jeff conlin - fall '02 archives

11-29-02, 1:11am (thanks)
Minimalistic Thanksgiving today. No real extended family left... at least locally. Warm, pleasant, tasty... the way it should be, even if sparse. Without a doubt, I'm most thankful for my family, small as they are. The happy American family is an endangered species it seems... if ya got one, feel lucky. If ya don't, well... consider redevelopment... increased communication... release of grudges... It's worth a shot.

Get home, snuggle up with my cat, turn on the TV, and watch footage of an idyllic tourist resort frequented by Israelis engulfed in flames... charter planes escorted by fighter aircraft... Israeli and Kenyan families torn apart for no reason. Not comfortable to watch, even less comfortable to really think about. I feel almost rude saying that it makes me all that more appreciative of my middle-class suburban American upbringing... but I do, to some extent.

And now the UN's in Iraq, searching for the deadly strains of bacteria that our country's own CDC readily and happily sent to them in the 80s. Don Rumsfeld and Dick Cheney were recently questioned about the US's link in Iraq's biological weapons capaign (essentially, we were the ones who encouraged them to start production, and there's a very long and wide paper trail proving the plans and resources we gave them)... they laughed it off and said they were aware of no such link.

They're clear-cutting a large part of the last undeveloped land in the town I grew up in order to push a 6-lane highway through (the 2-laner is inadequate, apparently). Access ramps will be flown around to prevent the need for traffic lights. Adjoining fields are being converted into densely-populated condominiums and more big-box retail space.

Nevermind the massive amounts of late-70s retail space that lies almost abandoned just one mile north... primed for redevelopment. Redevelopment. Missiles at vacationers. "Fighting Saddam". Ergh.

The cat's now asleep... warm... purring... drooling on my arm.

There's this painful lumpy thing near my groin (no, not the cat)... I don't think about it much. I'll have CT scan images of it up here soon... it's comin' out in two weeks. Maybe they'll let me keep it!

11-13-02, 4:10am (answers)
What a night.

After a full day of work, I enter a fairly deep conversation regarding the recent disintegration of my last relationship and its current somewhat uncomfortable status, including new unforseen details that really throw a curveball into the already complex explanation for it all.

Then I go to my gig. Find out that Waymon died. Waymon was a keyboard player that preceeded me in Jesse's band. He played with Jesse all through the 70s and 80s. I only met Waymon once... he and I shared the stage at a benefit gig for another fallen bandmate of Jesse's just a month ago. Pictures and MP3s are here, more MP3s are coming.

Gig goes okay considering... Waymon's old girlfriend even got up and sang a song. We played a few of his old favorites, and of course I knew none of them... so I feel like such an ass fumbling through these things that are meant as a tribute to him, that meant so much to him, and I'm playing his instrument... poorly.

But drunk folks don't care. So long as they had fun, the night was a success. Waymon was a bit of a grouch... and he drank himself to death. I don't know if he enjoyed our tribute at all... but regardless, it was sincere.

Waiting to get paid later on in the night, I am listening in on an intense political conversation. I have never appreciated, cared for, or thought remotely highly of "politics" (in itself somewhat of an abstract idea) up until the last few months. I join in. I actively participate, bringing in points of view that I think are just breezed over, and wind up infuriating the main director of this exchange of ideas. Assumptions on both our parts led to misunderstanding. Combine that with alcohol and the fact that it was his birthday and he was clearly somewhat depressed, he was literally ready to tear my head off.

I spent 20 minutes convincing him that he's not listening to a word I say, restate my position, and he responds with a resounding apology, and about an hour of even deeper conversation at which now we're on the same page. Sort of a mix of school, therapy, and ESP test. My mind was blown, as was is. Long story, but it was a great conversation regardless.

In the past year, I've really discovered the importance of good conversation. The importance of accurately and clearly expressing views, especially if different, coupled with the importance of clearly hearing someone else out, and talking further on how the two different sets of conclusions were made. Real conversation... not just talking.

This was a real conversation. It was good. And about politics, morals, and society, no less... the things no one's ever supposed to talk about, especially in a bar.

