Full body scanners are all the rage these days. Your junk and your trunk are not safe from the government groping, there is probably medical danger (x-ray radiation and back-scatter x-ray radiation), and, really, flying is just not fun anymore.
Land of the free? Home of the brave? Why do x-ray techs wear those lead vests anyways?
They also say (whoever THEY are) that the images from your body scan will be destroyed immediately.
According to an article at gizmodo.com, "At the heart of the controversy over "body scanners" is a promise: The images of our naked bodies will never be public. U.S. Marshals in a Florida Federal courthouse saved 35,000 images on their scanner. These are those images."
And, of course, those images are up for public viewing. Imagine that.
Our CD release party for the new record, "Fixing a Hole", is on Nov. 21 at Martyr's in Chicago. You can view the invite and all the details for the show right here.
hoy es el dia del reyes (today is the day of the kings.)
thus the usage of all lower case.
respect for kings, if you will.
today is the day that everyone exchanges their presents and does all of that kind of holiday stuff. most everything is closed today, markets and stores and things like that. tabernas and restaurants, though, are open and thriving. i ate at the alleged best indian restaurant in madrid, and since i´ve not yet eaten at any others, i´d have to say that the rumors are true. it was muy fantastico.
and of course, i can´t recall the name.
i´ve been out to 2 open jam sessions so far this week (and yes, i know it´s only wednesday. i can stop any time. really.)
on monday was a place called segundo jazz. i´d say it was fair to midland. nice joint, comfy room, but there were no other guys who came to play, except me.
i mean nada.
weird.
plus, the audience was not really there for the music. kind of an upscale crowd, and very chatty. also, the club was kind of in an upscale barrio (a barrio popular,) so i guess it´s not too surprising. birds of a feather and all. i didn´t mind, though, as i got to play several tunes with some decent players with no lines and no waiting.
tuesday night was a club called el junco. this joint was far superior: attentive audience, dark, smoky, convivial, etc. also, there were some really good players there, although they were typical jazz snobs (that´s universal, i guess. and yes, some of my best friends are the said jazz snobs. sorry to offend.) kind of like a bunch of peacocks showing off their plumage.
too cool for school, i guess.
but i suppose i´ve probably done that, too, once or twice in my time, so what comes around really does go around. i´ll just have to mold and bend them a bit.
stroke their egos for a change.
no problem.
tonight, i´m going to go listen to flameco. there´s a place right down the street from me that is supposed to be hot, hot, hot. i had heard some flamenco in seville, but not yet here, in madrid. in seville, i saw this homeless guy, actually, who was hanging out in this little (i´m talking broom closet little) alleyway taberna. it was one of the most interesting places i´ve ever been to, and not at all a music club (at least not in the sense that most of us would think of). he had a bedroll and all of his stuff stashed away in a corner of the bar, playing for tips and drinks, and the love of it all. he sang and played guitar, and did both very well.
i mean really, really good.
he was, as i said, homeless.
and a junkie.
the king of flamenco in spain is a guy named Cameron de la Isla (the shrimp of the island). he is revered here, almost like a god. after the dictatorship ended in spain in the ´70´s, there was a major renaissance in art and music (sex, drugs, and rock and roll, basically,) and this singer modernized the style, mixing pop and blues with the traditional flamenco. it´s really cool and exciting music (boy, that´s a lame description.)
truly, though, it´s exciting, and vibrant and some of the most interesting music i´ve ever heard.
i´m going to have to really absorb it if i ever hope to do it.
It´s true. Who needs it? Sick of the game, anyways.
The oh-so-fabulous NYE (that means new year´s eve to all you rookies) gig has become a thing of the past, I fear. Used to be that, traditionally, NYE was the golden goose for musicians (amateur hour for everyone else.) As a general rule, one would expect to make about triple of what a normal Saturday night gig would be. Pay the rent in one night, and all.
As a general rule.
