jeff conlin - summer '04 archive

10/13/04 - 9:16pm EDT (stick your head in doo doo)
Round 3 of the Great Playground Battle is off... and someone in Bush's speechwriting possee deserves a cookie and a gold star.

"A plan is not a litany of complaints."

Amazing. Possibly the most clear, eloquent thing the President has ever said, and cuts to the core of most negative feelings towards the Democratic Party and self-proclaimed liberals.

If self-proclaimed conservatives and Republicans were to respond to Dem doom'n'glooming with that kind of sharp wit more often (instead of responding to the ideas with a jackass-older-brother-taunting-the-sensitive-younger-sibling kind of uber-smarminess - not that I have any personal feeling coloring my view here) things would be a lot different.

Oh, oh,, wait... Bush just got overly-comfortable, attempted some improvisation, and revealed his inner mongoloid. "... in his... his... litany... of... of... mis-... statements."

Niiiice try.

Kerry appears to be Gore-ing it up, though. Edging too close to losing the positive momentum by overdoing it on the apocalyptic, while Bush heaps on the jokes, laughing, and relaxed posture. Grrrr... the third-party debates were so much more entertaining. Vote Brown! Or maybe Peroutka? Hell, how about Tony Blair?

(high pressure zone)
Nothing to write lately, despite the beautiful weather. Guess its been a mix of emotions, sickness, medicine, and generally bad brain chemicals... not to mention an insane work schedule and my inability to say no to people thus having no free time for myself, but I've been generally pissed off and at the same time terribly unmotivated lately.

Last night was the season ender at Tall Timbers. Musically, that gig is getting more and more frustrating, but I love the people and the place. At the end of the evening, it was nice just to be able to go out to the beach, feeling burboney and cigarred, look up, and see one of those skies you can only see 80 miles away from any real city.

Just a sea of stars, with clusters so thick they looked like faint smoke. Until, of course, the real smoke obscured it all. No, the season isn't over until someone, in grand St. Mary's County form, covers an old boat in diesel fuel and throws emergency safety flares at it. The heat from the boat combined well with a jump in the surprisingly warm waters of the lower Potomac.

I realized earlier this year (typical sign of the bad brain chemicals - repeatedly looking back over old photographs) both times I was out on the west coast, I never actually jumped into the Pacific. I think the rationale was so I had to return some time and do that. Something strangely spiritual about immersing yourself in natural water.

Should be in Baltimore by the end of this week. That will be good. It also coincides with a lightening up of the appointment schedule, which also gives more opportunities to get involved in some music projects up there that are quite tasty, and have plenty of potential.

I think the moving process would be greatly simplified with some diesel fuel and safety flares at this point...

(I'm me and I vote!)
The motorcycle shop I work for is known literally worldwide for our customer service, dedication, and attention to detail... yet the other day a customer approached a (short-haired, tattooed, openly lesbian, and sweetest person in the world) co-worker asking for assistance; she excused herself, went into the back office, and told me how she absolutely couldn't help this guy, he made her sick.

I walked out, not knowing what to expect and found a smiling middle aged white guy and his wife standing there saying, "Hi, we need some help." They had just purchased a $20,000 top-of-the-line touring motorcycle from us and were hoping to add some extra touches to make it perfect for their individual needs. I discussed their options, helped them narrow down exactly what they wanted, even went outside to their bike and helped them install their new purchases. They were very happy, plenty of money was exchanged for the goods and my time, not to mention a hearty handshake and "thank you" on their part, and the standard of service the business stands for (not to mention my own basic morals) were maintained.

I went back inside, and my co-worker said, "How the heck did you even stomach that crap? People like him shouldn't even be allowed in here... or allowed to be alive. Ugh."

It wasn't until I watched them get on the bike and ride away that I realized the guy had on a shirt that said, "Kerry/Fonda in '04 - France can have 'im!". OK, kinda silly and closed minded in its own right, sure... but did that negate the fact that he and his wife were smiling, eagerly anticipating their new motorcycle, and wanted to pay for pleasant yet knowledgable advice and service? Did they deserve anathema status courtesy screenprint ink?

I know, I didn't see their initial interaction with her. Maybe they threw her a funny vibe. And I know it was just a singular incident, but it is a trend I'm noticing. Why is it that more often than not the most closed-minded, hateful, judgmental people I've come in contact with are also the most ardent flag-waving "liberals" (often ones who spend a lot of energy pointing out how marginalized and stereotyped they are)

Six weeks to a heavy sigh and a vote for Kerry/Edwards/Hanoi Jane or whatever. Thursday night should be interesting.

You know what I really really like? The fact that this disco/post-punk train is still rolling strong 20 years after Gang of Four or Big Audio Dynamite. Be it the underground echoes of LCD Soundsystem, the hipster almost-pop of Radio 4, !!! or The Rapture, or the all out pop bliss of The Killers and pretty much everything on the new Interpol... thrashy guitars and a bootyshakin' octave-on-the-eighths bassline is the recipe for all out sonic joy, yet skirts any comparison to the multitude of awful rock/disco marriages of the late 70s. Rock.

Well,

all told, at this stage in the game, I just want to ride my mooooooo-tor-sickle.

(more self-absorbed dispatches)
I'm alive... just spread thin.

Good gig in Cincinnati last Thursday; decent turnout considering it was a Thursday. Spent plenty of time talking to the local bartenders, bouncers and buskers in Over the Rhine. That's always the crowd I wind up hanging with when playing on the road. Local street musicians are always fascinating to talk to, and provide an insight into the soul of the city far clearer than any faux-ass hipster. The ones I met in Cincinnati absolutely hated the place and all said they wanted to go to Baltimore, oddly enough.

Had to work 8 hours later, and the only way to do that was to leave at 4:30am, hop to Atlanta, eat some breffest, then land at BWI at 9:55 (was on the schedule for 10am). Thank you Delta Airlines for providing me with a little zen meditation on a sleep-deprived workday. "In order to go north, you must first go south." Selah.

Got to be dashing and don the tux for the Calvert Marine Museum fundraiser again this year. They had live skates and rays in a tank. Next to the wine bar. Classssssy.

Also got to wear the old-timey-water-faucet cufflinks I picked up at the Useless Crap Emporium last time I went to Manhattan.

