jeff conlin - spring '04 archive

(...He made a ramblin' man)
Lots of freelance things to be taken care of in this coming week of "job"lessness, but I felt the overwhelming need to go for a drive today to clear the head (was also looking for album cover ideas for the WBB's upcoming album, "Southbound"). Left at lunchtime... two hours later, I was north of Havre de Grace skirting the north shore of the Chesapeake. Cut through Delaware and drove down the coast... there's nothing quite like the beach on a rainy day. Back through some rural byways in MD's eastern shore, then around dinner time, it was over the Bay Bridge and back into civilization. A few hours on the eastern shore and you quickly forget about big-box shopping centers, overbuilding, paralyzing highway congestion, and morons in general.

Lebanese party at Dukr's place complete with requisite heaps of innuendo, grilled meat, and Yuengling Black & Tan... then off to the personally-neglected Lemur Lounge to meet up with equally neglected friends and celebrate Vancito's birthday with an overdose of chemicals, funk, and bootyshakin'. Ahhh, just like old times. Not too old, though.

"Do not be too timid and squeamish about your actions. All life is an experiment. The more experiments you make, the better. What if they are a little coarse, and you may get your coat soiled or torn? What if you do fail, and get fairly rolled in the dirt once or twice. Up again; you shall never be so afraid of a tumble." -Emerson

I don't know about you, but I could actually use a roll in the dirt once or twice, myself.

(oh, wesley)
Some extra Belvedere left over from this weekend. Not any more. (I had a strizzoke in my brizzain)

Last day of "work". Oddly, got a lot of well-wishing phone calls and handshakes from customers and business contacts alike. Both business managers and the floor manager called me in an hour before leaving and offered me significantly more money, benefits, responsibility, and flexibility. Ehh... yeah. Thanks. No. Bye.

(hard to break, easy to make)
C-Span rules. No commentary, no talking heads. Just uncut, live video and audio (mostly just the blaring silence of DCs typical ambience of birds and sirens) from the Reagan processional thru DC. As much as locals get sick of everything having anything to do with the city and its inhabitants, there are times like these when you can't help but be moved by the honor and power of official ceremonies like this.

The formations of F-15s sweeping over the Capitol just buzzed my house a few seconds after leaving my tv screen... now the cadre of honor guards, horses, and Nancy herself are standing at the steps, as Reagan's flag-draped casket is moved inside while the brass plays the Battle Hymn of the Republic... amazing.

I would have given anything to have a camera at my great uncle's funeral at Arlington... as a well-decorated general, he had a team of horses pulling his casket, full honor guard, plenty of uniformed attendees, all in the driving winter snow.

Well, been busy. Among other things, I had a great ride to just south of Gettysburg w/Dukr and Pluppet. Quit my "job", got a new one with BMW Motorrad (all told, the pay is still crappy, but full benefits, better environs, and far more career potential can't be argued with), cleaned my place, ate at the Golden Pavilion (and yes, that guy still works there after 35 years and hasn't aged a day) and somehow managed to avoid the lapping tongues of hellfire... i think. The Mike Roy tour is back on (for me) (sort of), the Minneapolis road trip is a go, and I completely reignited my love for the darkest, deepest, greasiest depths of the blues on a level heretofore unexplored.

I also ate a Spamburger. From the friendly Spammobile guy. In Hagerstown.

Not a bad couple of days at all... no sir.

(wide open)
Currently 24 minutes and 58 seconds into the Allman Brothers' "Mountain Jam" on LP.

Just got back from the Western MD Blues Fest... rainy start to the day, and the WBB didn't get a chance to really soundcheck or anything. Stage levels were uneven and very very loud, but we slogged through it and kept the collective booty shakin'. More blues-focused than recent gigs... felt good. It's nice to take a break from such a powerful (albeit repetitious) genre for a while, then come back with new ideas (and far more applicable feelings at that). Friendly crowds always help... so did having a private trailer stocked with good beer and bad doughnuts.

Just when I think I'm ready to pack it in and shelve music into nothing more than a quaint little hobby, we have a day like this. Perfect performance or not, its a glimpse into what the full-time life could be with enough luck (and an insane amount of effort, sure).

Ugh... if the next logical step forward in life seemed cloudy last winter, it's completely obscured at this point. Not that that's a bad thing... just not terribly comforting. One path takes me to guaranteed stability, free education advancement, international travel and retirement at 47. Only caveat is that whole selling-your-soul-to-the-government thing... but at least it's the most gentlemanly branch of the armed forces to be an officer in. The other leads to sloth, gluttony, and lust...

Wait... what was the problem with that? Dante's second level of hell wasn't so bad from what I remember... something about being "molested by the wind"? That's what happens every time I wear perforated leather pants on the motorcycle.

I guess there are other paths, too... but those are the big two right now. Regardless, Tom Dowd is my unchallenged idol.

Forward progress with the upcoming WBB album... wrote two songs last night. One about a dull and unhappy relationship (hmm), and the other pretty much the happiest song ever written by mankind (with a SOLID Memphis vibe to boot). We've got parts written for two gospel backup singers in a few tracks... going in to re-punch some sloppy notes on Thursday... the engineer things this album sounds "thrown together", but all told... that's how we work. We're not a note for note kind of band. I mean, sure, we wrote most of the material in the studio as we went... but... still... umm... what was my point?

Reverend James Harton dropped a line from out of the blue, and flung me some demo material he's doing with Dawn Kinnard. Wow. I truly dig this band, especially after seeing them in full on indierock trio-mode, live... Remember that name. Or just go to the website.

Hopefully gonna drop three pant sizes with Antibalas @ the Blaque Cat on Friday... then WBB opens up the Western Maryland Blues Festival at noon on Saturday. Not sure if I'll stick around for Indigeneous or Robben Ford... but the lag time in between might make for some great people watching. Hag-town hasn't quite caught up with the dashingly cosmopolitan Frederick cultural mecca just yet. I'm an ass.

