, I will not reply. Just had to throw this one out there so the clever and even the mildly dim witted would know what is what.

And perhaps they aren't sure if I was there, or if someone in the audience knew me and told me. I like the thought that they may not know.

Can't Be Cruel If It Doesn't Matter

This has been bothering me for 24 hours now. I'm not precisely sure how I feel about it. My reaction has ranged from pity, to rage, to unkind laughter, to simple acceptance.

Because I have not just let it go, I finally decided to write about it. At first I thought, "This is one odd event that I will never share with anyone.". But, eventually, I came to the conclusion that I had no reason to fault or belittle myself.

As I have mentioned previously, I met a couple of young guys at an open mic, and I liked the potential I saw. It seemed like I could enjoy jamming and playing with them. They thought the same and got contact info, then gave me a call.

We went over some of their stuff at a couple of practices, and played a couple of open mic venues with which I was unfamiliar. One was particularly good as far as the set up and the players. The other was interesting, and we played better, in my view. They definitely played better; smoother and more on time.

So, Monday, I get a text asking if I can play Monday night at the well set up venue. I was working in Rancho Megabucks, and since they didn't think we'd be playing too early, I thought it would work out fine. The place is not much out of my way if I take the highways home instead of the back way. I was working into early evening.

About 6:30 I get a text that says it doesn't look like they can make it. OK, I say, sorry to hear it. I didn't mind. I figured, since I was already in the mindset, that I'd go on my way home from work to check out the place; see who plays, the demographic of the crowd, etc. The other time I was there, we played and that was that. I never got a good look at the crowd or the other players. Stage lights, back door, and all that.

I showed up about 9, and after circling around in National Heights or whatever that artsy place is called, finally scored a good parking place, maybe 100 feet from the entrance. It is free so what the heck. I sat in the back and caught a few acts, most of which were OK, even if they didn't overly trip my trigger. I liked them for the most part. There was one combo that I liked fairly well.

My coffee and water were in the car so I went out for a little break. As I'm out there, who do I see meandering in with their instruments? Yes, the brothers Grim. The kids who couldn't make it.

On our last outing, I did sense some indication that the vocalist/guitar/front/man may have been letting his ego get the best of him, and that he might have a tendency to foolishly become a little too high on himself. Previously he'd kept the front man antics toned down, without the overly affected thing that makes a lot of people sound and look like asses. He seemed to be drifting in that direction.

Needless to say I was a little bit shocked when they cruised in. I was not sure if they saw me, but I figured the ball was in their court. I went in and sat down again in the back. At one point the younger brother walked right by me, but he does wear glasses and had come from the front where the lights shine in your eyes. He's in many ways more about the music than his brother, the self styled star.

So, after awhile the MC introduces the next act and there they are. This place is good with the sound and they work it out before each individual performance. The MC was hanging around up there, sitting on the piano bench while the guitar guy is talking into the microphone. Guitar Lad started talking about the other times they'd played there and how last time they had a harp player. The MC chimed in, "That guy was really good!".

Guitar guy, "Yea, yea, he's good, but that guy is really OLD. Really, he's xx years old!" (talking over the MC's reaction of So What?) "Old! An old man, geez. OLD man." The tone was one of disparagement, not awe or respect.
MC--What? xx is a spring chicken. The guy can play.
Guitar player--clucking into mic "test test test"

I'm sitting back both enjoying this discussion, and horrified, all at once. I'd been nice to these kids, and thought I could help them be better. After hearing their set, I know absolutely they were way better when I played. The guitar player started doing all this affected guitar face stuff, and his licks were too lame to make it work. It was embarrassing. When someone is too stupid to nkow they aren't smart, or too convinced they are charming to notice that none are charmed by them, I cringe.

He was so convinced that he was wowing the women or someone that he let his posing and jumping around take precedence over playing. The tempo was so inconsistent that the bass had to stop several times trying to get him back on it without being so far apart that the notes clashed. It could have been worse, and obviously I have a resentment which might make me a bit more critical.

The truth is, I had hoped they'd do great so I could assume my job was done there, and not worry about it beyond feeling sorry that the kid is too inexperienced or cowardly to just say they wanted to go it alone. I'd made it clear that they should do that if they ever felt like it. I don't know all their songs, and some things may not be what I should, or want to, play.

What stung or seemed like it ought to sting, was being publicly described as REALLY OLD as if that was a reason any self respecting young super star wouldn't have me on the same stage. Many in the crowd had heard me play last week. No one was laughing or gasping in horror when he gave his assessment. I think, to this crowd, he was sounding a bit idiotic.