Hellish day at work today... but luckily we stock plenty of protection.

Fun with cameraphones. Whee.

OK enough of my self-deprecating vanity. Watch Kenny Ruyter be a badass. When done, listen to the magic he's working on the forthcoming WBB album (this track is the epic breakup soul/r'n'b ballad - an exorcism of old demons in a way... the rest is more funky/gritty/bluesy). I'm wrapping up the cover design as we speak... Erika helped lay down bg vocals.

The SV sold tonight on Ebay for $1802. Not bad. The loose ends are wrapping up. Baltimore, ho... ho.

(the most beautiful thing)
If anyone was uncertain... this is what love looks like. For best results,

accept nothing less.

The new, improved Mike and Eileen Rosenfelder...

9/12/04 - 10:15pm EDT (o say can you see...)
Back from another round of moto-crew duty, this time for the Hero of the Day ride for Food and Friends... North Carolina to DC in an all-proceeds-to-the-charity event that kicked Pallotta Teamworks into absolute mental obscurity from here on out. Amazing. Truly a surreal experience transitioning back from that all-encompassing compassion and camaraderie surrounding an event like that, back into the real world of selfish people, dirty roommates, and not being able to ride my motorcycle on the wrong side of the road, leaned over with the throttle wide open as I pass a cop... and he waves and smiles at me.

Now I can start to work on moving.

Its been years since I really thought about the war of 1812. The History Channel rules.

I'm currently between cities. The last few years have included a strong push to explore and get more deeply rooted in DC, though I don't think I make enough money or have enough self-importance to pull that off. Baltimore's been calling again.

Baltimore people ask why I bother with such a vain, empty, arrogant place as DC. DC people wonder what anyone would get out of such a dirty, working-class, eccentric city like Baltimore.

The two cities' nearly polar identities were forged not with proto-hipsters and their quirky art/music/filmographies and related college alliances...

No, the obvious distinction between the two cities was decided in 1814. DC got they' asses SPIZZANKED by the British... Washington's militiamen ran home so fast from Bladensburg they killed more redcoats from exhaustion in the chase than from musket fire... while in Baltimore, residents all joined together and extinguished all lights to confuse the Brits, merchants sunk their own ships at McHenry to form a barrier, and the militia charged the British first at North Point. That says it all.

I'm pretty sure the same would be true today. Someone (anyone) declares war on DC and its populace either shrugs, or more likely cries aloud, "Yes! We agree! We're an awful imperialistic cyst on the world and must be destroyed! Let me just gather my Ikea furniture real quick!" wheras Baltimore would respond, "NOBODY FUCKS WITH THE BROMO SELTZER TOWER!" and rips shit up.

(they call it stormy monday)
Last night, probably due to the weather, my house got buzzed by a massive 4-engine jet at about 900 feet. My pulse soared to roughly 180bpm for the next few minutes. My natural reaction was just one of fear, helplessness, and anxiety. What the hell?

Later in the evening I turn on PBS and they're showing the (albeit very well produced) unbelievably depressing American Experience episode about the life and death of the World Trade Center. Forgot its getting to be that time again. Forgot how the mind tends to erode away at those feelings and memories over a few short years, but not the instinctive lessons learned... maybe for its own good on both counts.

Well, anyway... [what a segue] the perfect way to wrap up a weekend like this? Buy stuff. Well, not just stuff... stuff that makes you happy. And scares small children. And old ladies. And to some extent, yourself.

But damn if it ain't sexy. Sounds great, too.

500 miles home in the heavy rain and wind... heated grips, handguards, cruise control, comfy seat, tall shield, and 100 horsepower all did their job to make it effortless (and only about 6 hours). It already feels like this bike is as close to "the One" that I've found. Comfortable yet agressive, relaxed yet nimble, great stamina, attractive yet unique, handles baggage well... funny how similar the hunt for good bikes and women are.

Huge thanks to Dukr for driving me out to just shy of Asheville to pick it up.

As far as more Blues news, brother-from-another-mother Mike Westcott reposted some of those great songs from the Rose Recording sessions we did... forgot how great they were. Also a nice illustration of what a good (ok, Timm Biery and Jay Turner are more like f'n amazing) rhythm section will do for ya.

Keep the Blues Alive
(should make a great opening to any blues radio show)
Can't Guarantee Tomorrow
(gritty, honest, searing slow blues... and very true)
Blues in Rockville
(Mike's autobiographical on-the-job blues...)

The Westcott Brothers are all heading into the studio tomorrow night to start wrapping up our new album... hopefully it will work out in such a way that everyone's happy... right now its sort of a jumble of ideas that need some hammering out.

(you gotta help me baby)
Regular readers of this here drivel should know that any bout of depression, overt inrospection, or similar emotional dynamics are usually followed by a few days of utter surreality.

Things to do on a Saturday :

- play the DC Blues Festival with some of my dearest friends, with whom I haven't played with in nearly a year, then find out after the fact that the entire set was broadcast live on old favorite WPFW-89.3FM to roughly 150,000 listeners, a few of whom even called me to let me know they listened to every note from 60 miles away while watching an elderly loved one slip away...

- find out shortly therafter that, across town at the Rosslyn Jazz Festival, one of my contemporary Hammond organ heroes is playing in two hours with his legendary trio... then do whatever I can to get over there before the action starts.

- go into the wrong park in Rosslyn (Freedom Park vs. Gateway Park) and find myself surrounded by chunks of the Berlin Wall, the actual jail cell door that held Martin Luther King, a South African ballot box from the first post-Apartheid election, a toppled, and headless statue of Lenin from St. Petersburg, among other things

- listen to the most outside, abstract, hard-bop set Joey DeFrancesco, Pau Bollenbackl, and Byron Landham have ever played (in my presence at least), then drive BACK to Carter-Barron to hear (barely) living blues legend Pinetop Perkins close out the show with the local heroes (undeserved - but that will be further expounded upon in a forthcoming essay on "pop" blues and racial dynamics cancelling eachother out) the Nighthawks

- sit at home on the deck for two hours looking up at the stars and getting broken up with by the most amazing woman I've ever fallen for, but in such a completely rational, non-dramatic, fully understanding way. I mean, the fact that unbeknownst to eachother, we both spent last night imbibing ourselves on Maker's Mark and Ultra Lights alone is telling, much less our utterly phenomenal summer.