(Rolling Thunder hear my cry)
After a ('nother) long day today, I took the SV out with no particular route in mind. Wound up taking New Hampshire Ave all the way out to just south of Frederick. Great roads there where sprawl is just getting its claws... (so it should be nice until they run the ICC through and it turns into the Dulles development nightmare). Meandered home after about 120 miles. Heard a distress call from yet another woman obsessing about a man who's undeniably bad for her (it's a running theme this month... year... life), and decided instead of the usual recourse of bitching over alcohol, it was time to just go ride. Givi-packed spare gear is donned and off we go. Needless to say, it worked far better than bitching and alcohol would have. Plenty of bikes out on the road... all loud Harleys... but all nice folks (heck, some even bothered to wave). Occasionally looking back to see if everything was OK, Molly always seemed to have the face of an enthusiastic 5 year old at an amusement park. Mission accomplished. On my way home, I cut through DC... more bikes everywhere. Young idiots on sportbikes in Adams Morgan... choppers and Harleys farting all over downtown... some pricks trying to measure themselves against everyone else, but all told, a good crowd just happy to do their thing, and occasionally acknowledge their other two-wheeled bretheren of whatever useless category.

220 miles today, all after 7pm, with only 4 direct cicada hits. Rock. Tomorrow I might go play on a boat (yet another form of escapist therapeudic money pit philosophical form of hobby/transportation)

(a nidiot and an ucklehead)
Came across some old Peanuts paperbacks I believe I inherited from my grandparents.

This has been an "Aaaaugh!" week, if not at least a "Rats!" or a "Good grief!"

As with every Charlie Brown plotline, in the end it will probably turn out that things aren't so bad and I wind up looking like a little drama queen and/or it simply resulted from being a doormat to begin with. At least there will be good music playing. Still, there were moments where it was obvious the boy had a point... and the fact that he kept from just offing Sally, Lucy, and for that matter the little redheaded girl is impressive.

Then again, did he and the little redheaded girl ever really hook up? Nope. And Lord knows I have enough Peppermint Patties and Marcies in my life...

...maybe I should just get a Snoopy.

OK, this post is really, really dumb. Have some Guaraldi.

(and finally tonight...)
CICADAS! Ya know 'em, ya love 'em, ya want to take a hammer to yer cerebellum after about 3 minutes outside thanks to 'em. Hundreds on every tree... reliving many peoples' entire college experience in only a month's time. (The first week seemed awkward and uncomfortable for them; The next few weeks were nothing but exploring their new environs, experimenting with new paradigms of mobility and freedom; After almost a month, they've realized that if they haven't been stepped on, rolled over, or picked apart by bigger creatures, they'll be ok and can just start being loud and having as much sex as possible.)

Did you know one cicada was responsible for a small flood and water service cutoff in Bethesda? (well, the not-so-bright elderly woman helped)

Apparently they taste... "Kind of like soy... or maybe a faint pistachio...", according to Heyser Cycle OEM Parts guru Jimi. "I think they'd be great dipped in dark chocolate."

Speaking of "work", the Roy tour is not quite swinging in my favor thanks to everything else going on this month, but at least I got a few dates in. The Westcott CD is really cranking along, though, as are the festival invitations for this summer... heck, even the 25th Hour seems better than ever... so in that regard, things are definitely moving forward. I may also have a "real job" development coming along. Yay, legitimacy!

Now I need to start playing this.

(Boddingtons & Maker's Mark)
The last few days have been an interesting venting of some long pent-up frustrations. Despite my tone, I wasn't grumpy or bitter so much as just very tired and surprised. But all told not everything was as it first seemed... whatever. Life rolls on (actually, it did that years and years ago, just seemed to do a quick ricochet off a loose string like a charging dog on a short leash)

Sometimes alcohol's a bad thing... saaay, overamplifying one person's feelings while possibly filtering another's perceptions. Even when alcohol's not involved at all, sometimes its also best to wait a day before sending a letter. But in the end, I still don't think people should get married unless they're able to stare all their friends in the eye and say, "This is the absolutely the best thing for me." without raising their eyebrows and smiling in that, "I'm lying to myself but I want you to believe me" kind of way... or of course just breaking down into tears...

Screw the corrupt, bloody DeBeers diamond cartel... that should be the new engagement tradition.

Bunch of new CDs last night... some good, some bad. All funky. Will finally have some new music blurbs on here in a few days...

(F you)
OK, I'm in a giving mood musically this week, so I'll ask again. You want some blues? You want some f*cking blues? I don't pull this one out for just anyone. Actually, if you don't really care about blues, do me a favor and don't listen to it. To me, this is one of the most sacred, powerful, loaded blues blues organ solos ever recorded. Southern Maryland tragic hero Danny Gatton (country/blues's own Elliott Smith) hosted a cocky young (24) Joey DeFrancesco some time in 1994 for a near perfect session... helped of course by Timm Biery on drums (see yesterday's post). Typical Joey D... it was good, but almost too good. He plays far too many damn notes going into it, but once he settles in after a few minutes of bop-heavy 64th-note noodling, you can hear him just start playing what's important, separate the chaff, and lock in as if he went through a time machine back to '61 or so. If you can get through the last minute of this solo without so much as smiling, wincing, nodding your head, or shedding a tear... you don't get it, you won't get it, and I pity you.

[edited to reduce the slight - but only slight - taste of foot]

Yet another 10 hour day, yet another great gig (musically, that is). I said f*ck too many times in this post. A little more sleep might be in order.

