OK. The Truth

It is my hope that the Friday service precipitates profound spiritual experience for myself and for those in attendance. I hope angels will be with me and keep me from screwing it up.

The people of that congregation are nice, and treat me well. I am quite nervous over this undertaking, but think I should not shy away from such an honor. They have a very capable music director who is a wizard on the keyboard. If he is on board with this scheme of me playing, then I take it as a meaningful compliment and hope I live up to expectation.

So, I am leaving theology to others and hoping I contribute to something that uplifts souls and eases pain, even though I don't see how I could. Playing puts me in another world, even when I don't like music, so maybe there the rules work in ways beyond my reckoning.

I just hope I do justice to the occasion.

UPDATE; More Truth:
Earlier this evening I got together with K to see exactly what it is I am to play on Friday. It turns out I'm playing more of the tune than I expected, but I only do it when they first start the slow procession through the seven candles that they snuff out in this rite. And again at the end. Let us see if I, for once, play something the same way twice.

(while we are at it, will someone please inform CBS news, as well as AP, that there is a difference between the words "than" and "then"? News should at least be somewhat correct in language usage. Spellcheck and the internet have done much to erode the level of the written word but that does not excuse the pros)

So, now I have it almost down. I really do try to do these things the best way rather than the easiest way. When people show faith in me, and pile on positive reinforcement, I tend to do my best. I'm a glutton for the positive treatment. Some are motivated by revenge, or the "I'll show them" emotions. I'm motivated by respect and others expressing belief that I can do what I may doubt I can do.

It is clearly a handicap, but I have more difficulty measuring my ability in many areas than some of my friends do. Then there are times when friends doubt but I don't. That usually concerns winning friends and influencing people.

In any case, I am now committed, and think I'll be ready. I'm more nervous about this gig than I have been about any I can recall. That is good. This will build character, and it presents healthy challenge. Well, my first sober time playing in public, in Jamaica with the house band at the place might still be #1 in that regard. I threw up more than once in the minutes before going on.

*****my keyboard has difficulties so I often post only to find missing a or y in key words.

Short Note To El Presidente Del Mejico

Mr. Calderon, how do you have the nerve to come here and weigh in on our domestic issues, demonstrate, along with our own officials, no respect for our constitution, and shamelessly pretend to be a champion of the people your policies and government have impoverished and driven over our border? You phony charlatan. They should call you President Charlatan instead of Calderon.

If I had my way, we'd turn you back at the border. Like you so often do to those entering your country. Your policies are far harsher than ours, yet you boldly lecture us. Screw you, you slimy creep.

You run a country in which the police force are known to be as corrupt as the drug cartels, a country from which people flee, risking their own lives; a country which is overrun with corruption, from your office down to the local constable.

It would be a wonderful country if not run by people like you. Maybe you would do better things if you stayed home and cleaned house, and did not instead come over here telling us how to run our country, while blaming us for your own self made problems. Your arrogance and shamelessness make me want to punch you in the nose and keep on slapping you, all the way back to Mexico City. Get out and stay out, you corrupt, lying, stealing bastard.

Sincerely,

your pal, Mr Ballistic

Blasphemy

buy my tee shirts you capitalist pigs
Either you get it or you don't.

If I end up playing in church for the macabre, guilt promoting Good Friday service, will I fry, or be visited by the henchmen of the neo-Inquisition? Those inquisitors set up some very unpleasant tests and punishments for those who weren't solidly on board with the party line. And for those they simply didn't like.

Yikes. Many of the inquisitors' tortures tended to put stress on one's intestines, and they attacked such organs from both ends. Very sick and cruel people. Like I often say, "never trust a sadist". People don't listen.

Anyway, the church where I played along with my friend on a song, has expressed interest in me playing solo in between phases of some ceremony which really grinds on the collective free floating guilt, and the bloody, painful stuff in the Story. A lot of the stuff which I personally can't honestly get behind.

I think the church tends to miss the point. But people get mad at me for that. I can't lie, like many people, and pretend I believe things that I don't, or that I believe in a way that I don't. And why does anyone care what I think, if they are so close to the Master of All Things?

It's mostly the blood and guts worship that I do not buy. That knocks out ninety percent of Catholicism and many other sects. There were early Christian sects which did not go with the die for our sins aspect. So don't give me all this bit about longevity of a particular church. I think slavery was around longer than the church. So does that make it correct?

You used to be able to buy your way out of purgatory and popes had children.