- decide that enough talk is enough talk, swallow any lingering pain as best as I can, take the roof off the Nissan and head down to the legendary Chick Hall's Surf Club to join in the DC Blues Society after-party, where I cast off the mandatory $15 donation with the phrase, "Fuck that. I play," walk in, set up my gear, and wind up holding down three sets of some of the most phenomenal playing I've ever had with local icons Linwood Taylor, Dr. S.O.Feelgood, and Blue Lou.

Tomorrow's the always-entertaining end-of-season 25th Hour show at Tall Timbers marina which is never complete without skinny dipping in the Patuxent while watching an old abandoned boat burn, then Monday, Dukr and I brave the northern arms of Hurricane Frances, and I pick up my new bike in Hickory, NC, only to turn around and bring it back. 1000 miles in 12 hours.

I don't think I've ever had a day like this. I'm not sure I want another... but then again, I don't want this day to end.

I'm heading back to Surf Club now.

(slippy)
The folks are on vacation, and I've been assigned to keep an eye on things. Cats fed, fish happy, newspapers brought in.. spent a lot of time looking at old family photographs and just feeling overwhelmingly blessed.

Naturally I also had to look after Dad's roadster.

Scooting along the backroads at dusk, fully immersed in the landscape around me... occasionally revelling in the joys of dimensional distortion (sure, motorcycles can bank... but RWD cars can yaw, and that's often even more fun). Threw in the dusty Trainspotting soundtrack because all week long I couldn't get Blur's "Sing" nor Lou Reed's "Perfect Day" out of my head for a variety of reasons. (How convenient of them to be together on one album.)

Once that wave of sentimental funk washed over, another old favorite from that great era of cultural awakening popped on (I forgot how nearly perfect that sountrack was).

DRIVE BOY... DOG BOY...DIRTY NUMB ANGEL BOY,
IN THE DOORWAY BOY, SHE WAS A LIPSTICK BOY,
SHE WAS A BEAUTIFUL BOY, AND TEARS BOY
AND ALL IN YOUR INNERSPACE BOY
YOU HAD HAND GIRLS BOY AND STEEL BOY
YOU HAD CHEMICALS BOY
I'VE GROWN SO CLOSE TO YOU BOY
AND YOU'VE JUST GROWN BOY
SHE SAID 'COME OVER COME OVER!'
SHE SMILED AT YOU BOY.......

LET YOUR FEELINGS SLIP BOY
BUT NEVER YOUR MASK BOY RANDOM BLONDE BOY
HIGH DENSITY RANDOM BLONDE BOY BLONDE COUNTRY
BLONDE HIGH DENSITY YOU ARE MY DRUG BOY
YOU'RE REAL BOY SPEAK TO ME BOY DOG DIRTY NUMB
CRACKING BOY YOU GET WET BOY BIG BIG TIME BOY
AND ACID BARE BOY AND BABES AND BABES AND BABES
AND BABES AND BABES AND REMEMBERING NOTHING BOY
DO YOU LIKE MY TIN HORN BOY?
IT GETS WET LIKE AN ANGEL DE-RAILED

YOU'VE GOT A VELVET MOUTH
YOU'RE SO SUCCULENT AND BEAUTIFUL
SHIMMERING AND DIRTY
WONDERFUL AND HOT TIME ON YOUR TELEPHONE LINE
AND GOD AND EVERYTHING ON YOUR TELEPHONE
AND IN WALKS AN ANGEL...

it goes on... ("MEGA, MEGA, LAGER, LAGER..." and such)

... as does this new era of awakening. Mmm, mega-lager.

Last year, around mid-December... when final production of the Mike Roy album was wrapped up and we were gearing up for the big debut show, we all agreed what an impossibly shitty year 2003 had been, and predicted (or more just prayed for) '04 to be the best year ever.

Its been close (kudos to Mike himself for diving in head-first)... maybe closer for me than I'd like to think right now, maybe even further... maybe I'm still fighting a little too hard. But its not over.

Come see me pour my heart out on stage tomorrow. Its free.

(shade of your shade)
Does it get any more pitiful than Nina Simone singing "Ne Me Quitte Pas"? Fuck the Chet Baker mood... Nina brings on a whole new level of utter hopelessness.

And just in time.

In order for something to be half-empty, it also has to be half-full, right?

Oh, I do not mean to speak in such cryptic fragments. I should definitely not be listening to old Verve records right now, though. Aldo Romano's muted trumpet and a Natural American Spirit... someone throw me a black turtle neck, dammit. And some soup. Mmmmm...

(reuptake this.)
Yikes. September is going to be a little crazy. Better start taking better care of myself. (I'll get menopause and you'll die)

Its kind of funny how you can see a depression episode coming from a mile away, but rarely do. Usually the first signs are bad eating, general messiness around the house... and a distinct hatred of life. (OK, just threw that in for effect)

I need to find a job that doesn't force me to work on Saturdays. I need to find a job in Minnesota.

Well, maybe I'll feel better after I pick this up. (If nothing else, it'd get me to Minnesota fast).

I *know* I'll feel better after Saturday's show - see right. ("Dude, we're gettin' the band back together!") The DC Blues Festival loves us, they really love us. And I love Clarence Turner. You will to. C'mon out.

(i approved this message)
Unlike 90% of the blogs within four hops of here, I usually don't get too political. I hate DC. I hate DC people. I hate anyone who looks at life in such closed minded black-and-white terms regardless of whatever side of the fence they may be on.

Hate 'em. (yay hypocracy!)

That said, I've been a registered Republican since 18 for a handful of core values I believed in (conservatism, not necessarily Republicanism). It wasn't a dyed-in-the-wool kind of registration... just seemed to be the dominant swing on the scale. But those core values also led me to be excited about people such as McCain and Dean alike. Somewhat more independent ideologies with a strong drive for unity and cooperation, middle-ground and communication. As wacky and communist as Dean was in some respects, he was also strong into States' rights (no, not the paranoid far-left's idea that States' rights means slavery and lynchmobs, but at least the idea that guns are very different things between, say, Moose Hollow Flats and Inner Compton...) and most importantly, actual fiscal conservativism - the main reason I voted against Gore (there, I said it). Not that that all worked out.