(can't guarantee tomorrow)
Want yo'se'f some BLUES? Give this a listen, cracka. The first fruits of an incredible session last year with the Westcott Brother From Another Mother, Mike... not to mention drum god Timm Biery (Danny Gatton, Nils Lofgren, Deanna Bogart, etc.) and Jay Turner on bass (so good, he's baaaad). For a lanky white guy, Mike Westcott's got himself a voice! Not a bad picker or songwriter, neither, no sir. What a family.

Absurd and wonderful day yesterday... up until the wee hours at the old job doing sympathy work for yet another ingenious Space Station payload program that is under threat of cancellation. Showed up at the "job" job a little late due to the need for some sleep. My "boss" actually looked me dead in the eye and said, "I don't think you're taking this career seriously. Do you even want to be working here?" I bit my cheeks so hard to keep from laughing, they were bleeding.

Rush to Bawlteemoure after work to play a rockin' CD release show for Lawrence Lanahan with some rocktastic bands in that whole Bawlteemoure young hipsters playing legitimate bluegrass vein. I love that town so much. PW Rose couldn't make it, so I played left hand bass all night. I'm actually beginning to love doing that. I hope that doesn't mean I'm becoming less of a hack... then the novelty's gone.

On the way home, WEAA was playing a bunch of Coltrane albums with Elvin Jones backing him up. What a duo... without Jones, Coltrane's ideas would probably never have been so clear and concise. Though maybe that should also be said about a good bit of Boddington's and Maker's Mark...

Just found out the Westcotts are opening for Big Head Todd & the Monsters at Bele Chere, not De La Soul (they're on Friday). That sort of disappoints me, since De La is pretty much my Beatles... but at least I'll be able to see them live in that amazing venue.

Ah well, back to the grind... yet another 10 hour day, and yet another gig right behind it. Same deal tomorrow, too...

(when news breaks)
You sure got a purty cello.

Oh, apparently Red China gave up on going back to the moon. It'd cost far too much. I wonder if that affects our retreaded plans at all? Oh, wait... nothing costs too much. We're America, dammit, and so long as our kids have kids who have kids, we've got money to burn (or just throw into Boeing's pockets).

At least we're spending a little bit of money wisely for the next true great frontier, and all its inherent crap.

The wall-of-cicadas sound is growing louder by the day... it sort of reminds me of that awful Langoliers TV-movie. Where have you gone, Bronson Pinchot?

(there's no English word for it)
0.5 : Haloscan commenting should be up for May... my lovely host provides (surprise) full PHP, but my programming days are long gone... and Halo is free... and I'm both lazy and poor. Whee!

1 : Why is it that any time new romantic interest brews, all the standouts from past seem to instinctively decide to "check in" and "say hello", simultaneously? Even the ones who have been incommunicado for, like, ever? Clockwork. What are you people not telling us?

2 : What's up with family dysfunction? Boy howdy, there sure is a lot of it! Much admiraion to those who can stand their ground yet still respect their ~12 year old elders.

3 : Why are quadriplegic veterans more hirable than myself? OK, that one's a little rude... but I got a nice enough letter back from the soon-to-open Smithsonian National Museum of the American Indian saying that while fully qualified to fill the dream-job AV-guru/documentarian position they had open, I didn't have enough "points" in the federal hiring scorecard. Guess I'm just gonna have to join the Marines and/or sharpen the pocketknife in hopes of getting a simple GS-10 next time. Say it with me... "OOO-RAH!"

Been challenged a lot lately about my personal definitions of success and ambition. I realize that my driving motivations (yes, I do have some) are simple and not quite marketable. They revolve around getting to know interesting people and places, and general creative collaboration within that realm. So, all told, touring musician / documentarian / video producer roles are all more or less dream jobs. For some reason lately I've been in this bullshit comparitive mindset thinking that without a desk job at some fancy acronymed agency complete with hefty salary and stress load, I'm a total waste. Actually, when it comes down to what really matters to me, I've come a long way in the last year and a half. (Hell, even in the last week.) There's still a lot more to be done, but it's just good to recognize the core progress despite the superficial (or is it superfiscal?) disappointment.

After a tight, almost completely-improvised show in PA on Friday, The Westcotts spent a motherlovin' 12 hours in the studio on Sunday. I was dreading the session at first... thought we were unprepared and I'd rather have had at least one day to myself this month. Glad I didn't... it wound up being surprisingly successful. Take a listen to a few teaser tracks of what we did (loose scratch mixes). Lots of artistic maturation going on, growing from straight blues to all sorts of uniquely American genres combined together), without a defining comparison (at least not quite... though Derek Trucks, Robert Randolph, and Maktub come to mind more and more). Combine that with all the fantabulous Mike Roy alt-Americana inertia and excitement, as well as some seriously promising innocent Baltimore indierock session work, and something is surely afoot.

In terms of my own listening, I've been all about the roots (well, with a bit of Elvis Costello and Pavement as sorbet). Caging the beast that is The Hammond Sound has completely guided my musical identity so far, and while it was the more hipster-friendly players like John Medeski and Mark Ramos-Nishita who first influenced me, I realize that neither my playing nor theirs would even be that way were it not for the simple, blues-heavy organ jazz of the late-50s-mid-60s. Arguably the most influential (and overrated if you're one of those soul-hating jazz purist snobs) player in that scene was of course Jimmy Smith. If you've read this far (sorry) and/or you're curious what the hell I'm even talking about, here's a dangerously cute little unreleased track recorded by Rudy Van Gelder with Jimmy sharing the studio with the great Stanley Turrentine on sax. If was from the last of Smith's Blue Note recordings before heading to Verve for his higher-budget orchestral/rock/funk releases. Despite being a door-hit-you-in-the-ass kind of project, there are some seriously great moments in this simple, sweet, laid-back 1960 session.

No one is safe...

... and this is brilliant.

(mother's day redux)
just noticed we've got squatters.