Believe me it was all I could do not to stand up and say, "Hey, I'm the Old guy, come on down kid and let me kick your young ass into next week!" Which I could. Another impulse was to stand up and yell something as I gave the finger and walked out. Didn't do that either.

I stayed for the set, felt pleasure at the lukewarm applause, and the guitar guy saying the last tune, which included the most outrageous of failed theatrics, is better with more distortion and something(?) else. They use the house amps at this place. Believe me, effects would not have made it work, unless there was something that wouldn't let you change the beat mid-measure. I tried to keep time to it and it was impossible.

Justice, I suppose, but never in my life have I been classed as some really old guy who repels an audience or children or talented musicians.

I still don't know what to think, except that I overestimated the maturity and musical passion of this kid. I give the bass player a pass because he just stared at the floor while this went on and said nothing.

What may have had something to do with it was that when we played the tea room/hookah parlor, people were commenting afterward that the harmonica "really made it. That rounded out your sound, and made it work". Comments like that are always tough to hear when you are the front man. What I know, and they don't, is that I am the spice. What's a baked potato without some butter or sour cream or something? And how much butter or sour cream by itself can you really handle? It's the combination that is worthwhile.

I wasn't planning to go to music heaven or anything, but I thought I might record some tracks when they do the studio time they plan in the near future. From what I saw, they are not ready. The only word I will ever speak to them again is "no". I don't plan to ever even say hello if we cross paths.

It is odd that they knew who I was, and my age, prior to the last couple of times we played, and that they asked in the middle of the day if I could play, then hours later lied about being able to make it. But to be publicly defamed as a player for something other than my playing, as if I had done something to them, kind of indicates that the kid is unaware of how I play, and/or his focus is not on what the product should be--delivering a musical experience. It does put him on my forever list of people to leave bleeding in a ditch if I should ever happen by when they are in such a circumstance.

And another thing; did he not know I was old until late Monday? That is a compliment in an odd fuckwit sort of way.

Bless that MC guy. Having him immediately give his gut reaction when I was mentioned, and for it to be complimentary, was perfect. It left the kid sounding stupid--but, but, but he's old old old!

Well, I've aired it out, and now I hope to deal with something more healthy, interesting and --for God's sake!!!- age appropriate.

Considering the source helps, however this has affected me. I've been very quiet for a day or two. I played with my Ballistic Mountain buddies tonight. They are both older and younger than I, and classy enough not to ridicule me for being too tan, white, black, old, sexy or anything else I can't help.

Joel May Have Been Right

This has been a phase of confusion and doubt. Long time friend and arch nemesis, Joel, gave me a long lecture filed with analogies I didn't get, parables that were equally unclear, and illustrative stories that covered everything from Madonna to who knows what.

The maddening part is that all the ranting had an impact and was helpful in kick starting a return to a more pleasant and productive outlook. Some friends are willing to tell you when you a messing up, and I have the feeling Joel enjoys it. He'd deny that, but over the years this has happened a few times. Many years ago his blunt assessment of my state of mind and spirit was one of the influences that probably helped me save my own life.

Let me go on record as saying that admitting Joel is right is totally against my grain. Thankfully, he is usually wrong, or I have no idea what the parable means so I am spared the impulse to disagree with the point. But, there are times, when it counts, when he is right. This was one of them.

I'm unclear what put me in such a sea of self doubt and confusion. And free floating worry. Some things in my life are not bad. I think it is the fear of being able to deserve of be prepared for the good things that freezes me in my tracks as I watch myself sabotage the gifts life lays at my feet. I can think of many reasons why I have to do that, but none of them really make sense.

So, I went to the Egyptian Tea Room, and hookah parlor, to play their open mic with the two brothers. It was an interesting place and a tough crowd to play, but not a bad deal, all in all. It is a cramped space to play, but I don't think the sound was half bad and we did a far better set than I expected. It was the best I've heard them play, and the best I've done with them.
I found myself playing a little different approach from what I did in practice, and did not detect any mistakes at all. Maybe if I heard it played back I would be critical of my part somewhere along the line. I don't know. I forgot to bring my flip cam.

At any rate I think it made an impression. I'm vain and like to hear compliments afterwards. I know I played what I was intending to pay and thought it gave a unique sound. I sort of did horn section, and sort of rhythm. There were a couple of rides in there and times I encouraged a little energy when it was needed. It was a tight set.