Anyway... I know most folks reading this will probably have already found some site with nude teenagers and/or are drooling and have their necks slightly tilted wondering how in the world I couldn't have voted for Gore (Iraq aside, could you really imagine Gore handling the downed spyplane in China... or September 11th?).

Rarely in politics is there an easy answer, but it feels far worse this time around. All of you up-with-people credit-reliant faux-academic-elitist Kerry supporters really stop and think about what really drives your support for him as a candidate... or even that HE is the BEST the Dems could come up with. HIM? C'mon. For that matter, stop and think about all the opportunities Clinton had to beat the living fuck out of Osama Bin Laden and Al Qaeda. (Sorry, but its true... then think about who killed Ron Brown)

Anyway, conspiracy theories aside, of course, I'm still voting for Kerry. Most of us are.

How anyone can claim to be a proud Democrat is beyond me (don't worry... how anyone can do the same for the GOP is, too - liberalism or conservatism don't automatically equate to being a party member, though I think most have forgotten that). I just urge everyone to really think about what they're supporting, what they're voting for, and WHY. Cast off the intellectual elitism and feeling of responsibility for the dumb poor masses... think a bit more about what's behind that idea of Dem responsibility for "the masses" to begin with. (Not to sound terribly conspiracy-theorist... but it is a little unsettling that an entire party bases its following on the "we know what's best for you, they're taking things away from you, we'll take care of you" mindset - almost as scary as a party with half of its members thinking a fundamentalist read of the NIV Bible ranks right up there next to the constitution in terms of national authority).

Of course, most of us are voting for Kerry. I am.

Leave it to a fat old populist Lutheran Minnesotan to spell out in honest, real-world terms what the Dems should be about... or rather, actually were about (though he left out the decades of overt racism and separatism... probably because it didn't apply to the northern midwest too much), even if it is in his own trademark rambling, sentimental style. Why else do we bother listening to him? Sentimentality often breeds hope.

The new round of MoveOn ads is also quite refreshing. There are tons of dissatisfied conservatives out there... real conservatives, not party-liners and conscienceless-Bible-thumpers... and its about time they got some limelight. Still, this ad campaign is fairly strongly flawed in my opinion. 1 : it emphasizes the jump-cut edit... much like spin doctors are prone to do with their opponent's sound bytes. 2 : it emphasizes why we should all vote against Bush, rather than for Kerry. That seems to be the best anyone can come up with.

And yet... most of us will. Like me.

Yeah, I'm navel-gazing (F you, Dave, wherever you are) and painfully Gen-X, but I'm not being a whiny Janine Garofalo/Rush Limbaugh (what's the difference?)... or worse whatever flavor-of-the-month celebrity is telling me over all the Viacom-owned networks to get out and "Rock The Vote". This country's political system just sucks ass all around right now, and until BOTH parties get they heads out' they asses and give us some candidates that actually reflect BOTH parties' core values (not that anyone can remember what they are, i'm guessing)... we're all more or less independents. (Anarchists? Pretty please?)

At least, I hope we are. Please just think a bit before November... if for no other reason than to half-heartedly vote for Kerry and hope both parties improve drastically in the next 8 years or so. Legitimate political competition will breed progress... even if progress means going all the way back to "how things used to be".

(bow to your sensei!)
back. grr.

pix
(unretouched, unexplained... should remedy that in a few days)

(big sky)
Found free wireless at a little bagel shop in Great Falls, MT. Perfect time to throw up a few pix. There are about 400 more to share... at some point.

(bluest skies you've ever seen)
1 hour delay at Dulles, 1 hour delay on the ground at O'hare, 2 minutes to literally sprint from Gate D2 to Gate J29 resulting in a full-on asthma attack, lip from the gate clerk about being the last to board...

anyway... Seattle is Baltimore with more Subarus and less vowels.

I love it.

(charlie ocean nora lincoln ida nora)
Woke up early today. Knew it was going to be unseasonably cool, breezy, and sunny... so I figured I'd take the looong way to work on the bike and try to enjoy it.

Threw my gear on, walked outside... so far everything was great. Sunny, breezy, only 65F. Only thing missing was the Suzuki itself.

After a half hour of subdued rage and panic, I called the police and filed a report. Wouldn't you know she was found her a few blocks away on her side behind some bushes. Upon closer inspection, the main wiring harness was sliced open and the ignition wires were all cut. Beyond that, no other real damage (that I can see).

Ergh. Anyway... while I wait, why not soothe the soul with bootyshakin'? Here are some of the more jam-heavy clips from the Westcott Brothers' performance at Bele Chere this year. We tore shit up, yes we did.

Bottom of the Hole (full)
Bassanity (full)
Southbound (solos to end)

Oh well... headed for the wild wild west in about 30 hours. The Nissan's going into the shop for a full round of upgrades (suspension, clutch, brakes, etc) and should come out swinging. Plus I've had my eye on a new two-wheeled steed for a while. Maybe while I'm gone someone can just finish the job and I'll take the insurance payout. That's just pitiful.

Too nice a day to be on four wheels. Jackasses.

(how to be creative)
Eric pointed me to this great thread... made all the better by brilliant business card sketches. He also threw in a badass old school samba set out there for balance.

(endorphin underrun error)
Long work days, busy nights, lack of sleep... that long-departed yet familiar feeling.

Blogfest late Thursday was entertaining if nothing else... making horse noises whenever Kerry paused was fun, as was catching up with the Ms. McDonald show. In a city like this, you need strong allies. Or at least sssssassy ones.

Friday was a well-deserved day off filled with some well-deserved riding, then another great Mike Roy show at the Patterson Theater (my old neighborhood) with the chamberfolk setup as well as the amazing Madagascar (mp3) and TV Hill. As usual, the show was both splendiferous and moving (mp3s), the crowd was gracious and filled with dear old friends, and Mike pulled out a completely surreal surprise by proposing (mp3) to the beautiful and talented Eileen Chevalier in song. Of course, with that, they're relocating to North Carolina and starting a new chapter in life. Lucky dogs.