(we'll see)
Heather had a recent entry about her inherent asshole tendencies... I sort of thought it wasn't quite assholic so much as it was just a misunderstanding. You want asshole? I'm the asshole. Henry tipped me off that Papa John DeFrancesco (patriarch of the immensely talented if not flagrant DeFrancesco Hammond organ clan) would be sitting in with local sax great Jaques Johnson at Blues Alley tonight. I called Blues Alley to double-check, and they confirmed it. Excellent.

Long day at work, quick shower, and over to Blues Alley by way of Adams Morgan to check off one of Sara's To-Do-Before-Leaving-Washington items. I was so excited that not only was she able to finally check out Blues Alley, but she could also see my absolute favorite jazz subgenre in action.

Umm. No. I'm not sure what the hell we saw, but it wasn't a hard bop organ trio. Papa John wasn't even there. Thank goodness the UMBC Student ID card (issued eight years ago) was still in the wallet... if I'd paid full price to see what amounted to a senior citizens center Monday evening talent show, plus the ludicrously overpriced (and mandatory) food and drink at that place, I'd have been very angry.

Nothing against Jaques Johnson... he's a very talented player and a hell of a guy, but the band wasn't clicking at all... instead of an old Hammond B-3, an even older fella sat behind two circa-1986 FM-synthesis keyboards (think Doogie Howser theme song) playing with utterly passionless dedication and slothlike dexterity. Next to him was a guitar player who actually wasn't too bad, but didn't seem to be listening to the drummer or keyboard player, and would rather tinker with his effects pedals. The drummer was definitely stepping hard and keeping the boat rocking, but his attempts at fills and breaks weren't backed up by anyone else in the rhythm section, so they sounded empty and weak. Johnson played the heads, then walked off stage... leaving the less than stellar band struggling to tread water until his next powerful solo. That kind of setup plays at the Velvet Room in the Secaucus, New Jersey Holiday Inn... but c'mon... Blues Alley?? At $35/head?

Sara noticed that I wasn't really into it. Frankly, I must have looked like the kid that opened the BB gun-shaped package on Christmas morning only to find an economy-sized box of tube socks... but I just couldn't stand it. Then I realized something I've been fearing more and more lately... I'm a serious tone-snob. I'd have probably gotten into the set if the guy were playing a real organ, or piano, or even a somewhat convincing keyboard made in the last 10 years (plus, he just looked like the nicest, most easygoing old guy I've ever seen)... but these godawful voicings were overpowering my sense of overall music appreciation to the point that I just couldn't listen. There was nothing I could do to just relax, not care, and accept it for what it was...

Then the old lady who sounded eerily similar to Little Jimmy Scott (pumped up on Taurine) jumped on stage. A raw blues call-and-reponse led into Chain of Fools... the evening was elevated to a state of simple surreality by that point, only to segue into (what else?) Misty... and since, by law, no two singers can do it the same way... her take was... interesting.

Like I said, I'm an asshole, but at that point, the evening was somewhat of a success just for its complete left field originality... though I'd much rather have been smiling like a moron and stomping my feet wildly to some organ jazz. Oh... wait... is that the opening instrumental to Sade's "Smooth Operator"? We're so out of here.

Luckily I had local hero Bill Heid's excellent "Da Girl" in the car...

It's a damn shame jazz is basically dead on a publically-accessible scale (great unknowns abound but rarely play good rooms... mediocre legends hog the spotlight... fewer and fewer young people really learn about it at all... and don't even get me started on the neither smooth nor jazz "smooth jazz"), but I still hold hope after that night in the small, nondescript, run down old building on the Oakland/Berkeley line this past February... in a room filled with nothing but white kids under 25 and black guys over 60 mixing it up and letting it soar... take... a... listen...

Been too long since I had a string of sun-up entries... I'm seriously diggin' this pattern.

And on an actual important note... Henry, my thoughts are with you and all of Adam's friends and family... so sorry about your loss.

The expressions of grief on the site right now are heart-wrenchingly beautiful, though... and truly serve to emphasize the brilliant gift of life.

(best defence? good offence!)
This wins, hands down. Just try that in this hemisphere...

Up until today, this was a remarkably long yet boring and almost nonexistent week when it comes to actual mental/social engagement, outside of a great dinner with Bob&Krista, Teresa, and Keith&Sara (sorry for the lack of proper spacing kids, but once you're engaged, them's the rules in these parts.) Anyway, at 4pm today the general manager of the motorcycle shop decides to close early and have all the employees get out and go riding together.. When we return to the shop, they've already ordered a fully-catered barbecue meal with free beer to boot. After that, I head over to Dukr's and spend half an hour alone playing with Langley... then Dukr, Tape, and Karen return from the MD Microbreweries Fest with even more drink and merriment and we back-porch it for a few hours. Armstead and Josh join in while on a forced break from their wives, and bring more beer. That winds down, then Sara calls having just returned from her excruciating federal nightmare in bee-yoo-tiful Oklahoma and needs emergency social interaction pronto. Saturdays rule.

Dive bars with odd jukebox playlists... ashes that embed themselves in your skin and despite the searing pain are also kind of cool in a caveman sort of way... the GW parkway at 4:30am with no roof and bad Circle-K coffee... the drive home watching the sun come up while listening to WAMU's legendary "Stained Glass Bluegrass"...

Even in the most busy days (be they good, bad, or painfully indifferent), it's the little details that stay with you, define the moment, and appeal to the deepest sense of humanity within. Without the ability to recognize and cherish those instances, you might as well not be living. If ever there was a defining lesson I learned from Mom, that was it.

Happy mother's day.

One dead tire, one gravel-induced lowside, but no real drama. A great weekend playing on Ohio's most notorious roads, with equally notorious riders. Continuing to learn a hell of a lot, be it on my own, behind a vastly more experienced rider, or just in a split second of, "Oh... well... never do that again." Also started thinking about my own campy parallels between riding and life in general, but, well, for now I'll leave that up to Pirsig et al. Instead of getting fuzzy and philosophical about a dance with Ohio's answer to the Dragon, why not just be a true red-blooded American and try to make a few bucks instead?