That´s changed now. A lot of places are just eliminating live music altogether (thank you, karaoke, Rock Band, and recession.) Other joints are just trying to manipulate, wanting to pay you just a bit more (maybe) in exchange for doing an extra set.
Or two.
Mainly, though, places that will still hire players are offering the standard wage (50 bucks and a chicken sandwich?) Ok, not that bad, but for some, it most certainly is. It may be again for me someday, too. Who knows.
This is my second year in a row for having the night off. Almost unheard of in this biz. Nevertheless, this is the state of affairs in my world.
And I´m not the least bit fazed.
See, I´m Europe. Spain, to be precise. I´ll be staying in Madrid, for the most part, near Anton Martin (a barrio.)
Mui fantastico!
(Just to get it out of the way, the weather is great. I hear that there´s about a foot of snow in Chicago, so I´m very well off. Today in Seville, where I am spending just a few days for New Year´s, it´s about 60.)
I decided, very early in the year, that I´d be in Spain for much of the winter. It was gonna be Jamaica (mon) as usual, but a little bird convinced me that Spain would be the tops, since we were there earlier in the year. So with some planning, saving, and having resigned myself some time ago that New Year´s was not going to pay many bills, like usual, I decided that I´d bag the idea of gigging, come here, hang with some very good friends, and do it as differently as I ever had done.
So that means there´s no having to haul my gear through the snow (did you say 12"?), not having to deal with the horrible driving conditions, and not having to play music that you can chew your steak to (wonder if I´d even get one of those steaks. My gut says nay nay nay.) I´m not gonna have to worry about drunk drivers everywhere, police check points everywhere, and I won´t have to bitch about being underpaid.
What a relief.
Instead, I´ll be having cerveza and tapitas and pescado (?) and jamon.
And then 12 grapes at midnight.
There is a tradition here ¨en España¨ that when the clock strikes 12, you must eat 12 grapes before the end of the chimes (can you imagine an entire country glued to the tv or radio or church bells? Me neither, but I´ll let you know.) This, naturally, will bring you good luck for the rest of the year. If you fail to eat them, then watch out. There may be a surprise visit from ¨el diablo¨(ok, I made that part up. But you never know...)
Now that could be a pretty nice new tradition to start.
This past weekend I had a bit of a musical reunion.
Old friends*...
Buzz Kilman and the All Bubba Blues Band. The 25th anniversary show at the soon-to-be-famous Good Old Days Festival in beautiful Winfield, Il.
Ok, so I wasn't in the band 25 years ago. Come to think of it, I wasn't even in high school yet. I started playing with the band around '93 or '94 until the end of their run, 4 or 5 years later. Basically, it was the first "high profile" gig that I had ever had.
Now, when I say high profile, I'm not talking about working with such industry greats like Kanye West and Taylor Swift. If only.
Buzz was the star. The draw. The name.
The reason why the checks were very, very good.
He was a radio jock in Chicago, working as the right hand man to Jonathan (Johnny B.) Brandmeier. This was in the early '80's. Johnny B. was one of the original "shock jocks" (Howard Stern wishes he was that cool) of radio, taking a page from the ultra-original Steve "Disco Demolition" Dahl playbook. He was a character. Wacky. Zany. Goofy. Silly. Didn't need to have strippers or tell fart jokes while on the air.
Johnny B. was that good, and hugely popular. Buzz was hugely popular, too, as a result.
Buzz plays harp (harmonica) and tends to favor the style of Sonny Boy Williamson. He knows the history of the music, and has a pretty large repertoire.
The band leader was Ron Shanaver. He plays guitar and sings.
...sat on their park bench like bookends*...
Ron and I go all the way back to 1989. We met at the Wise Fool's Pub, when it was one of the best blues clubs in Chicago. He was running the Tuesday night blues jam, using the Bubba band as the house band. He also managed the club. I was playing with the late, great L.C. Walker on Sundays. Even though I was 18, and underage, and just getting into the game, Ron let me hang at the club anytime.