We have time. We have intelligence. We have the freedom to stop and really consider what our personal values are... decide what we feel is right and wrong, and shape not only our personal beliefs, but our political identities, and our basic relatoinship with our environment and society. It doesn't take much, but few people ever do it, content instead with the party line and/or what Oprah, Limbaugh, or Hollywood says.

There are some very simple things that need to be done to make government back into a true Jeffersonian Democracy... the most basic requiring everyone in the country to simply ponder and define their true personal values and voting accordingly. Well, changing campaign finance, advertising, and special interest control would also help.

DC is growing on me. I've only been here all my life, but its finally growing on me. Especially DC bars at 3:30am.

11-11-02, 2:27am (my gut has shit for brains)
Tonight's Sunday Night DVD fest : High Fidelity. Such a great movie. If nothing else, it gives me hope that there are other music snobs out there.

The DVD also has deleted scenes which, for the most part, should have been left in the final cut. I assume they were taken out because they diverge too far away from Cusack as the central figure, but they're so good... and frankly, without one, there's a gaping plot hole that left me saying, "Wha??" until I saw it... and then proclaimed, "Ahh!!"

On that note... in a depressing jolt back into reality, a reference to Bill Withers' "Grandma's Hands" in one of the deleted scenes got me curious about some lesser-known Withers music. So I fire up Kazaa (depressing in and of itself, but I won't get into it) and of course the first track I come up with is - "Gap Commercial.mp3"

Few trends in advertising annoy me like the unabashed attempts at forcing the connection between peoples' autobiographical music memories with product. I think Nike's co-opting of "Revolution No.9" probably set the ball in motion... then I once overheard (in a cool record store, no less) some girl ask, "Why are they playing the Toyota song?" when Sly and the Family Stone was put on the CD player. Ergh.

There are some really sad attempts that fail miserably and make me laugh when I see them, but I can't think of any right now. So I'll just shut up.

Cheap beer makes ya dumb.

11-04-02, 1:17am (Texas, Humility, Groove)
Spent last week in the Houston area. What a god-forsaken land. Zero zoning regulations (airports buried in residential neighborhoods, 25 miles of nothing but petrochemical plants on either side of the highway, unbridled sprawl with infrastructure design that is at best confusing, at worst non-functional.) Even Galveston, the beach resort town, was depressing.

After working with astronauts all day, being sinful one night, being painfully boring the other night, and trying not to have an asthma attack from the horrible-smelling air, I managed to get up to A&M to see Bob. Surrounded by large trucks and larger egos, we managed to have a very Northeastern night involving coffee, bookstore, and seeing "Punch Drunk Love". Damn fine movie. The kind I want to make. Character and environment are key. Stylistic, but not overbearing. Innovative, but not constricting. Good stuff.

Cartoon Network was supposed to play Don Hertzfelt's "Rejected" tonight. They pulled it at the last inute because the network censors still had problems with it. It may never air... but if you can find it on Kazaa, it's definitely worth a see. Just amazing.

On his website, he's got a comic strip series he wrote a few years ago. Some are in the non-sequitur insanity vibe like his more well known films... but my favorites are the "Bill" series. Bill Goes Shopping, and Bill Takes a Walk are somewhat startling illustrations of day to day life, though I still laughed out loud. If those are a bit too depressing for you, then try Wisdom Teeth.

I want new keyboards. Went to Guitar Center with an MD recorder (What, you don't?) and played around. Trying to move towards an early-mid 60s early jazz/funk vibe... so these are more just mental exercises than actual pieces. Some moments are good. Some are bad. Who asked you, anyway?

One was done on a big expensive workstation and has a Farfisa-like lead organ with some groovin' improvised drums and bass... I threw in the breakdown from Jimmy Smith's "Root Down" for kicks. Overall sound almost reminiscient of the solo projects of "Money" Mark Ramos-Nishita (Beastie Boys' keys player). Great sounds.