Chris Meyers was also there, and I finally got my copy of the completed Water School album. Great stuff... would be nice to just drop everything and go touring with them for a while.

Saturday brought zero sleep, a full workday, and a 4 hour bar gig deep down on St. George's island in St. Mary's. I was physically, emotionally, and mentally dead... but actually wound up enjoying the gig. After the first set, I walked out on the long dock for 20 minutes, completely surrounded by the bay, watching distant lightning storms drift away, and an elderly couple fish from the pier, silhouetted against the bright full moon. But it wasn't all sappy and introspective... Mr. G. Griffin Henderson sat in on bass and we layed down some big fat greasy nasty bootymovin' jazz-funk with Jack Duchesne.

My car door was stuck open at the end of last night. I held it closed with my arm the whole way home. Good workout. With a little work, I now have it stuck closed. I think that's better.

(sweet, sweet victory)
I'm just kind of in awe right now... Wednesday night, the Westcott Brothers won Best Album at the Frederick Blues Awards. Thursday night, we won the 3-band showdown determining who earns a slot in Memphis for the famed International Blues Competition this February. Saturday night, we played a hell of a set on the main stage of Asheville's Bele Chere festival in front of thousands of people.

(Disclaimer : the Frederick Blues Awards were a complete joke, determined by a web ballot (for instance, we don't even technically HAVE a full CD yet); the 3-band showdown was also a joke somewhat reminiscient of the 2000 election... yeah, we sort of Bushed out since it was almost dead even and the first band brought in a ton of ringer voters, but the president of the Frederick Blues Society - a la the Supreme Court - felt we really deserved the slot and enthusiastically gave it to us)

Either way, we deserved it all... been a lot of work, a lot of crap gigs, and a lot of frustration. Individually, and as a band We're continuing to grow massively just in the last few months, and as the CD comes together, it already doesn't seem to reflect where we are musically. Good stuff all around.

A weekend in a conversion van with matching trailer emblazoned with the WBB logo, great music, old friends, good hats, late night IHOP experiences, watching cops try to incite hippies to riot and failing miserably, and more short naps than I think I've had in years.

Man, I love Asheville. It truly is the San Francisco of the Appalachians. Beautiful views everywhere you look, friendly people, tons of culture, plenty of patchoulli stank.

Anyway, more later... with pix, sound, etc...

(cocaine is a hell of a drug)
Well, OK... I don't know about that for sure. This Percoset, however, is very boring. ("Now torch the Percoset, Meatwad.") I've seen it do some amazing things to lesser beings in the past, but then again, I'm a mighty little man. Honestly, I just feel a strange mix between stupid and ADD-ridden. The pinched nerve in my back is a distant memory, though. As is algebra.

Thinking about travel (as usual). Decided to finally throw up my map, since apparently all the kool kids have already. This is all "real" through-travel involving two or four wheels. No jet-plane nonsense.

0-18 (antique trips w/mom, vacations in Cape May) :

19 (band touring)

20-26 : (various adventures)

Not too shabby... all told, I'm really happy my family didn't travel much while I was growing up. Just jumping in the van and going aross the Bay Bridge was like a whole new world. If you've spent so much as half an hour in motion with me, you probably know I've inherited all of my mom's knack for finding the longest, most out of the way (and interesting) route between two points, knowing the journey's almost always more important than the destination.

Insert overwrought philosophy parallel here.

I uesd to always say I never wanted to do any international travel (except Ireland) before I saw my own country. Well, the next major moto trips planned are upstate NY and VT into Quebec, the deep south via the Natchez Trace, and out to the southwest to see the other half of my family for the first time ever. Funny how that coincides with next years' plans for motorcycling Italy, and lounging in the Carribbean for the Moyer/Borman Unification Hoedown.

Is it possible next year will rule even more mightily than this one? 'pparently so.

For those who felt bad about not being able to make the raddest-ever, once-in-a-lifetime Mike Roy CD release show last December in the driving snow, here are two songs and a sneak preview of the forthcoming DVD. (each ~5MB WMV, live unmixed audio) - Old Scratch - The Killer

If you like those clips, be sure to check us out on the 30th. Actually, if you can't make the Frederick Blues Competition on Thursday, definitely go check out Mike Roy with woodwind and strings at the legendary Fort Reno in DC.

Lastly ...
"This CD is NOT for you is you are among the following: liberal, democrat, or a terrorist. This CD IS for you if you love America, and you love rock."

But... but...

(... I always wondered what happened to the Dead Milkmen)

7/16/04 - 1:45am EDT (old and new)
PEOPLE... THIS IS SO DAMN SERIOUS IT HURTS...

THIS IS MY DREAM, ON THE VERGE OF REALIZATION.

Thursday, July 22, 8-11pm
Firestone's
105 N Market St.
Frederick, MD 21701

If you can come out, YOU MUST. This is the Frederick area finals for the International Blues Competition. This is it. I missed my chance with Clarence Turner at the DC Festival, despite a clear audience decision in our favor over Melanie Mason and her beskirted ways.

The winner of this competition gets a slot at the massive International Blues Competition in Memphis this winter. The winner of that basically goes on to be massive stars. Even if that doesn't work out, getting to the finals is a big deal, and great things could result. While I'm beyond confident that the Westcott Brothers are capable of winning this slot by a WIDE margin, it is (unlike most things in this democracy) directly voted BY THE AUDIENCE.

And (like most things in this democracy), since we know that, we're doing everything we can to make sure we win. Please, PLEASE, PLEASE show up. Listening to the three competing bands is completely free... but casting a vote costs you $2. Only $2 to making my entire life worthwhile. Not a bad deal...

Hopefully I'll see some of you there, though either way, we're gonna blow the roof off the dump. Hopefully we'll even sway the local ringers brought in by the other bands. :)

Anyway... great day. Perfect weather. Rode in to work. Saw a bunch of old and new friends there completely unexpectedly. Got a lot of work done on a lot of fronts, and plenty of continued recognition. Seems like I came in at a weird time. Compared to what I'm used to, this place is amazing, but maybe a year or two ago, it used to be even better. I just wish people would stop bitching about such petty problems and realize how good they've got it compared to the rest of the nation's workforce these days.