Most likely because I brought a lot of friends on Sundays, typically a dead night for taverns. The bar usually had a good ring when I was playing. Sure, my friends were mostly underage too, but no matter. It was the '80's, when fun was still had without much guilt involved.
To make a long story short (and believe me, it's a very long story, the entire historical recollection and all) Ron and I developed an actual friendship (most of us musicians are more colleagues than friends, truth be told.) And when the drum chair became available (the previous drummer, though exceptional, was constantly late, which got him fired- hint, hint young playas,) Ron gave me the gig.
Like I said, that was around '93/'94. So the 25th anniversary show was only 15 years for me. Nevertheless.
...can you imagine us years from today*...
The show came in 2 parts. For the first hour, the Heirs of Moe performed. The Heirs is simply the Bubbas, sans Buzz. Ron had gotten the Heirs going during the waning days of the Bubbas, getting us extra work to keep our calendars full, without having to secure the money Buzz commanded. We didn't do a ton of gigs as the Heirs, but enough to get by. We played rock and roll: Blind Faith, Green Day, the Troggs, Leonard Cohen, Los Lobos, Bob Dylan, and a bunch of Neil Young tunes (Almost Cut My Hair, Ohio, Keep on Rockin' in the Free World.)
We had a blast playing those songs together, again. Ron, myself, and the bass player, "Dangerous" Dave Forte, had a couple of rehearsals, before the gig, in my kitchen. Good thing, too.
"How does that go again?" "What key is this in?" "Are you sure?"
These guys are all really good musicians, though, so we got our "sh-tuff" together quickly and efficiently, as we always had done. Never a worry (well, Dave worried, but that's just his m.o. It's not his fault.)
After the Heirs set, we morphed into the Bubbas. Buzz came up onstage, and it was deja-vu all over again. All of the songs came back like they had never left: Rainin' in My Heart, Walkin' the Dog, Walkin' Blues, Can't Sing the Blues in an Air-Conditioned Room, et al. We even did a coupla "new" ones like Dylan's Leopard Skin Pill Box Hat and Rainy Day Women #12 and #35 as if they were part of the previously regular repertoire.
The show was very, very good. The crowd was even better, giving us a call for a second encore (which, incidentally, Winfield's finest would not let us do. Hey, I wouldn't be me if I didn't rip on something, right?) Everybody had a good time. Personally, it was one of my favorite gigs of the year so far. I miss playing with those guys.
...how incredibly strange*...
So it goes...
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ *Old Friends, lyrics by Paul Simon
I've been listening to non-stop radio coverage about President Obama's planned, televised, speech next week. The day after Labor Day, in fact. He is going to be addressing school kids directly about that hot-button, partisan tainted, politically motivated issue:
The importance of education.
I know. I know. It's a polarizing topic (it is now, anyways.) After all, it's common knowledge, at this point, that the U.S. lags far (and sadly) behind most Western (capitalist) nations in terms of the quality of education.
Education is supposedly very important to Americans. Didn't our last president at least appear to try not to leave any children behind? I mean, he was in a classroom on 9/11. Of all places.
The importance of education, for those of you snoozing through the second paragraph.
So here's the short end of it. As I said, the President of the United States is going to make a speech on t.v. touting the importance of education. This speech is supposed to be aimed directly at students, during school hours.
Not surprisingly, schools across the nation will be showing it for the students. It seems kinda appropriate. You know, kids in school get to hear a speech from a sitting U.S president. An educational experience, no?
Allegedly, he'll be speaking of becoming smarter, more creative (gasp), and setting goals for yourself to become the best person you can be. Something to that effect, anyways.
Hardly a political ploy to advance any personal agendas. Propaganda? Sure, I guess. Although, any time a leader of anything opens his/her mouth about anything, I suppose that could be construed as propaganda.