The other is from a Roland VK-8... Hammond B3 clone. Trying to swing on a straight organ blues line, a la Jack McDuff or Groove Holmes... but the voicings throw me, plus I almost never play left-hand bass. So, essentially, this sounds nothing like their masterful work. Great organ sound, though... even emulates the overengineered Hammond contact circuit crosstalk and "leakage", though the Leslie simulation sucks, the COSM amp-modelling is tasty. Nice distorted bite with warm tube overtones.

10-25-02, 1:47am (Mason-Dixon, you're trying to seduce me)
On the news this morning, the mayor of Montgomery, Alabama referred to the Washington, DC area as "New England". Twice.

They caught the sniper, and now the case is far more creepy than if it were just a crazy lone ex-military guy who flipped out. Now we get the story, and that's just uncomfortable to hear. However, my friend Steve from Boston is in town on business, and they're all probably having more fun today. Damn New Englanders, so paranoid.

Found out yesterday that the center of my high-school universe is finally engaged. Actually, it occured just two days after we met for lunch in beautiful Fort Pierce, Florida while I was there on business a few weeks ago. I'm very happy for her, and I know they're going to have a great life... but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't pricing used Alfa Romeos today. (Though I only went so far as to make dinner for her mom one night... when Big Mike was on deployment with the Naval Reserve).

FWIW, the new Graduate DVD is a pretty good remaster. Yes, I did watch it tonight.

10-19-02, 2:21am (unwanted hero of a cowboy)
I'm scared I may be dying. OK, that sounded way over-the-top. The last few weeks have just been a "life-flashing-before-my-eyes" kind of experience. Back in contact with old, solid friends. Rediscovering some friendships. Meeting a ton of fascinating people all at once. Stumbled across almost every video and audio piece I've ever recorded. Had some of the most incredible nights of playing music ever. It's a little creepy, but makes me feel all warm and tingly regardless.

Last night, good ol' Mike was in town. Passing through Baltimore via Chattavegas, on his way to NYC, Boston, and points further. We reunited with Drew Thiemann and played almost all of the "Roy" album, only put a very fresh, completely improvised spin on everything. It was awfully nice. Poor-to-middlin'-quality MP3s of the live set are available here, and MP3s of the album are available here for reference. Mike's website is http://mikeroy.info

Played a somewhat weak blues gig at an otherwise totally metal venue in VA tonight. Was exhausted. Came home. Popped in the Criterion release of Royal Tenenbaums (finally). Wow. Can Wes Anderson do any wrong?

10-16-02, 3:25am (evolution...)
I'm lying in bed, slowly feeling the effects of the 4oz of Bombay Sapphire I just drank (with a foundation of 3 basses as provided by the always-wonderful staff of Cafe Tolouse, and the Tuesday night bartender, BUtch.) It starts with the initial buzziness... that indescribable feeling of being more than relaxed, but less than drunk. I can feel the last gulp start to materialize in my face... my facial muscles tingle. My teeth feel somewhat itchy. I get somewhat dizzy.

Tonight wasn't all that great of a night. No outstanding reason why, either. Just a few downers combined with a general sense of drift. And not good drift, obviously. Disturbing thoughts. Sometimes I can be hard on myself.

Instinctively when I get home from my Toulouse gig at about 3am, I pour myself a glass of gin and cranberry juice (all I had handy). It was reflexive. That somewhat scares me. Somewhat. I also wanted to just go right to sleep, and that was a surefire way to do so. So why am I typing this? Maybe I just wanted to document the moment.

So what do I listen to when stuck in this mood, egged on by the world's best gin, and accompanied by an 18lb grey shorthair cat as my trusty sidekick? Cinematic Orchestra, of course. Check it out... and piss RIAA off in the process.

[3:53am] - 10 minutes after a second hit... ahh... that sublte buzz goes into full-scale dizziness. Almost feels like lying in a raft in the ocean, being slowly bobbed around as you lay 20 feet ahead of the breakers. Then, out of the blue, a wave forms 20 feet in front of you, and things get... interesting.