Went out to Baltimore and hung out with old, dear friend from elementary school Tom Brainsky. Checked out his place in Greektown, and am considering moving up that way. Traded stories involving massive vehicles that fly... continuing our 6th grade fascinations oddly enough. I thought I'd trump him with sitting in 3 of the 4 (at the time) space shuttles, one of which was on an active launchpad... but I think he beat me with flying jump seat on a 757 heading out of Kuwait City with a herd of F16s escorting him out. Anyway, It'd be nice to be back in Baltimore... though I'd hoped to be within walking distance of the cultural areas, its hard to argue with cheap rent. The roommates here are getting in gear (slowly), but dammit... I'm ready to live like a grownup (even if I'm not quite one myself yet... it's fun to pretend).

Just got off the phone with Sara. Zig-zagging through the north rim of the Grand Canyon today, enroute to Vegas. Rock and f'n roll.

(sunshine state sentimentality)
If you love me, please go here and vote for anyone/anything named "Westcott". Not necessarily for the big-time (yet... more info coming for the Int'l Blues Competition), but still... local recognition is nice after a few years of busing our asses.

(current events and such)
Just got a call from Jess & Sara. After much frustration, Jess is in Minneapolis and all is well. A little too well, really. I'm definitely jealous.

Though I had my own bliss today. Mariottsville Rd... 7:45pm... sun setting as slowly as possible, shining through the leaves, Suzuki heeled over holding the perfect 65mph line through the curve marked 25 as the Scorpion exhaust howls and spits making me think I'm on a far more expensive Axis v-twin sportybike.

Been too long. Not at all the flagrante delicto kind of bliss... nor quite the homegrown kind of bliss... but in a way more visceral than either. Especially when the deer and gravel are out and every strand of your optic nerve is dedicated to spotting them in time to save your sweet ass.

Stopped for a snowball at my favorite stand. Old Baltimore county tradition. Half slush-puppie, half sundae. Hit all my favorite backroads from the college era. Many are gone now, or have been converted into (what else?) large collections of crappily built, overpriced houses. Just what the soulless young middle class family needs.

I'm thinking of starting a website dedicated to endangered roads. Preservation efforts and "smart growth" initiatives are always hitting the papers, but what about the great old byways? Ehh... further proof that there are days I'm a cranky 72 year old trapped in a 26 year old's body (well, more like 16...)

What am I even talking about? Oh yeah... Alex rules.

(anything you wanna do is...)
...fine with me.

Now would be the perfect time to simply point out that this year f'n RULES. I think I realized that sitting alone on top of a hill in the middle of the USDA research farm an hour and a half ago, ignoring the ravenous mosquitoes and watching three separate fireworks displays (Greenbelt, College Park, and Laurel?) fill the entire sky while pondering how I'm going to convince my new boss that I need more time off for the upcoming music festival season, and another week off in August to meet up with Sara and do yet another road trip (this time hitting both the PNW and the upper Rockies... neither of which I can even remotely imagine).

I've been surrounded by people lately who have had far more complex goals and dreams, greater ambitions, and varying motivations than I. It's been challenging if not frustrating at times, especially since my answers (or questions for that matter) don't come nearly as easy... and the ones that do are simple, humble, and definitely not lucrative.

But <sap> they're mine </sap>... and all told, they're pretty easy to knock out. The developing wanderlust is being well satiated, music is ramping up and about ready to hit on all cylinders as both the WBB and Roy try to break through to whatever the next level is; and Lord knows I definitely grew a pair at some point this past year... so maybe when this round of ambition has come and gone, the bigger questions (and answers) will be more clear? Ehh, maybe.

Either way, I need to stop being so sensitive about not being a powerful jackass with a lot of money. That's probably one of my biggest assets at this point. (Well, one of 'em.)

(white courtesy phone)
"... one and one is two,
An' two and two is fo'.
I loved me that woman,
but I... had to let her go."

Words of wisdom from Arthur "Big Boy" Crudup via the Muzak system in the Brass Stein bar at the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport. Been a long road here... doesn't surprise me one bit that the blues pulled up alongside for the last leg (along with a double of Knob Creek). Not like I really wanted to leave, but I do have high-$$ gigs this weekend and that whole job/dreams/family/friends that are centrally located for the time being. Then again, friends are dispersing, job ain't nothing special, dreams are portable, and family is close to 3 major airports.

Anyway, the TSA did their best detain me, but after multiple thorough inspections and some paperwork, they decided to set me free in exchange for my $75 lighter. I really wish they just kept me here.

"I'm tore down... almost level to the ground.
Well I feel like this when my... baby can't be found."

Doh.. now boarding.

(layover at Hartsfield Int'l)
Once I boarded the plane, I threw in an MP3 disc filled with some old stuff that I haven't listened to in forever. First song cued up : "Back To Life, Back To Reality" by Soul II Soul.

(back home)
long conversation with the 25 year old ex-investment banker who was flying from Florida to Baltimore to visit his girlfriend at Hopkins and go on some interviews. "I'm in the perfect stage of life to start over, and I've got the perfect reason to. Why not, man?" No argument here.

Older bro-ham picked me up at midnight thirty and we stopped at Silver Diner for coffee, breakfast food, and a long two-way discussion. Oddly enough, he's at a very frustrating new spot in his relationship that I wound up being able to offer a lot of insight to. I don't envy his position for a second... constantly weighing what is stable and comfortable and not-generally-awful despite total lack of true fulfillment, with the great unknown of (albeit temporary) solitude. Not a fun place to be, though I can say beyond a shadow of a doubt that it pays to be true to yourself and your ideals.

It's also great to have a fan club rooting for you.

(yearbook entry of the damned)

15 feet, 1300 miles, Stitch as navigator, intermittent steering, cranky skyway tolltakers, glorious fold-out couches, Genghis flying wing, Robot World, disappointing freeway design, rental rallycar, 3 Grain Belts and a double of watered down Jack while staring off into nothing at the bar that inspired the Replacements' best song, overindulgent breakfasts, the shocked look on the Walgreen's cashier's face

You're doomed to a life of a green thumb with the midas touch.

have a great summer! k.i.t.!

(westbound)
Yeah, I know I'm vain.