Ahem.
Anyhoo, because of these planned words of wisdom and encouragement, parents are...what?
You guessed it: outraged.
The particular 50,000 watt blowhorn I'm listening to is citing Dallas, TX as a place where parents are expressing their outrage so strongly that schools are now making watching the speech optional, extending all the way to the teachers. A political speech in disguise, to be sure.
Optional for all. God bless Texas and the power of outrage.
In a country that is increasingly trying to legislate every. single. movement. that. we. make. or. think. about. making, I guess that we should just add this to the list. We now want our education to be clean and happy and sanitized. No harmful words or views or opinions will filter through our children's obviously under-developed (but well protected by the mandatory helmet) brains. Junior won't have to hear about real things about the real world from real people. We'll add to our shelter of protection for our little guy. Don't worry, little Billy or Sally, the nanny will protect you. Mommy's gotta run now to close that big real estate deal in the new, exclusive, gated community tucked away from the immigrants, the uninsured, and the, gulp, criminals (wink, wink) that don't have jobs and get Link cards while I work hard for my 97" plasma.
Now grab a juice box and go and watch your Lucky Charms commercial, you little fat ass. Maybe play a friendly game of World of Warcraft with your imaginary online friends afterwards.
And then maybe a little Rock Band.
After all, if you were in an actual rock band, the poor education you're receiving won't exactly give you inspiration (or fodder) to play or write anything interesting, and why would you want to be a musician anyways?
As you know, faithful readers, I am a musician, and these pages are dedicated to the life and lifestyle of the working musician. I write about the positive and the negative aspects of my occupation; the trials and tribulations; righteous treatment and minor indignities.
The good, the bad, and the ugly (cue the music.)
However, just like the majority of you all (from what I've observed, anyways,) the main thing on my mind these days is health care and how to overhaul this shaky-at-best industry. Hence the lag time since my last diatribe of demonstrative drivel.
I haven't had the heart or the muse by my side to say anything. It all seemed irrelevant.
Now, I don't want to bore you with the gory details of the 1000-plus page health care reform bill that is sitting at the crossroads of America's future. You can read it yourself if you want (hey,you'd have a leg up over virtually all of our so-called (non) representatives in government- kudos to you and your tenacity.)
Better brew a few pots o' joe. It's gonna take a while.
My intention here is not to convince you of anything within the bill. Personally, I'm in favor of "Death Panels". I think it makes life just a bit more spicy.
(For those of you who can't seem to find your sense of humor, that was a joke.)
Rather, as a living instrument of providing pleasure, entertainment, and a general diversion from your everyday worries and concerns, my purpose is to remind you that we are all in this together and nobody, I mean NOBODY, is better than anyone else.
Something that I've been hearing a lot of, lately, is the fact that some people think that what they do in life holds a level of importance that is higher than other peoples' paths. I assume you've been noticing it too.
Productivity.
"I do such and such and I've been doing it for so many years, and I work hard, and why should so and so deserve what I have because so and so only does such and such and that's hardly fair."
The American mantra. Our, gasp, religion if you will. Money money money. The solver of problems and the root of all evil. The purveyor of flat-screen t.v.'s and thirst quencher for the taxman.
The bounty that gave you "Cash for Clunkers". How cute. I love the pet names we give things. Right up there with the "Passenger's Bill of Rights".
So who's more "productive"? Better yet, who's worthy? That seems to be the question. Is it the brain surgeon? The Wall Street exec.? The garbage man? The gremlin who spends the day writing parking tickets?
Maybe it's the web designer. Or the librarian. Or the taxicab driver.
Or the person who volunteers at the food pantry.
Seems to me that they are all valuable in one way or another. They all do their job, presumably well, and they live their lives.