10-11-02, 10:27am (cape, blues underground)
Been an interesting couple of weeks... for a variety of reasons. Here are the fun ones :

Went to Cape Canaveral for work... wasn't planning on it, but wound up getting up close and personal with 3 of the 4 shuttles in the NASA fleet. Also got a tour of the Orbiter Payload Facilities, the Vehicle Assembly Building (which dates back to the Saturn era), and the crawler that transports the loaded shuttles from the VAB to the launch pad. Some pix and miscellany here... more to come... the best pix aren't there yet.

Two nights ago, I think I finally joined the inner-sanctum of the DC soul-blues scene. Up until this point, I was convinced that all existed was the suburban, outside-the-beltway combination sports bar / blues club, or Thai restaurant / blues clubs and so on... and the only people really coming out ot those events were white yuppies who, while being incredible musicians, definitely were not what you'd think of as "blues men". Well it turns out I was just out of the loop.

A great female bass player by the name of Diane passed on two weeks ago, and her family was having trouble paying for funeral expenses and the like. A band I play in, headed up by her ex-bandmate, and ex-mate Jesse James, decided to put together a benefit show at "Jackie Lee's" a dive in Northeast that looks like it hasn't changed a bit since 1967.

The night started out slow, but as the evening wore on, legend after legend walked through the doors, folks who hadn't played together in as many as 35 years were jumping up on stage and having at it. All told, we were able to raise a couple of hundred dollars for the family, but I think the more remarkable achievement of the evening was reuniting the folks that really made DC groove back when it mattered. The smiles, friendly insults, and amazing music that occured all night were probably some of the most genuine, sincere reflections of love for eachother, and love for music that I've seen in a long time.

Something tells me Diane had a lot to do with putting that all together.

Some MP3s and pictures.

09-27-02, 11:57am (police state)
So I have to run into downtown DC this morning to pick up some equipment for a business trip I'm taking next week (Cape Canaveral, shuttle launch, I'm giddy). The IMF/World Bank protests are taking place, and for the most part the crowds are comprised of those cute little hippie/activist girls with piercings and big pants. They celebrate their hard-fought rights to demonstrate and protest, and are met by a wall of riot-geared DC cops... and deputized cops from across the country who have no idea what's going on.

Locked arm-in-arm, they start chanting, "we have the freedom to demonstrate, DC's not a police state". Well... apparently it is, armed with clubs and shrouded in intimidating looking duster jackets as if they were extras from a Mad Max flick, the cops start cross-checking the demonstrators and knocking them to the ground. Obviously, this riles them up, and the minute they yell back at the cops for the obvious brutality, the cops grab, pull, shake, cuff, and throw 'em down... packing 'em into comandeered Metrobuses to be taken to central booking. There were 400 arrests by mid-morning... *400* arrests. There were only about 5,000-7,000 demonstrators at most...

Interviews on the news had the police chief saying, "We want to help them get their point across and have a peaceful demonstration, but many of them are preventing us from doing so." How? By having a peaceful demonstration?

Clueless newscasters commented that the protesters all looked "like wild-west bandits with their bandanas and dark glasses"... they were covering their mouths and eyes from the tear gas and smoke bombs thorwn at them, you moron.

One newscaster even commented as their camera zoomed in for a closeup of a young girl with a "peace now" sign and a bloody eye emotionally screamed at the police... "She's obviously going to think twice about rioting next time."

I think the cops were disappointed that riots and massive waves of civil unrest didn't materialize like the media kept secretly hoping and hinting... but all in all, it was a peaceful, beautiful example of what our freedoms should be, combined with a stark though unsurprising example of what our freedoms actually are.

I'm right of the Indymedia crowd, but their site is still a really good place to get the news you're not hearing on Washingtonpost.com or CNN... but as with those sources, take it with a grain of salt.

I don't know who the worse enemy is... the police or the media...

Oh, this is fun : Bush Speech Generator

(Maryland)
Just some interesting facts...
State motto translated : "Manly Deeds, Womanly Words"
State boat : "Skipjack"
State sport : "Jousting"

Hmm.