Anyway, I may do this thing. I'll play in an eery, haunting fashion, hoping to wrench a little more guilt out of each parishioner. It is your fault that they tacked the boy up.

Pain. Feel the pain. Suffer, suffer, suffer, and if you feel like complaining and don't enjoy it, ask yourself, what if He had complained? You'd not be saved, etc. You miserable, guilty, worthless sinner!

It just doesn't ring my bell. There are those for which it works, and those who claim to believe it just as presented in certain churches, but there are those whose anger is too quick and heated at any who may not agree. That makes me think they do not believe and that scares them so they become angry zealots, lest their peers, or maybe even Jesus, see the lack of faith in their hearts.

My feeling is that I won't argue or try to change anyone's belief if it helps them through the night. Just as long as they don't push me. They may actually know the whole truth, be God, and zap me into dust if I'm not careful. Then again, it may be that people can arrive at the same place through different paths.

Although I hope I have more energy, and less cynicism than I do now, if my path is going to yield me 72 virgins in the hereafter. I am certainly not getting there through the exploding vest path. I'm fairly certain that path doesn't actually yield women and sex in the afterlife. My way could yield that. Not ruling it out, but I know I'd be highly skeptical of the scene.

I can see it now, "Hi, I'm a virgin!" "Oh, yea, sure you are. Save that BS for some other guy."
I'm not sure I even want 72 virgins. I think maybe 4 or 5 virgins, and the rest very warm, loving women.
There could be a reason all those women are virgins, and it may prove to be absolutely no fun. Besides, even in Heaven, I'd suspect them of lying about it. Or something. No, just a few for the novelty, and the rest without such complications.

I'm not sure how that jibes with the suffering and it is all our fault. But I think 72 potential relationships may be punishment rather than reward. OK. No chance in hell I am going to become a Muslim. That's why the older guys rarely do the suicide bomber thing. They have lived enough to know that the 72 virgin thing is not without potential problems. Big problems.

The place where I may play on Friday is not a mosque, anyway, so I'm safe. Perhaps I've conducted this post somewhat tangentially.

It is definitely a compliment and a bit of an honor that they'd ask me to do this. And such slow, single note playing is not so easy. I think I have to play six or seven times, with the guilt trip being cast about after each time.

One tiny error and no way to hide it. I can only hope that whatever the real truth is somehow fills the room through my playing, and that I am able to know what it is.

Just because I do not find a particular outlook credible or quite on the mark, does not mean I know for sure that it is truly not right. But if you come at me all angry and bowed up because I doubt and question, I am not swayed. That reaction only makes me think that whatever you believe must be bunk because you are an angry hypocrite.

That is a bit of a cop out though. It is easy for someone who doesn't profess their own defined theology to call others hypocrites for not living up to the spiritual code that they clearly espouse. If you do not let anyone know your beliefs, then how can they point out that you aren't abiding by your own philosophy and professed spiritual faith? See how tricky this stuff is?

I admit it. I am a trickster.

I figure the best thing is to play your an harmonica in the holy place, and if you do not spontaneously combust, or draw lightning bolts, then you may not be so much on the bad side of the good guys as some may think.

New Look

It is probably a trick, and an essential element in the big conspiracy. I'm talking about the abundance of new looks going around. Blogger has been harassing their users about their new look, which is due any minute. Update now! They tell you that it is going to happen come hell or high water, so you have no choice. Then they suggest you do it voluntarily right now, even though you may not want the new look or any of their upgrades. You base this upon experience that tells you that many sites tend to lose their ease of use and their versatility when they get carried away.

Google is also threatening gmail users with the new look. I have no idea why. I tried it and didn't like it. I even filled out a survey. "What do you like about the new look, and what could be better?". "I do not like anything about the new look. It sucks. It would be better if you fire the geek who is pushing it and toss that plan in the trash" "Thank you for your feedback!! The new look will be coming in April. Why not switch now?"

I'll bet they will pretend that the new look transition corrupted data, so then they can justify asking for personal information--to make sure their records are up to date and correct. For my protection. "For your protection, what is your blood type? What are you wearing? What is your father's level of education? Just give the first twelve and last 6 numbers of your bank account, please."

Their tricks don't fool me.

I don't like the look of this at all.

Hoodies

It used to be, long ago, that garments with a hood were called Parkas, or simply a garment with a hood. Somewhere along the way the term "hoodie" entered the lexicon. It is an easy, descriptive word for the sweatshirt type thing which includs a hood.