This is just a start, actually... I kept meaning to do something like this, and finally got around to it tonight. For now, they're all OH-555 related, but I will hopefully start putting up a bunch of new designs and ideas...

(escape from DC...)
Nice drive back from a gig at McDaniel College tonight (we won a fraternity-sponsored "battle of the bands" type deal - though the competition was far from fierce... typical mix of college-y faux-Rusted Root, faux-Bright Eyes, or faux-Korn type bands). Fresh air, no radio, just wind, moon and stars. First time the roof came off of the Nissan this year. It's not quite like riding a motorcycle, but the major automakers should be ashamed for not making T-tops anymore. The amount of sensory disconnect involved in operating a new car these days is just scary.

Sensory disconnect, spiritual disconnect, whatever. Been catching up on the backlogged canon of metaphilophysisophical motorcycling books. Zen & the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Tao of the Ride, and to a somewhat tangential extent, Kamikaze Biker. I'm secretly proud that much of the meandering content covered in these books registers as basic common sense to me... and I feel snobby thinking "Wow... did that need to be pointed out?" Then I feel snobbier thinking, "Yeah, it does, to most people."

Anyway... packing for a weekend sojourn to Ohio and West Virginia. This particular trip is a yearly rite now, (see pics from last years'

less-than-stellar weekend, and the year before.)

Two lists in my hand right now. One labelled, "In the Givi:" and the other "In the Ortlieb:". Apparently I'm a gear snob now, too.

At work, and in conversations with many new friends, I realize that very few people really perceive motorcycling as a serious hobby. Wheelies on the Beltway and/or going 45mph in the fast lane with deafeningly loud straight pipes screaming "POTATO-POTATO-POTATO" seem to be the only two dominant paradigms. Then again, NASCAR and the WWF are the most popular sports in this fair country...

OK, so apparently today's entry is just a bunch of cultural superiority and whining about the commoners. Then again, if you spent all day long at my "work", you'd be doing it, too. No offense to my friends who hate their wonky/governmental positions... but at least you're surrounded with people who don't start every sentence with, "Hey, y'all gots them, uhh..."

I need a multi-day rambling adventure. Oh, yeah... that's what I'm doing. Rock! To the times in life that make it all make sense-

(more than you love me...)
Tonight's unpredictable music flashback : Electronic - the early-90s collaboration between main members of New Order, The Smiths, and Pet Shop Boys. Absolute British synthpop bliss. Perfect canvas for an evening of retrospection and self-evaluation... as it was the soundtrack for those things 10 years ago, back when I had very little to look back on or evaluate, though I did it a lot anyway. Pfft, and I used to think girls would find that detached longing stoicism attractive.

Blah groove continues with the whole Bush economy poster-boy thing. Got a call from some old NASA contacts who need some loose ends tied up for the Station... but working on it even for a few hours just made me feel that much more resentful of how things went down there, and how the current "job" (however convenient) just sucks in comparison. $8/hr with no insurance? C'mon.

It's not all bad, of course. Music's been filling the void pretty well with great gigs and a lot of new session recording possibility (though taking away even further sleep/social time), as have some fascinating late night conversations all revolving around bad relationships, which winds up reminding me that despite my perpetually single status, my standards are high and that's often better than the alternative. (And it's not like I'm not having fun... though the whole everyone-i-ever-loved-is-married thing is still kind of strange.)

It's also nice to see forward momentum in other people's lives who have otherwise been feeling very adrift lately. Sara, Heather, and Amanda have all figured out their grad school directions and are really excited. Kasima's deeply challenging return to the stage has met with great acclaim from the Washington Post. Hell, Heather even bumped into Yo Yo Ma out of the blue... and you know things are looking up when that happens.

One very cool thing this week... The Stax Museum finally published their list of Founding Members. It truly reads like a whos-who of soul music. Isaac Hayes, Booker T. Jones, Steve Cropper, Duck Dunn, Mavis Staples, Estelle Axton, William Bell, Eddie Floyd, Carla Thomas, Mable John, Jean Knight... and Jeff Conlin.

OK, and about a hundred others... Sure, like a fraternity, it's a circle I paid myself into, but still... it's something that, for years, I really wished would come true one day... then had the chance to help make happen. Damn, I can't wait to get down there and see the place some time.

Continued props to the Krawdaddee-

(blind girl i miss you)
Spent my wonderful work-at-noon morning blowing through the global interweb and getting a new sonic IV drip. Jens Lekman is a great example of trends I see lately where "The ProTools Sound" is being emphasized rather than covered up for. In some cases it does actually work...

Of course, it helps wrapping it all around longing pop lyrics about blind girls, summer camp, new years eve, and all the high school moments of tiny chances...

"Someday I'll be stuffed in some museum, scaring little kids."

(the way it should be)

Worked on the SV some this morning, hooked up with Jack and his new Harley, and headed off into the sunrise.

Attacked Croom Rd. with fervor, scuffed in Jack's tires sufficiently, then headed off to St. Mary's County's famous "Blessing of the Bikes"... which turned out to be half over-the-top church service, and half well-behaved Klan meeting. Ditched that freakshow and went to Point Lookout. 85 in the woods, 75 on the water. Perfect day to put down 250 miles or so along the coast. Moseyed north to Solomon's Island for people watching and other forms of entertainment. Dukr dropped by, cruised back to La Casa then played with Langley. What else are Sundays for?

(pain drain)
First off, I've watched these so many times, and they just keep getting funnier (and a little closer to my own bipolar internal dialogue). Somewhat less disturbing than the subservient chicken, but... not by much.