Just got back from the Birchmere gig opening for Southside Johnny & the Asbury Jukes. OK, my initial description of them was kind of heavy-handed, but unlike Joe Bonamassa (or Robert Bradley for that matter), their stage show didn't completely win my heart over.

Funny thing is, about three songs into it, I leaned over to Andrew and said, "You know... if these were a bunch of old black guys, I think I'd be totally into it... but they're old white guys and it's just doing nothing for me." I don't really have time to consider all the socio-cultural ramifications of that statement, but it's true none the less. That Jersey Shore Soul sound is basically the outgrouth of the Memphis sound... only taken forward by a bunch of, well, white New Jerseans. And because Springsteen was the only one from that scene who really went forward, the other ones in that vein almost seem to me like weak Boss cover bands. Probably not fair, but, again, true. I gotta, say, though, Southside Johnny was incredibly gracious, fun to talk to, and far more supportive than Bonamassa. 'Course, over at the Ram's Head, Bradley made the effort to actually listen to us, and give some feedback. "You play them colored chords, man. You know what I mean?" Then again, he's blind.

Tomorrow night's show will be better... in addition to the Jukes, the headlining band is Calvin Richardson. I want to love him... very legitimate "neo-soul" singer (as opposed to most crap labelled as "neo-soul" these days)... but talented as he is, the mofo still completely STOLE the structure, changes, and LEAD MELODY Sam Cooke's best ever song (possibly one of the greatest songs ever written) for his new pop hit. Not cool. Not cool at all. Not only that, but the backing tracks sound like crap. Still, the pop machine loves him. He'd be amazing with a real band... maybe there's hope when we share the bill with him at Bele Chere this year.

T-34 hours for the Sara Youn Massive Minnesotan Migration. Still haven't figured out the details (Metro to Birchmere and back to Adams Morgan? Dulles Shuttle Bus to W. Falls Church to Greenbelt to cab on Thurs? Whatever...). There's a Budget 14' truck involved, a one-way AirTran ticket ready and POS rental Kia waiting. Hiiiiiigh class, baby... all the way.

Hopefully somewhere between Indianapolis and Chicago, I'll be the one to bring some healing to this sad, sad scene. If not, Sara can use her mad Desegregation Law skillz and force some unity up in heah'.

(Präzision!)
Music : damn shame Lollapalooza '93, er, '04 was cancelled. When else would you have been able to see Morrissey, Sonic Youth, PJ Harvey, Flaming Lips, Michael Franti, and Mike Watt all on the same bill (again, besides 1993)?

I've got a few theories on why this year's lineup is/was such a flashback. Read between the lines to figure it out. Bob Waugh, Aq & Kath, Neeci, Rob Timm... where have you all gone? How the mighty have fallen. Radio sucks.

Oh well... I'm curious to learn more about the full story. Farrell's open letters are intriguing, "I tried very hard to keep us on course; heading straight into the most ferocious musical storm in history... Our plight is a true indication of the general health of the touring industry and it is across musical genres... Upon reflection, I conclude there is a story here. It is the story of a musical community under the influence. No, silly, it's not drugs. This is an influence far more damaging and threatening, as in: 'They are threatening to sue us for damages.'"

Pitchfork is starting their "100 greatest albums of the 1970s". So far, so very very good. A bit repetitive (Bowie and Mr. Pop all over the place), but comforting to see Headhunters and Fela (and who knew Femi was playing 9:30 tonight?).

The new Westcott Brothers album is getting close... though its become a bit weighed down with studio "creativity" and losing its soul. Hopefully we can go back in and strengthen it up/strip it down raw a bit before unleashing it on the world. This weekend is our Birchmere engagement, opening for Southside Johnny & the Asbury Jukes. Talk about some soulless crap. I mean... it's not, say, 311... just very VERY Jersey Coast. And that may play on the Jersey Coast, but... uhh... just do us all a favor and keep it at the Stone Pony. We're going to probably piss off the Southside die-hards with whatever we decide to play. Actually, it should be fun.

Come late July, we face off for our closest-ever shot at making it to Memphis for the International Blues Competition (January '05). Winning that slot will possibly be the best thing that has ever happened to me, regardless of how Memphis itself fares. If we don't get that slot, I'm gonna be a very, very pissed off honky. Seeing as how we play the Bele Chere festival the next day, we better win. I'd hate to meet De La Soul with a sad sad frown on my face.

Got to hear a sneak of the forthcoming Water School album at Talking Head last week. Very very tasty. Get yourself one when it comes out. Mike Roy is in Rhode Island now... not sure what's next, but something new and very good is enroute, I'm sure of it. Some new session work is in motion, we'll see what July and August brings.

Interestingly, at the new job, there are at least 8 other employees who are accomplished local musicians. And they all ride. Actually, most do competitive vintage motorcycle racing on top of that. How much does that rule?

The new job is just really f'n cool. Pay sucks... benefits don't fully materialize for another couple of months. All told, the actual tasks aren't any different from the "job", but the people, the clientele, and the overall vibe of the place is just so much more enjoyable and conidence-inspiring. Hell, I may just wind up bleeding blue here one of these days.

When 9 hours of every day starts looking up, the rest of life feels pretty good, too. Spent some amazing time with the parents on Sunday, 4 hour long constructive and enjoyable conversation with the bro-ham on Monday, indulgent dinner and a bottle of Bordeaux at La Fourchette after Sara underwent even more soul-rattling Tuesday night, then capped the evening off just before falling asleep with brief but enlightening phone call from none other than JLM guitar god Willie F'n Gould Jr. "Get the funky cold, daddy."

Daaaaamn right.

Rock over London, rock on Chicago. Minneapolis - you better be ready...

(sound mighty fine)
A week of more or less non-stop travel (and in my case, it was always round-trip back to DC at 4am)... some really bad shows... worse food... zero sleep. Everything that goes along with the beauty of the road. Last night was the last chapter (both for this tour, and for this era of the Mike Roy Show), and where better to play it out than Brooklyn...

After an hour and a half of madness between the Holland Tunnel and Atlantic Ave, we pull in front of Hank's... weary dragging shifts to utter surreality as the only people inside the club are 6 retarted old men drinking Shaffer. Now, there's nothing wrong with retarted old men drinking Shaffer. I hope to be one some day. But we were kind of expecting Hank's trademark half-hipster/half-cowboy crowd. Oh, and neither Roy nor Roddy were officially on the bill for the evening.