It is a comfortable item of clothing, and very useful when in cold, inclement weather. I've been a fan of the parka and hoodie from the first time I ever saw one. Growing up in Miami, I always longed for anything that spoke of winter. At one time it was the rage to have a madras parka.

They were light weight, cotton, colorful, and perfect for those 60 degree Miami winter days. Girls thought they were cool and I'm sure we all looked spiffy and cute as we crawled through the halls of the junior high school, which, by the way, was run by a disproportionate number of perverts and disgruntled communists who were ever so bitter that doctors and airline pilots made more money than they did. I can still name many of the abusive bastards who bullied kids, and took too much interest in "policing" the showers in the gym.

Now we've come to an age in which people who mug, rob convenience stores, and commit drive by crimes tend to favor the hoodie so they can wear the hood over their head for reasons unrelated to weather. We are also in an age where fashion in some circles follows the garb of punks and gang bangers. The market from a money standpoint is with the mindless wannabes who wish to belie their middle class status while pretending to be ex-cons and inner city, disturbed and angry bad asses.

I think I have more respect for the actual punks than I do for the wannabes, and that is not much respect at all.

Respect for the perpetrators of more of the The Great Pretense is also at an all time low. They have now turned an incident which resulted in someone getting shot into a debate about the hoodie. What a stretch. Now this garment is spun into some sort of racial statement. That is really pushing the bounds of reason and the whole truth.

I was not there that night in Sanford Florida, so I do not know for sure what happened. Neither do the people who are leading and following the witch hunt or the backlash. One thing is clear, the motivation is not truly a reaction to racial prejudice. If that were the case, then the killings and beatings around the country which are clearly based on race would be getting far more attention than this case. This is merely an excuse for those whose wealth depends upon hatred and resentment to foment violence and keep themselves in a position to extort and broker power.

None of it actually has to do with the garment, unless one is dumb enough to go around using a hood to cover his face, and by some stretch of the imagination thinks that would not raise a bit of concern. The utter stupidity surrounding the rallies which center on the garment is alarming, but not all that surprising, considering the attitudes and excuses of the times.

Our new racial hair-splitting term is "white hispanic". Now, I guess we have to apply this to all cases involving mixed race. "Our first white black president". The victim was a "white asian". "A black hispanic won the spelling bee". I'm uncertain as to the number of things I should put into the mix in describing myself. That is because I am not totally clear on what constitutes white and other. Surely we want to separate out the Irish, the Italian, French, Bosnian, and all the rest in one's ethnic heritage in order to describe them.

I guess you have to lump things together into the white category so you can keep the us vs them thing going. How can we claim this cracker shot a black if he is not really a cracker? He's a cracker hispanic. Future implications of this new class will be interesting.

Whatever the truth is, this incident is not about hoodies, per se, and not about race. It is about opportunism and the very real danger that mob rule is growing in popularity. It is about those who will use anything and anyone, without the slightest shame, to further their own ends, and to justify and deny their own shortcomings.

I like hoodies. I will continue to wear them when they suit my mood. It is another of those things like the rainbow--some damned group wants to hijack it for their own purposes and it ought to be just left in the public domain without political taint.

Holy Rolling

Part of Copper Creek, my Ballistic mountain group for which I play an harmonica*, is active in a Lutheran church down there on the other side of El Cajon (pronounced: el cah-Hone). We got paid to play there once and it was a great time. Probably the best time I've had playing in CA.

Anyway, Lauren said she wanted me to come and play on a song she was doing at a Wed. night service. She and her husband, Kevin, have always shown me kindness above and beyond the norm, so no matter how resistant I am to church things, I couldn't refuse.

For various reasons, I have been to a few things there at the holy house, and am known by several of the regulars, including Pastor Andy. They are nice people and to my great surprise, I like Andy very much and find him to be full of wit and an easy person to be around. He's very intelligent, and does not play the holier-than-thou routine.

Lately, I've been possessed by some kind of internal frustration of unknown cause. It makes me feel out of phase, makes me grouchy and generally so off keel that I don't realize how I've said what I said until it is too late. Or I don't even realize anger was coming out. Mostly I have been sick of myself.

This little Wednesday service actually calmed me down. At some point it was time to sing, so we went up front and joined Kevin, who was already up there because he was the cantor for the evening. Lauren sang, and I played a couple of solo interludes to the holy song, and sang the low harmony when called for. That is very odd.

There were a couple of guitars backing the tune, and everyone did some harmony parts.