This certainly holds true with me. I'm a highly trained, highly skilled specialist. Sure, I can't repair your frontal lobe (nor would you want me to), but you probably can't play a shuffle worthy of the price of admission (which is becoming free in more and more places.) Sounds trivial? Sure, on some level, I suppose, but it's a valid point. I've worked long and hard to be able to do what I do. I do it at a high level, and that cannot be trivialized.
My point is that we should all be able to go to the doctor (or dentist or shrink or marriage counselor.) There are too many resources in our once-great country for anybody to be left behind (another cute title; another bureaucratic failure.)
None of us should have to be concerned about life-long bankruptcy should something bad happen to us. None of us should be concerned that we had a cold once as a child and now, as an adult, we have pneumonia and it's suddenly a pre-existing condition.
There should be no fear of getting sick because of the cost (you're scared enough, now that your coughing blood.) The premise is un-Christian, un-Jewish, un-Muslim, un-Buddhist, and unkind. This kind of attitude will inevitably lead to people just dying in the streets. You think I'm kidding? This is where we're headed. Who lives and who dies? There will be no "Death Panels" deciding fates like this. It will be your senators, congressmen, governors, and presidents deciding these things.
Indirectly, of course, but that will be the result nonetheless.
And then there will be a revolution, violent and ugly. It most certainly WILL be televised too.
The only solution to all of this, of course, is to eliminate the pairing of "health" with "industry". Our health is not a commodity to be bought and sold. It certainly is not to be compromised for the benefit of someones profit. That's a conflict of interest. The rub, if you will. If the "industry" is concerned about turning a profit above all else, then your health, and your health care, is compromised. It doesn't matter what the wording of the bill or law is. If profit comes first, then you and your family do not.
Period.
So the single-payer, government run system is the only choice we have. We cannot, in good conscience, "reward" and "penalize" people based on their so-called contributions to society. Everyone is different, we all make different choices. The American way (allegedly) urges us to do our best and be our best. We teach our children that "if you put your mind to it, you can do anything and be anything you want to be."
Life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness, and all that.
I had a corporate gig tonight at one of the museums in the city. Those are pretty sweet gigs: usually only a few hours, you get fed, and the pay is (generally) very good.
Having weekday work is nice too. Especially private weekday work.
Unfortunately, for the client, there was rain.
Heavy rain.
A tree was ripped from the ground, roots and all.
No joke.
As I said, it was unfortunate for the client. Not for us though. Why is that, you ask? Because we had a contract. And the contract said that payment in full is expected rain or shine.
That's the chance you (meaning the client/promoter/party planner) take when you want live music outside. And if there is not adequate cover or protection (water and electricity just don't mix), well then the show's over.
There were no problems or hurt feelings.
I know, I know. It sounds simple. Even mundane. A no brainer.
Yet there are too many cats out there that aren't taking the time to bother, for whatever reasons.
Protect yourself and, more importantly, your gear. Don't be afraid to broach the subject.
In my musician's life as the (always trying to be) consummate professional, the gigs I have allow me to travel all over the world.
All of you regular readers surely know this (and are no doubt sick of hearing about it, too.)
Sometimes, the trips (within the States, usually) are boring and less-than-glorious, usually because our accommodations are in the middle of Nowhere, ID, with nary a sign of, well, anything (except for maybe the Sam's Club parking lot right outside my window at the Super 8.) Promoters will generally put the band up in the cheapest (and least expensive) place that's possible. It's almost always many miles outside of the town we're actually working in. And since we are relying on the gig for all of our ground transportation (forget your public options- there are none), we essentially end up stuck at the hotel doing nada.
Not exactly the best way to get geared up for a show (if you've ever wondered just how so many musicians can end up as alcoholics and drug addicts, well...)
Sometimes, though, it's completely amazing and mind blowing. Usually it's an overseas trip. That's where I have the most fun, European countries in particular. We almost always stay in the center of whatever town we're in, there's plenty to do, and there's plenty of public transportation (very inexpensive, too.)