No idea what is next in that realm of life. I guess a few more people around town know there is an old harp player about who doesn't play the typical stuff. The challenge is blending and filling out the sound, not the solo stuff. This was a delight. There are even times when the guitar and I run the same notes.

I wonder if the things I say have any influence on these kids. I hope so. My goal is to influence them away from certain pitfalls in life and toward the good stuff. My input is subtle and not of the lecture variety. Mostly by example when situations arise.

In other life, there is a little bit of work to do, and schemes to hatch. I've given up worrying about why I play my crazy harmonicas with people, young or old. I must like to play, and I must think I am good at whatever it is I do. Lately I've been trying to broaden the scope a bit. Oddly that can involve knowing when not to play or when to lay back. I thought I was good at that, but I am noticing I am getting better at it. That is because I am listening to my judgement more on it and not that of others. People tend to want you to play too much or too little on songs. They just don't know best.

That goes for many things in life--it seems like others know what is what better than I do, but they probably don't. Just because civilization confuses me doesn't mean the players in this system have the long term solutions to my dilemmas. Or that the know much. It was not all that long ago that they said in the press that cocaine wasn't addictive. That is just one example in which the current wisdom was devoid of value. Happens all the time.

The trick is to know when my own thinking or behavior is devoid of value. When I know that is happening, there are a few people I try to call because they seem to bring me back. It is a short list and I resist calling one of those people due to reasons I won't state. Just being polite mostly.

It is the fate of some of us that we tend to react poorly to life's events, if we aren't paying close attention. It is simply the first reflex to go left when we ought to go right. Knowing it is helpful, and knowing the keys to arming one's self against the self created turmoil and confinement is essential. The rest is just living. Life is, and most of it can't be changed. How it is approached and appreciated probably is within an individual's power to direct.

I try. And I have difficulty with it. But I haven't given up yet. That may pay off. If I can accept the good stuff and be prepared for it. Luckily, I don't have the compulsion to criticize others and expect them to live how I think I would live if I were they. Doesn't mean I don't observe, grade drivers as I travel and note those who cannot grasp what a true jam is.

Anywa, Joel was right and it is good to have such a friend. But believe me, the guy argues with me about whether he is arguing or I am, and I wasn't even arguing. Ever have someone ranting and raving then tell you to chill out? Crazy friggin nut. But right is right, and what can you say about that?

It was much the same message my cousin delivered to me recently. I'm luck to have such a cousin too. Without these people in my life, I'd be sunk. I wonder if I am just lucky, needy, both, or if this is how it is for everyone.

Don't Know Why, but who cares

So, despite my panic when barely glimpsing my life, I went ahead and practiced with the young brothers for close to four hours today; going through some of their original stuff and other things. Guitar players always have to throw in chord changes that aren't immediately predictable. I suppose if they didn't then all songs would sound the same.

The original songs are among my favorites. I'm kind of getting the idea. The main thing is that not every tune is a solo opportunity or the place to play single note runs. Fitting some rhythm and chords makes more sense on a few. I'm actually nt so used to that because most people want me to do a ride on everything. I think it is best for the big picture not to.

There is talk of a Thursday night paying gig up north of here aways, which may turn into an every week thing. I wonder what it pays? Considering California gas prices, it needs to pay something.

They said they've promoted themselves to this place--a hotel--as having a good harp player in the mix so I am expected to play.
Once again it is a situation in which I just kind of do what I do, and ou don't have to be too good--just sensible enough to go with what they are doing and avoid clashing. Also it is again rather challenging at times because this set up is different from what I am used to. It is a different twist from what I did in Memphis or what I've done here with Copper Creek.

I'll continue to play with Cliff and Kevin and Lauren, unless there is a conflict and one or the other has a paying gig. It appears the Orange Pickers are more serious about scoring that. And more available for it. I may be able to find something for them before long as well. We'll see when the time comes.

In the mean time I must sort and filter my junk and achieve some semblance of organization. It can lead to a better livelihood and for sure a better state of mind. That and measures to be healthy and in shape ought to brighten my day to day world view.

Bands Like This, and I Panic

So, I jammed and went over a couple of tunes with the Orange Pickers. The fairly young brothers who play guitar and bass, with the guitar player being the front man and vocalist.

Then they said there is an open mic tonight that is far different and more of a thrill than the one where we met. The thing is this place puts everyone's name in a hat and draws it like a lottery. The have enough acts that they only give you 10 minutes.