Mostly I just do it quietly and it blends. The tune came off without a hitch. No mistakes on the harp. It was a song which involved Jesus and stuff. Lauren's voice is so pleasing, she could have been singing about Obama, and stuff, and I'd have enjoyed it. Not to equate the two, even though some people do. Not to say I object to Jesus and stuff. I really do not. I'm simply not on board with how a lot of Jesus and stuff is handled.

My view of Obama and stuff is a bit different. We differ radically in philosophy. Semi-anarchist vs mega-archist. But, who cares? Maybe I should have used another example. Too late.

I live a strange life. A kid that reminds me of a 12 year version of my cousin's son was smitten with the harmonica, and he and his mom came up to me afterward to tell me. He looked at me and said, "That was awesome!". So, I asked him if he plays. He said that he doesn't and I asked him why not.

He turned to his mother and asked, "Hey Mom, why don't I play harmonica?" She replied that he doesn't play because he doesn't own a harp. I told him I could remedy that if he wanted, and he seemed eager for remedy. So, we went to the car and I gave him my Lee Oskar C. Now I have to get another.

Maybe he'll take to it, maybe not. I told him I would be glad to teach him if he wants. Maybe we'll find a way to keep in touch. I have a feeling this kid could use the encouragement at this point in his life. It was one of those gut impulses that I occasionally follow.

Actually, I was well into acting on the impulse before I realized what may have been at play. Then it hit me. Oh, he reminds me of J. Afterward, I learned a little of his circumstances, and concluded that my sixth sense was operating well.

I'm not a churchy guy. I have my beliefs, and they don't jibe in certain ways with most church doctrines, however, I might show up there if I find evidence that there's a chance I can do this kid some good. K and L will be on top of it, so we shall see. I need to be of use to someone.

*I've been looking for an excuse to say "an harmonica" ever since that MASH episode when Winchester was all flustered over wanting "an harmonica". Normally I'd say "a harmonica" because I pronounce it with a hard H.

Condensed Version of What Went Before

If only I knew what it is I am doing. This music stuff makes me feel like I am drifting away from reality, considering it is my main connection with people these days. I don't even know if I like music, much of the time. Strange.

OK. So we played the Crest community hall.
Some people there wanted my phone number, claiming they wanted to call me for a jam or some other play-my-harp situation.
That was nice.

I did not play very well according to my standards. I even made a mistake when I hit a squeaky note or something. Maybe I jumped up there and landed between two notes--the right one and the wrong one. It wasn't the conversation of the town around the breakfast table the next day. Of that, I am certain.

There are some people, including members of the two other groups who played, that seem good enough at what they do. I've heard more country, folk, and bluegrass in California than I did in North Carolina.

Anyhow my mountain friends, Copper Creek, sang well and did good harmony. It was a big hit with the Crest crowd. I'd say they liked us the best.

I'm left wondering again why it is that I do this. I can't relate to lots of things I've done. In Memphis and elsewhere the have all this "Blues preservation" activity. If people like it, why does it require a society to preserve it? It sounds like a movement to save a nearly extinct species of animal.

They have the same tendency in some of the folkish circles here. Maybe it is more wanting to freeze time back when people were smoking bananas and clicking their fingers in coffee houses. Nostalgia is one of my least favorite activities. Don't like the word, and don't like what it represents.

Why not form a society for the preservation of the rotary telephone? I liked pizzazz that could accompany dialing certain numbers. Push button lacks the flair and feeling.

I'd say a society for the preservation of freedom would be good, but western world, and what is left, have yet to really embrace the idea. To preserve something, it helps if it actually exists. At least the idea was bounced around for awhile with reverence and zeal. It may not have been achieved to its potential, but there was the thought, and thought usually precedes manifestation. I guess we are lucky that our part of the globe did more to promote the concept than anyone else.

Much of what is in this post did not come before, so you got a little of that and a little of this. Thank you.

Are those who do not have a health insurance policy really soon to be outlaws? For crying out loud people, this is not good. Not everyone who can't afford something wants to then jump through hoops and have government provide it. Some of us do not intend to burden you, regardless. So forget that excuse. Just let people you don't know live without your help, guidance and tyranny.

The Cool Thing About Small Towns in E.County

Actually, small communities can be cool almost anywhere, but I live in east San Diego county, so there you have it.

In Crest, a community that burned down in the Cedar Fires a few years ago, they regularly hold a musical night in their rebuilt community center. My impression is that many of the townfolk pitched in to build this place. It is a cool little building with high, open beam ceilings, and fairly steeply pitched roof.