(them changes)
Well due to creative differences, "The Westcott Brothers featuring Black Magic" is no longer a band. I think the Westcotts will carry on. I think Magic will carry on. I'm moving in new directions now, but will probably still be affiliated with both. Got a Memphis Soul fix with Jesse James and the Raiders (see box on right), and am doing some uptempo electric blues with The Railriders.

My new computer is almost finished (started out as a simple upgrade, now its nearing WOPR-status), and I've got a cablemodem again after 2 years of being unplugged. I also bought "jeffconlin.com" (how original) and have more room for stuff, so the page will be made over yet again within the next few weeks. I have no life.

In the mood to be seriously disturbed? Go here.

First off... the way we say dates in casual English... the way we've ALWAYS said dates... is to say the name of the month, and the number.. usually with an -urd, -ith, or -nd suffix.

Independence Day is "July Fourth". Not "Seven-Four", dammit. I was born on "January Ninth", not "One-Nine." Since the trend began a few days following the highjackings, I have cringed every time I ever hear someone say "Nine Eleven." It's almost like a brand name. We couldn't possibly think about it as an event that took place on a particular day, no, we have to come up with a catchy title. Grrr.

So at 4am last night, comign home from a great soul gig in Adams Morgan, then being pulled over by an ornately-tattooed PG cop for having a friggin' headlight out, I tune to the ubiquitous local "traffic and weather together on the 8s" McNews station to try and get early results from the local primaries (who'd have thought? elections... the cornerstone of beautiful democracy... the event that makes us say we're such damn great country to begin with) Instead, they're playing random peoples' accounts of where they were and what they were doing last year on Sept. 11th.

OK... it's schlocky, but at least it's not over the top, right? I've been dreading an onslaught of sugary-sweet pseudo-patriotic tear-jerking coverage, and simple first-person accounts are acceptable, almost interesting.

... up until the point that they slowly mixed in Samual Barber's "Adagio for Strings" (death theme in Oliver Stone's Platoon). I didn't know whether to turn it off, or throw the entire radio out the window, or just drive into a bridge abutment.

So many mixed feelings. None of which need mass media's help. Well, I take that back... Leave it to Salon to provide some cynical refreshment (and some blatant idiocy, but it's nice someone's at least printing it)... God, I truly love the freedoms we have.

The Selling of 9/11
Forbidden Thoughts About 9/11
More Forbidden Thoughts About 9/11

My own little forbidden thought : kinda funny how the next picture down is of two smiling guys in a trainer airplane.

(live worldwide, in the sky, cool old guy)
Last Wednesday, the Westcotts were invited to play at VOA studios for international broadcast of live blues. Quite fun. It was available online for only 24 hours, so no links now.

Thursday, I packed up the GPz and left for Georgia for a weekend of riding, flying, camping, and hanging out with SabMag list friends. Hanging out with internet friends? That's geeky! Yep. But scraping hardware all over the twisty mountain roads isn't the least bit geeky... nor is bench racing, flying a Cessna, or laughing your ass off listening to old battle stories.

I really miss flying. Through the CAP, I managed to get about 6 hours of logged time in my youth, but the expense and recent mess of regulations for the DC area have that dream further off now than ever. After some stick time in a 172 this weekend going over the Appalachians, I'm getting more determined to go at it, though.

Coming back from Georgia, I stop on I-81 near Staunton, VA. The traffic is getting congested and my frustration is mounting. I pull into a KFC and grab some hot food, then look at a map to figure out some alternate way to do the last 120 or so miles home.

And old black man comes up to me, "Weren't you here last year?"

I sit there, probably looking like a moron, trying to imagine what he means.

"I remember you. Suited up like that. Blond head. Red face... you were here last year. Lookin' at a map. Eatin'. Not a lot of motorcyclists around here dress like you."

Come to think of it, I did stop into that town last June under similar circumstances. Hungry, thirsty, desiring an alternate route home.

Old black man are cool.

"Just like last year, you should try going to Charlottesville, then take 29 North. Nice road. Twisty. Good for motorcyclin'. Be safe!