So whenever I cross the sea, I'm usually thinking about what it would be like to live there. It's very different over there than it is here, and there are so many things that are appealing to my sensibilities.
Mainly, it's the fact that Europeans are so much more relaxed than Americans, working to live, rather than living to work (note to the powers-that-be: universal health care, and not insurance, is a key reason for that enviable attitude towards life.)
Here, in Chicago, I've got it pretty good, I must admit. I get to play with Lonnie Brooks, one of the last of the great Chicago blues men. He's the one that always takes me on the road. It's going on 8 years now, and I've played around 500 shows with him. I also get to play with BMR4, one of the best, most working jazz groups that you'll find almost anywhere. Not only are the guys in this group top-notch, but they're also my friends, which is who we all really want to play with anyways.
Chicago has a lot to offer a musician. There's a lot of work here for us.
This city also does everything that it can to make life very inconvenient for it's citizens, whether it's taxes (highest in the nation), scandalous corruption, parking meter fees that have quadrupled, or simply winter.
Just as an aside, the guy on the radio right now is ripping the city apart, talking about selling naming rights for everything under the sun, as Chicago desperately needs cash as a result of dismal city management:
"Rename the expressways. The Planetarium. The Aquarium."
"The Oxy-Clean Aquarium in honor of the late Billy Mays. It's easy to get to, plenty of parking (since nobody wants to pay the damn meters), and just off of that famous road, IKEA's Lake Shore Drive.)
So what would it be like, then, living overseas? For a guy like me, I mean. Could I actually do it over there? A certain girl in my life sure seems to think it's easy.
I tend to think it's easier said than done.
But then again...
I've been to Spain twice, now, within the last 3 months. It's an impressive country, to say the least. Inland or on the Mediterranean coast, the country is beautiful. You can go everywhere by train or bus without it costing a fortune. They're quick, they're very clean, and they're always on time. There's no screwing around, there. Madrid is undoubtedly my favorite city. It's not as international, as European, as Barcelona is. It's not as expensive either (Barcelona is on par with London in terms of cost of Living, meaning sky high.) No, Madrid is very much a Spanish city. I was really impressed with the people, the food (oh, the food, yum,) the architecture, everything.
Businesses (almost all of them) close between 2pm and 5pm for siesta. People are very relaxed and seemingly happy with life.
Personal freedoms seem to not be constantly and incessantly legislated (the United States of No).
Cops seem to not come off as jack-booted thugs.
You can still smoke in bars.
Loved it.
Maybe this is the place.
I had been told ( I was asking around before I had left Chicago) that Madrid is not really a music town. It was a late-night town, to be sure, but not so much for live music. DJ's and dance clubs were the thing, with live shows going (gone) by the wayside.
That turned out to be not the case. In fact, I went out every single night I was there and saw a show. It seems that you'll find the live shows between 11pm and 1am, and then the clubs become DJ spinning night clubs.
Seemingly the best of both worlds.
One night it was a big band at a place called Bar Co., where hash smoking is overlooked, but being barefoot is not. Another night it was blues at a club called Junco. The group (Juan Bourbon, Juan Scotch, and Juan Beer- seriously) was a very traditional 4-piece, fronted by a harp (harmonica) player, nailing all the tunes from the likes of Junior Wells and Sunnyland Slim note for note (Europeans actually tend to learn songs from the records, I've come to learn, very much like the Japanese blues players.)
I saw flamenco music at a small taverna in the wee hours of the morning, the audience consisting of me and my ex-pat (white) friends and a group of around 25 hairy Spanish Gypsies (I looked the part, though, ahem.) There were 2 men singing and one other playing guitar. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that this music was nothing more than Spanish blues. There was a repeating form in the music and the words were obviously improvised. The players were fierce and passionate. Truly, this was one of the most unique concerts I'd ever seen. And it wasn't even a concert. It was very informal (of course it was, it was 3am!)