I'm still not sure how the music thing works. They have food and snacks, bottled water and maybe other drinks. People tend to bring their own beer, wine, and other alcoholic beverages. There are several long tables and plenty of chairs.

It seems like a couple of guys handle the music stuff. They have a PA and microphones, and cords for plugging in. All the guitars I saw were acoustic, but they all had the plug thing on them, so I guess they have pickups somewhere in or on the thing. Those two guys also play music together. They do good harmony, with one playing a drum (jimba?) and the other on guitar. I like much of what they did, particular the original song. I'm partial to people who play their own stuff, especially when it is good.

There was also another group besides us. Two guys on guitar, gal on tambourine, and all three doing vocals. I think the one guy should have left his ax at home and just sang. He was just a hint off time with the other guy. The other guy was pretty much the front, and is capable.

As a matter of fact, that guy had asked me to play a tune with him at an open mic. I'd forgotten at first but it came back to me. I was surprised to see people from open mic on the other side of El Cajon at this shindig. I'm kind of glad he didn't ask me to play with them because the other guitar player issue would have made it tough for me. I get thrown off by things like that. I have a terrible time if one string is a hair out of tune. I guess it is because I don't know what I am playing as much as feel it, and when it isn't all in accord, it feels wrong and hinders the flow.

This kind of playing is not like the stuff I did in Memphis. I couldn't hear or feel much of the time there. It could be loud. But that stuff is easier to fake. When people can clearly hear vocals, and even understand the words, as well as hear guitar, and even the person next to them yacking, and the thing requires a slow single note interlude featuring you, it is abundantly evident when you are not with it.

We played mostly things that we did not record. Did I mention that all the chairs were filled? It is not a huge place. I guess there were a hundred people, give or take.

Each group played about half an hour, then we went through the rotation again. That is good because even playing easy melodic stuff, I get wound up tighter than a cork screw and am just settling in after thirty minutes of playing. The first group asked me to come play on one of their tunes and it worked out well enough.

A couple of people wanted my phone number for reasons only partially clear. One guy sounded like he's getting various musicians together for some kind of jam somewhere, and the other one I think wants me to play I don't know what. Well, play my diatonic harmonica, but when why where and how are unknown.

It's swell to be popular. I thought my playing was sub par tonight for some reason. Truthfully, I think the group was a little too tight--not in the tight group sense, but tense or something. Maybe just tired. Even so, their harmonies and general vocals were impressive. We fell down on the instrumental end more than anything. The people don't know, but if we hadn't they'd have liked us even more. I'd say we were a hit with this crowd.

Can you believe they have me singing the bass line harmony on some things? I'm not like one of those real bass singers who you hear. My voice sort of just adds a little fullness and bottom end. It is not as prominent but it works. I'm no bass, but I have a natural sense of harmony so what the heck.

To me that female voice in the mix makes it. Something about the sound of her voice I just like. There are people who can sing circles around some other people, but I like the one in the circle better just because of the way the voice sounds. Timbre and all that. Castor and camber.

People just donate money--throw it in the tip jar. Some goes to cover food, and not tell what the guys running the deal pocket, We made gas money because we don't live that far. About $10 each. The point is, I always feel better when I get paid to play, even if it isn't much. That ten bucks is more prized than a lot of other ten bucks I've earned and spent. An irrational view in economic terms, but that is how it goes. I think they actually took in a few hundred dollars. Maybe they use it to help maintain the place.

I think all the band members were getting complimented by people. They say I'm a harmonica whore because I'll play with about anyone who asks, like group 1. It is a running joke. Sad but true. What the heck, if someone can play and wants me to fill some background, I'm fine with it. I guess I am really easy. I prefer to think of myself as a warm person rather than easy.

It is easier to find a relaxed enjoyable event like this out in the boonies than it is in a city. I'd have found it a good time even if I didn't play. What a cheap date that would be. "Let's go see some live music. My treat!" Then you can just pretend to go up and put something in the money jar. Due to its location, faking it would be a cinch. And it would be much more fun than some dumbass expensive restaurant. I hate those places. Fine dining is for others, not for me. Of course, being a non-carnivore, those places rarely serve up anything all that great.

OK. Some Italian places do, but as expensive as they are, they aren't like some of those pain in the neck stupid joints. I almost went bankrupt about a month ago when I was with nobody you know and we decided we were hungry in Carlsbad. I thought I was entering an upscale diner, not den of extortion. Seriously, I couldn't even look at the break down. I just signed over the farm and pretended to be nonchalant, then lived on crackers and tortillas for a week or two.