We set up anyway, grab tasty treats at the Flying Saucer, actively court all the pretty people walking about to see our free show, and hope for the best. As if the tapas bell rang, the cool kid crowd started filling in. Off we went. The Roy set was pure energy. Rough around the edges from broken equipment and voices... but that doesn't matter. (Here's us playing good ol' Dan Tucker by request). Roddy's set was equally biased towards energy than musical precision, but the number of jaws sitting on the dirty floor were an adequate sign that they did their job. Ryan also almost killed everyone. Superstars, they are.

As it was, not a bad way to end a night. But then the old, pudgy man in the rhinestoned shirt and cowboy hat walked up and enthusiastically shook our hands. "Hey, great job, guys! I'm Country Joe!" Behind him was Prince, I think. Their band set up, and jumped into the twangiest, swinginest honky tonk (not to mention some damn fine blues) ever heard north of the Mason-Dixon. The gussied-up grad students and waifish hipsters all abandoned thier pleasantly-entertained-but-resigned stances and started wigglin' ass with the best of 'em. Naturally, The Boys and The Business were into it, and we did our best to get the ladies dancing. Paul's my hero.

Country Joe was obviously a pro... he had no need to wait for the band to wrap the previous verse up before launching his voice into the second (or third) verses... he just steamrolled through the songs and the band struggled to keep up with him, but it was just so perfect... the whole night was perfect. A little piece of legitimate rock and roll heaven a block and a half off of Flatbush.

(i've got my troubles...)
Dammit. Nap 'Don't Forget the Blues' Turner (photo by Ron Weinstock) passed away yesterday. DC Blues will never be the same, and WPFW may as well just turn off its transmitter from here on out... (well, at least there's still Captain Fly and Brother Funk).

It is heartwarming, though, to see the Post dedicate some thorough print his way. They've also got a great MP3 of his "Good Mornin' Blues" online. Or check out the Kennedy Center's RealVideo archive of one of his Millennium Stage performances.

Like WWII vets, the last of the true blues, jazz, and soul men seem to be disappearing faster than ever. For every Ray Charles, there are a thousand local heroes that no one will ever know about. Damn shame there are no real outlets for them, and in DC at least, a miniscule legitimate audience to give them any last round of true appreciation. I'd give anything at this point to be playing regular gigs back at Toulouse with Jesse James, Turner, and Lee... Dru, Spencer, Henry... even Mac, Clarence, or random bums coming in off the street and sitting in now and then... despite everything else going on then, those were perfect nights.

"...the after-effects of guns, captivity, religion, rejection, hope, and sin... I am a soulful scream and a moan as one, I'm a personal expression. I am the blues" -Nap Turner

(Manhattan's my new Annapolis)
Just back from NYC. All told, probably spent an hour and a half there, in between 5.5 total hours of driving to and from. That's been a recurring theme this week. Depart in the early evening, 250 miles, ~1 hour of actually "being there", another 250 miles, sack out just before sunup. Not that I'm complaining (about the drive at least - the gigs have been personally fulfilling, though not smashing successes in their own right - and now internal tensions and politics are on the rise, bah)

I actually love impromptu short-stay road trips like that. Especially through the I-95 corridor. You'd think that would be totally unlike me (on two wheels, nothing sucks more than I-95 between DC and NY), but in the car, with the roof off, a lot on my mind, and a purpose (albeit a 45 minute one) awaiting me, America's slabbiest of slabs definitely has some perks (besides $7 cholesterol pucks at the Joyce Kilmer Rest Stop)

There are actually some badass radio stations left out there between DC and NY. Michael Powell and the ClearChannel lobby haven't taken them all away... yet. From DC, there's always the hard-leftist/jazz holdout WPFW-89.3. Between DC and Baltimore, good ol' WRNR-103.1 is always doing its part to keep the progressive hippies happy. Just north of Baltimore, you can pick up WKHS-90.5 skipping over the Chesapeake... which by day is an intriguing high-school-run independent station out of Kent County, and by night is a repeater for UPenn's severely excellent WXPN. Just shy of Delaware, you can start to pick up XPN direct out of Philly on 88.5 (with minimal interference from DC NPR monstrosity WAMU by that point). If they're playing some Ani DiFranco bullshit, you can easily switch to WGLS-89.7 out of Rowan University where elfin hipster music snob chickies continually prove how much better they are than you. They beat whatever frat-rock is coming out of UDel-Newark any day. XPN or Rowan carry you up to about exit 8 on the Turnpike, then it becomes worthwhile to switch over to eclectic WFUV-90.7 out of Fordham, or jazz-reverent WKCR-89.9 out of Columbia. WBAI-99.5 is sometimes worth a listen, but usually gets even more insane hard left than even WPFW (which, sometimes, is far more entertaining than just playing jazz like they should be doing).

This is only valid for trips to NYC, though. Going to NYC is the only reason to bend over and pay the $15 each way in tolls. If you're Philly or New England-bound, just bring some good CDs and save cash this way :

Jeff's no-toll Philly route : out of the Baltimore tunnels, take I-95N to MD-24N into Bel Air. Follow to US-1, through the PA countryside, to US-202N, to whatever x76 you need. Pretty, very little traffic, and about as fast as 95 when you're moving.

Jeff's no-toll New England route : I-83N north out of Baltimore, I-78E out of Harrisburg, I-287N through the outlying NYC/NJ suburbs, Palisades Parkway north, US-202/9 across the Hudson at Bear Mountain into Peekskil, over to I-84E into Connecticut. (I-83N to I-81N to I-84E thru PA is also doable, but kind of depressing... you know... Wilkes-Barre and all)

Travel tips from me to you. Use them wisely, even try using them in reverse. As Joe Jackson said, "You can't get what you want 'till you know what you want." Huh?

Great rainy day studio time with Chris Meyers' Water School band the other day. Their saucy new album is being recorded entirely on a badass Otari 24-track 2" analog tape monster at a full 30ips (~$10/minute). A big hearty F U to Protools. Can't wait to hear the finished product.

Seepytime, seepypants. Seepypants, seepytime. Snore.