Ok, everything I said about Joe Bonamassa being too poppy was just based on his album. Live, he's one bad mutha. Amazing range of styles, surprisingly good vocals, and it's all augmented by one of the best bass players I've ever heard. You could barely tell it was a only a 3 piece.

But enough about other people. Naturally, we kicked more ass than we would have imagined. Good musically-appreciative audiences help, of course. I was feeling sort of craptastic from the outset, but managed to focus all of that frustration and angst into the music... wound up almost losing my sanity in the middle of a slow blues set... haven't put that much emotion into playing since Chicago in '02. Despite the entertaining presence of Michelle and my folks... I wound up being very low-key and mellow afterwards... i don't like being in that state, and it is rare, but it's such an incredible feeling being thoroughly emotionally empty after an artistic endeavor.

Despite that, though, I gotta say... it's great having people who really support you. Not just say good luck or show up from time to time, but take the time to actually listen, enjoy, and interact. Anyone can wish you well... but, of course, not everyone can truly hear or appreciate to begin with.

Crazy new shows coming up, lots of session work soon. To loosely paraphrase a Very Special IM conversation I had earlier today... "It's like it's my year! Everything's coming together so well... everything's looking up!"

Well, something like that...

(it's an eminence front!)
This isn't saying much, but one of the key high points of my "job" is the muzak system. Intelligent people somewhere (likely not at the dealership itself) figured out that to get folks in the motorcycle-buying-mood, you just need to feed 'em with hard edged power funk, progressive rock, and AOR themes from their angst-ridden teenage years (our median buying age is around 45, go figure). All day long, it's Steppenwolf, Sugarloaf, Deep Purple, Allan Parsons, Foghat, Yes, Rush, and occasoinal (and much needed) shots of everyone from Dylan or Neil Young to Led Zeppelin or The Who. I always just think of the Croce/Taylor/Carpenters musical emasculation of that era... but there was some merit here and there.

This isn't meant to sound melodramatic, but every girl I've ever fallen in love with is now engaged or married. That's just sort of strange in a party-trivia kind of way.

Major gig tonight in Towson opening for Joe Bonamassa. He's making larger and larger waves in the hippie/blues/jam scene, but with a strong pop mentality. Not really my thing, but it's obviously selling well and moving forward fast. He started out as a child prodigy... worked his way up with time and determination. Andrew Westcott is on the same track, and about the same point in his career that Bonamassa was at that time (just breaking into his frontman role, beginning to do more songwriting and arrangement, etc)... so some really cool parallels on stage. I'm pretty sure, though, that just like at the Delbert show and the Robert Bradley show, we're going to upstage them to some of the crowd. They're more seasoned performers, but we don't have any of that pesky pop pretense going...

...yet.

('course, we're also far more poor than them...)

Last night after rehearsal, Andrew and I went off on a little riff with a strong Jimmy Smith / Kenny Burrell feel. Leslie unplugged, two stops out, just smooth chord comping and a slow walking bass, as he played muted octaves... a few gospel changes here and there. Great stuff...

A few new, and very interesting session recording opportunities on the near horizon... so that's a good feeling. That is what this whole year is supposed to be about, after all.

<pop schlock>
"Maybe I'm crazy, for chasing that dream. It hasn't been easy, like some make it seem. I can't help but feeling my best is yet to be, there's someone and something better waiting for me." -Joe Bonamassa
</pop schlock>

(the umlaut is over the u)
made up for a few weeks of nonsociality with a full evening of debauchery... from the caloric gluttony of Sara's eggplant parmesan and chocolate-almond torte (+multiple German wines), to multiple rounds of Nat Shermans and Mild Sevens (+Delerium Nocturne) with Kas and Erika... not to mention anthropological research excursions to Millie & Al's (+Yeungling), Royal Palace (+Makers Mark), Heaven&Hell (+Jack & Coke), and Toledo Lounge (+Hooegarden) to see none other than the legendary Dru Lore in his equally legendary Unfiltered Belgian White mindstate. It was a wonderful night of social and chemical equilibrium.

Sort of surprised I'm home. The spongy absorbency of Jumbo Slice should be fully researched one day.

Crazy dreams last night of galactic explosions viewed from earth by casual-hobby astronomers (including myself... and my dad... and my 8" Dobsonian telescope... in some random Chinese town...)

Things aren't quite great... nor quite looking up... but definitely new... and lots of potential.

Kasima summed a lot up very well. Certainly, it's his own personal context, but the sentiment is shared across the board... not just by myself, but seemingly by quite a few people in this stage of life.

(notes from the blogosphere)
First off, it's strange hearing your parents say something to the effect of, "Oh, I read on your website the other day..." For some reason I guess our little generation assumes that no one over 40 really understands how to use the web or what any of this crap means. Anyway... umm... love you guys!

Long day of riding with Dukr, helping her get acclimated to the new Bimmer. Also really getting plugged into the SV... really just feels like an extention of my body at this point... which is insanely surreal, all told. I pity anyone who doesn't try motorcycle riding at least once.

I'm apparently far more intelligent than Henry's entire law firm when it comes to geography. 48/48 with 25% of time left to go : here. So if I'm smarter than someone making lawyer money... shouldn't that mean I make more money? Someone, please give me some money. Give me your money. Now.

Sara's got me listening to Paranoid Android done by the UMASS marching band frontline percussion. I love stuff like this. Just pulled out the old London Philharmonic covers of Pink Floyd... which then moved me on to Antibalas keyboard player Ticklah's complete reggae/dub remake of Dark Side of the Moon.

Sara's grad school angst is over, but Heather's still in the thick of it. In the midst of the goithannan, her dreams of pregnancy are a somewhat comforting foreshadowing of a new era of creativity... lately my dreams have just been of me sitting around. Go figure.

Blah blah blah... <snore>

(!)
Toots and the Maytals on Saturday Night Live? Whoa.

Ben Harper and Jack Johnson shouldn't have been up there with 'em, frankly.