Nobody you know would have paid, too. I forgot the excuse she gave for offering. Now that I think of it, good for her. Then again, she may never whip that card out again when it comes time to pay. That's OK. She's in another state by now. But the thing is, I just don't feel right not paying for things, or at least most things. It isn't her fault I've squandered my potenshya. (pronounced the way it is spelled, for emphasis).

Oh well, out of sight, out of fake diners who drain your blood and smirk at you. Maybe she ordered goldfish, and they were serious about it. It was some kind of swimming thing. Geez. Fish are all over the place. How scarce can they be?

I seem to have veered off the thought. Such is life. I no longer have a thought.

Oh, those kids who announced that I was sooo old that time they lied and said they weren't playing, but did, called for the second time in a week. Both times I no answer, they no leave the message. Eventually I know I'll talk to them and be nice. I find holding a grudge very difficult in this case. They are kids and don't know a lot. Look at what people have been exposed to over the last twenty years, especially kids. They've had nincompoopery bombardment from day one, even more than I did.

I'm not saying I would stop them from groveling and confessing and apologizing if it came to that. No grudge, but that may be the only path to my good graces.

It is tempting to put my mind to writing something good, since the Copper Creek--need to see if they'll change the name because there are too many other bands named that---vocalists are so good. I see potenshya there, should they use it as I see fit.

I Am Not Klan

Regarding Joel's comment on the preceding post, How was I to know that a place called the Men's Gun Club of Whitsett, which had an American flag on one side of the wall behind the stage, Stars and Bars on the other, and a wooden cross in the middle, with red light bulbs mounted in it, up and down and side to side, was an off color sort of cult?

It was beyond me that such a thing could be true. That sort of thing just did not compute.

I finally gave in to the prevailing view, among the locals, of the place. I played there many years ago with Mavrin's Rockabillys. That's the same Mavrin whose name was actually Marvin but he spelled it wrong with the stick on letters he put on his vintage Les Paul, or other fine make, guitar.

Those things were long ago. I escaped fairly unscathed from the gunclub and their troublesome teenaged daughters.


It was at another venue, which was not of that nature, where we seemed close to battle. The 38 to 2 odds weren't the real risk in that scrape--it was the she devil of a bar maid with the four foot beehive hairdo. As usual, we escaped unharmed. The bluff was too absurd even for them. They offered us a job before it was all over. How we made it home without serious accident is a mystery. I'm grateful I did not cause serious injury to others by being so irresponsible about the condition in which I operated motor vehicles.

Active alcoholics are idiots, no matter what they may tell you to the contrary. I may still be a dimwit, but I am not that kind of moron.

I do not care for any race obsessed groups; not kkk, black panthers, la raza, etc. I think business and political groups based on race or ethnicity are not helpful in the pursuit of a free country. And problematic to the evolution of a better society and peaceful culture.

I find terms like Irish-American, African-American, you-name-it-and-add-a-hyphen American to be absurd, divisive, and contrary to the ideal of a society in which one is free to seek opportunity as his drive and ability permit. Period.. Just pick a goddam country and go with it. It is like some kind of hermaphroditic form of national identity.

People are so quick to jump on bandwagons without knowing the facts. Sometimes the facts are hard to know when you are five states away from an event.

One thing about Al Sharpton, he has a record of championing the side that turns out NOT to have all the facts and truth. He's a demagogue, but what chance would he have of making money if he couldn't keep people feeling the hate? If his way had prevailed, in more than one case, innocent people would be doing time, and some would be dead. Oh, I forgot, I think some people have been killed due to his instigation and playing on blind hatred. Jesse makes his bread off of the same sort of thing. It is shameless and dangerous. Certainly no benefit to any group. I won't even address the implications of the latest case. Or the fact that he keeps leaving out that the hunted witch of the day is another minority.

I wasn't there, so I don't know who did what, and I guess I never will. But, good God, do these people even blink at the murders and robberies in every inner city, every day? In Memphis you can be in the wrong part of the outer city and I guarantee you'll get killed or maimed for your color...or lack of it. Get real. It is obvious that improving the overall situation of any group is not the motive. Outrage is too selective, calculated and does nothing to address real day to day problems which are so glaringly evident.

Oh well. I was witness that there was one strange place out in the NC sticks once upon a time. But they never did let on to me the true nature of their business.

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.