But you are playing to an small auditorium from a great stage, with a very good sound system. The lighting is such that you can barely see the audience because the only lights are stage lights. Very professional. And quite a few people.

I didn't see or hear everyone. One guy who played piano and sang was pretty good. I wish I knew someone in the audience or that we had recorded what we did. It felt like we did pretty well, and the roar from the audience when we were done was noticeably more enthusiastic than I'd heard. We did 2 tunes and took up every bit of ten minutes.

It is crazy but I swear this is the perfect band for me. The big hitch is that I'm too old for this nonsense. I get all enthused, then I look around and panic. What am I doing? When I step back and realize how pitiful it all is, I recoil from myself in horror.

Now I am not sure what to do. The Orange kids are all eager for the next practice, or they were, and I am thinking I need to do something else because I should have outgrown this kind of thing before those kids were even born.

I hate the whole music world as it relates to me. I don't belong here, dammit.

Loco Motion

Why do I keep playing? I play when the practice here in the neighborhood, which is a sporatic kind of thing so we never really get the game up to where I'd like. We also play some things that aren't my favs, but that can be good for broadening the skills. And I play more and more at a couple of open mic events which occur every week on Thursday and Saturday. I've done the Saturday one more than the other.

There are times when I question what it is I'm doing. I don't really get it. Last night, at the Saturday open mic, my friend Cliff was to do some songs that are foreign to me and probably not in need of a harmonica backing, so I just put my name on the play list separately. I had no idea what I wanted to do. I saw that those two brothers from last time were there. I call them Los Lonely Boys, but the call themselves the Orange Pickers. They must pick oranges sometimes, and I guess they like the word play. I also call them Los Gatos Naranjas. I like the spanish names.

Anyway, I asked if they wanted to come play with me when it came to my time. They had a couple of songs they thought would be bluesy so I said OK, we'll do those. They did very well. I like the guitar player's stye and vocals, and his brother's bass is not bad either. There were a few technical issues and I know what I'd do differently, but it was OK.

They called me today and want me to come jam and want me to play with them when they get gigs and such. These are kids, relative to me. Very young. But I think that lead guy has something and that they could make a go of things. So I will go tomorrow and play on their home turf. Maybe I can help them, or maybe not.

Right now I am in one of those mind states which is characterized by thinking I am not any good at all and should be doing something more constructive. It is amazing how I lose all sense of worth when it comes to music. I've been plaing like crazy lately, so I should be in good form, but all of a sudden, bam, it just dissolves.

There was a guy last night who came in with a very nice harp case, and coll bag of related things. He talked a big game too; claimed he plays jazz, classical, bluegrass, blues, you name it, and that he did studio work. I was sure he'd put me to shame and people would realize I am just an angsty lamer hacker.

When I played, he never said anything. Then when he got up there with the people he was going to "play some blues with" he took the microphone off the stand and held it. I never did that there because I didn't know if the sound guy would adjust right. It seemed to work well enough.

After all that talk I expected something that would make me think I need to work on this or that, or to hear something I couldn't do. What I heard was third rate, and I almost would rather have been blown away. It shows how little confidence I have. There were no really good licks, no special tone, vibrato, nothing. He didn't play off key notes and that's about it. I could in no way picture jazz, classical and studio work. I was shocked.

My shock was at my own vanity and fear, and at the fact that he really wasn't what I consider good. Other players can make me nervous, but they usually make me play better, and give me something to strive for or think about. All I wondered is whether anyone actually paid this guy to do a studio gig. If what I heard was a sample, I'd be kicking myself forever if I played like that in a studio or on stage. I do that anyway with my efforts but I would kick harder.

It just goes to show, the spiffy case and goodies coupled with mildly arrogant boasting does not interesting music make. Not to say I even know if what I play is interesting. When I like things it is because I get lost in it and like the way it feels to play whatever I'm doing. Always been in it for the feel rather than the sound, to a large degree. But I hate it when it sounds bad or clashes with the big picture. Maybe I have more sense than some in that way.

I hope I can dig up some enthusiasm for the lonely boys. They should be encouraged. They are good kids and have charisma as well as a great feel for their music. Besides, the guitar player holds the late Robert Johnson in high esteem and knows about the Crossroads.

I'll tool on down to Jamul tomorrow afternoon and see what's what. Just don't want to be one of those old guys that looks stupid because he doesn't know he's not 20.