I miss good ska.

(numerology, baby!)
455 miles, 45 degrees, 4 - 5 layers of clothing, 4.5" inches of rain pooled in my boots, 45 minutes of stomach cramps following the roadtrip-trademark Chinese Buffet, 45mph average speed on the way down (traffic), 90mph on the way home (45*2... close enough)

Damn if it wasn't a great day. Michelle got her dream bike, I got a new sweater for $2.50. What more could you ask for? Well, sleep.

(i would like to be your hero)
As I was saying the other day, just like the economy, life gives little indicators that things will swing one way or another soon. Or maybe, like the economy, one small indicator brings about a lot of external momentum. Anyway...

A clean room is always an indicator that things are improving. So is good music, or at least the hunt to find some.

RW turned me on to Etree.org. I need a new hard drive already. I also was going back over some "to hear" lists I made as far back as two years ago and tried to do some catching up. My favorite find so far is also my new theme song (3MB SWF download... give it a minute) produced by Flaming Lips, written and sung by the ex host of Blue's Clues. And not a bad album at all.

Now that the motorcyclin' season is kicking, I realize that a job that forces me to work every Saturday really sucks. But I have a lot of day trips planned, and will start up a separate travel portfolio soon, focusing mostly on the small pieces of overlooked local history (my favorite local ones as seen from Keyhole's Earthviewer software - damn, I miss NASA)... which usually wind up being in the crosshairs of another Wal*Mart or whatever. God forbid we respect the stories and lessons of the past and have any historical identity in this country.

But someone's already trumped my fascination with how industrial and commercial "progress" affect both the environment and humanity... this is one of the most fascinating personal websites I've ever seen.

From the seventh grade department, Germans are weird. Really weird. Really, really weird.

Speaking of Germans... I know a secret... (varoom)

(got it got it)
Yet another week full of exhausting routine with a little surreality thrown in at the end to keep me fascinated.

Work's work... haven't quite figured out the right adjectives for that yet. I guess we'll see what the first check looks like. Everything else in life has just sort of been on a very slow boil. Friendships, relationships, finances (or lack thereof), insane hair-trigger roomate rage, job situations, changing mental perceptions of success and creative identity, self-image... all that fun stuff. Luckily there are some damn cool people in my life who aren't afraid of vulnerability, and yet don't fan the flames of needless drama. They know those phases all too well, and most importantly, understand and voice that the passive "slow burn" mentality is far more dangerous than just getting angry and/or being sad. But I can't seem to just kick myself out of it.

Of course, life has a way of giving you breaks when you need 'em. Just a brief glimmer to successfully remind you to stop being a pussy.

Had a gig tonight... great lineup... all my favorite people on the DC blues scene, and we haven't played together like that in far too long. But the gig itself was a benefit to raise money for a man named Moses Munene. Moses recently came to the US from Kenya, and couldn't quite make things work out. He's homeless, and now paralyzed due to traumatic spinal damage. I had never spoken with him, had no idea who was organizing the event, or what took place before all of this to make it happen. It didn't really matter, though.

To finish off the evening, Moses rolled his wheelchair towards the microphone, and asked if any other Kenyans in the audience would mind singing Amazing Grace with him in his native dialect. That song used to have a very profound impact on me, but (like much of pop-spirituality) it loses its luster after you hear it for the 12,492,547th time... unless you hear a paralyzed homeless Kenyan man sing it, thousands of miles from his home yet

surrounded by his countrymen, in a church meeting hall where all kinds of people gathered to give him whatever money they could so he could at least rent an apartment for the next few years rather than stay in a shelter in his condition.

The act of singing and/or listening-to-others-sing is sort of a strange state to be in. A completely alternate, temporary, abstract means of communication (or prayer, for that matter). At the conclusion of the fourth verse, there was that awkward few seconds of transition... back to the present moment, back to verbal human communication... but as everyone relaxes and begins to walk away, Moses quietly, harmonically, concludes his song as a prayer, his voice ringing out in the hall with one of the most simple, beautiful A-mens I've ever heard.

What was I so pissed off about, again?

"Grizzlebee's now delivers! Call now and get a free order of Cookie Bread!"

(space for rent)
I don't remember where I heard it (and it was said with a heavily New Jersean dialect)... but the statement, "I don't let anyone rent space in my head," is about as simple and to-the-point as it gets right now. Other peoples' problems with me (or non-problems for that matter) are not my own, so unless they want to talk about them, why should I bother caring in the least? (Unless, of course, it leads to vandalism or violence, at which point I've got a golf club in one hand and the PG Police on speed dial.)

Thanks to a new hacksaw and some help from RW, I got the new Scorpion exhaust on the SV. Obviously built to a price point compared to, say, an Akrapovic... but it looks and sounds very nice, and lightens the right side of the bike up by at least 10lbs.

Used that as a springboard to a nice 150-200 mile ride yesterday down through rural southern PG County (Croom, Jug Bay, Patuxent wetlands), into Charles... over the Nice bridge, around King George, even down towards Tappahannock (bah, shoulda brought the camera). Quiet backroads along the marshes and creeks... sweeping curves and tree coverage all around. It was a great recharge, some time to spend in thought, or just lost in the very Ducati-like sound of the new exhaust.

The riding season couldn't come at a better time. All I need now is health insurance. :/

(fuck it all)
I give up...

Outside of everything else going on (which is suddenly a lot), my roommate just threw me across the living room. I should be pressing charges at this point, but that's just not my style... Yet...

(recharge)
First off... chill picture from the Roy/Roddy show in Richmond last week. Me, Paul, and Amanda rockin' on the Neil Young tip.

Secondly, today was the first day of my new job. Outside of tired-ass dawgs, a bloody lip, and a shirt four sizes too large that looks more like a fly robe than anything else, it seems ok, I suppose. Not bad for a few months at least.

Last minute blitz to NYC in between celebrating a couple of great Mike Roy shows, Erika's birthday and show wrap, Kasima's new show, and Kathryn's thesis. (Nice to know some Inc people are still in touch with their creativity and aren't settling or slowing down. -ouch)

Just an incredible weekend. Hanging out with old friends, met a lot of new friends. Rode out a manic binge spending money on clothes, food, and liquor. Nat Shermans abounded (overabounded, really).

Randomly discovered three of my jazz organ heroes were sharing a gig in Times Square on Saturday, and got into that. Short and overpriced as it was, it was one of the most incredible shows I've ever seen, just shy of when the late Shirley Scott played with these guys in Philly a few years ago. Wound up shedding tears at one point when an old and terribly shaky, but still funky as all hell Jimmy McGriff echoed the opening solo of the late genius Jack McDuff's ultra-ultra-rare "Gospelette" (played in 1982 on the day he learned Sonny Stitt died - there's a RealAudio link on that McDuff link above from the hallowed day... you can even hear Jack start it off by saying, "Gonna lay my head down and cry, y'all"... I swear to God this is my favorite organ recording in the universe).

Also wound up shakin' my fool ass off with most folks in there when Lonnie Smith and Houston Person broke down some serious funk to wrap the set up. Yeah, Joey DeFrancesco was there, but... c'mon. I'd already met Jimmy some years ago, and he seemed in somewhat worse shape this time around, but Lonnie and I hung out for a little bit... amazing guy, very personable, and it even turns out in his spare time, he plays the same obscure unknown Swedish keyboard I do. I think we were both sort of shocked and equally smug about that.

Irish bar, with requisite whisky and stout, free liqueur tasting, talking politics of public schools with some jamaican teachers out in the trademark NY smoke break. Caught a UCB show, then back to Brooklyn for Kathryn's party. Trademark Sunday afternoon post-hangover brunch and flea market browsing... just perfect... beyond all the fun, it was great to just settle in and start getting a solid vibe from the city. I hadn't had enough of a chance to really do that before.

No doubt, SF really intrigued me, but this time around, NY really showed me that it just makes great sense from a creative standpoint, and it's not nearly as bad as I'd once assumed from a personal daily fulfillment standpoint, especially with such a better chance of finding interesting, creatively engaging people to spend time with, versus the generally empty, greedy, or overtly closed-minded DC crowd.

For as great as SF is... sometimes I just need people to wear black wool coats to feel at home.

Came back to MD yesterday with a lot of uncertainty, but that's nothing new. Still just strange having so much flexibility in life right now... sort of frustrating, really. My manic binge ate into my financial reserves a little more severely than I thought it would... but it was time to get back to work anyway. But for now, it was possibly the best way to wrap a long season of mental and emotional vacation... took the roof off of the Nissan, grabbed some coffee, snaked my way back onto the Turnpike, worked on the season's first faceburn, and turned on WKCR to hear them playing all of John Coltrane's masterwork, "A Love Supreme" including some previously unreleased alternate takes - until the signal broke up (but by then I'd already come down off of my city high, and was looking for good travel music). By then, central Jersey to Baltimore means WXPN, just in time to hear the Wayfaring Strangers' intriguing mix of folk, bluegrass, and straight-ahead jazz.

Threw a bunch of new pictures up that have been lying around. Not much classification, but some entertainment.

Why waste all your time at work reading other peoples' blogs, when you can be FRIGGIN' SCARED TO DEATH listening to them instead, on RadioVoxPopuli. The convergence of technologies was inevitable, and the randomness of it combined with the varying synthesized dialects (the Scot one is by far my favorite) slowly develops this strange omniscient feeling of floating among inner dialogues... or diaries... then every once in a while a CSS or Javascript sheet accidentally hits the stream, and the 20 seconds of numbers and commands combined with the randomized radio-static samples that play in between stress the mechanized nature of it all, the artificiality of its delivery... then suddenly you jump into someone talking about their escapist drug habit or how much they resent their spouse... or how great their day is... and the train keeps rollin'... world keeps turnin... (haven't been able to get this song outta my head for three days lately). Anyway, I guess I could go on and on about what an interesting experience it is to just sit and listen... but I won't. It's friggin' 6am and I still can't sleep. Not sure why (the SNOW maybe?). Maybe caffeine. I'm fat. I hate myself. Just kidding.

Never had the pleasure of meeting Jim Bolin face-to-face, but anyone who had always said with great enthusiasm that he lived life to the fullest, didn't take anything too seriously - including himself, and held his friends new and old as close as he would family. Even just on SabMag list traffic or over email, you could tell there was something special about the guy.

The ride from Daytona back to Forks, WA is long enough as it is... a freak chain-reaction accident on I-70 in Kansas turned it into an eternity.

It's always good to take a minute to sit back and remember how short life is, how nothing's guaranteed, and most of all how important it is to focus on simply enjoying it to the fullest while helping everyone around you do the same... but it really sucks when those reminders come to you this way.

Well, I've been doing my part on the above... Roy/Roddy Rockshow Ridiculosity continued in Richmond, complete with beer-battered tofu steak, Chuck Brown CDs, and all-ya-can-drink pitchers of PBR. Westcott jam tonight at an amazingly white trash hole in the wall in the heart of Falls Church, but possibly the most jam-tastic jam mentality ever with them. It was like all the best moments of a Phish show, and none of the stupid Phish songs to weigh it all down so much.

Bike shop job starts next week, but another resume went out to the Smithsonian today for an A/V support position at the new National Museum of the American Indian. Could be very cool...

Black Flag is playing on Futurama.

"I'm not... familiar... with the kind of thing... I'm... seeing" -Calculon

"Have you ever tried simply turning off the TV... sitting down with your children... and hitting them?" -Bender

"Do vegans swallow?" -HMcD