All of the performances I saw were very well attended, and I was out and about during the week, not the weekend. People were obviously very much into seeing live music.
I also found a "roots and grooves" jam session at a cool place called La BocadelLobo(the mouth of the wolf- sweet.) I gotta say, it was on par with the jam sessions that I go to at Buddy Guy's Legends, albeit with the European perspective of the blues. There were a lot of players that had shown up, and for the most part, they were all pretty good. Certainly better than serviceable. Plus, there was not a whole lot of attitude oozing from musicians that you are apt to find at Buddy's.
I got to play a lot that night. After all, I was the only American there, and from Chicago, no less. The Spaniards were as excited to have me there as I was just being. Needless to say, I am fortunate to be able to carry a certain mystique with me, being in that "drummer from Chicago" category.
Big fish in a small pond, you know?
It was actually a very diverse group of folks and not just Spaniards. I met a bass player from Argentina and a singer/guitar player that came from Paris (she was real good.) We all had James Brown and Albert Collins in common, so we were able to have a real good time together.
We talked about the scene in Madrid over cocktails bought for me by the host of the jam ("That was in-cred-eeeeeee-bul.")
They, of course, were wondering about what work was like in the U.S.
Bo Diddley is dead; been gone from us for a year to the day.
I'm not feeling too good myself, either.
Actually, I'm fine. After all, it's already June, the weather is still (STILL!) crappy, and my health insurance bill is paid up to current.
Government Motors should be so lucky.
Bo never did get a government bailout. In fact, he really never made much money at all. Like so many of the old blues and rock and roll guys, Bo Diddley was a great musician, but not so great as a business person.
The biz will show no mercy, especially if you are a giant.
But he played on. Because that's what he did best. Even if it wasn't under the best of circumstances. I can remember the times that he would come through Chicago, play at Buddy Guy's Legends (with Howard and the White Boys as his backing band- since he made relatively low money, he didn't, or wouldn't, support a touring band.) Now don't get me wrong. Buddy's is a great, great, great club to play. Personally, it's one of my faves. But it's still just a club. And Bo was, well, Bo. It was our good fortune to see him in such a small and intimate place, but he deserved bigger and better digs.
And he was a giant, too. I mean HUGE. Without him (and Muddy Waters and Willie Dixon), the rest of us, who play generally "popular" music, would be out of work. His "Bo Diddley" beat was and is as infectious as swine flu (not that we call it that anymore.) It works with so many different songs, and can be played on any instrument, not just the thundering jungle drums.
Really, that groove is a musical style in itself.
Bomp, bompa bomp, a bomp bomp. Bomp, bompa bomp, a bomp bomp.
"Bo Diddley, Bo Diddley, have you heard..."
Bomp, bompa bomp, a bomp bomp. Bomp, bompa bomp, a bomp bomp.
"Mama's gonna buy you..."
It just doesn't quit. The rhythm is moving and grooving and driving, and powerful. If your body isn't shaking and your big toe isn't coming out of your boot, then, surely, there is something wrong with your sensibilities.
Sometimes, in my spewing and espousing of all things wrong with the music bid-ness, I sometimes forget to talk about the good things that make up this wacky career choice I've (we've) made.
Like how cool music really is. It's fun, it's exciting, and it's full of emotion and feelings (am I talking about music here?) It's also what we (I) do, so in some sense, there is no choice.
Read: Societal Misfits.
One of the blogs that I follow, MusicianWages.com, reminded me of something that can easily be forgotten as I spend my free time doing things that aren't musical: "...nothing is as important as getting out there and doing what you do: playing."
Never mind the fact that only .65% of the population makes it's living as a musician in Nashville (it tops the list, according to the most recent U.S. census.) Or that Lawrence, KS (2nd on the list) is at .31% (a distant 2nd it seems.)
Chicago, by the way, doesn't even crack the top 10.
With that in mind, (guess the cynic leaked out a bit), read the article by drummer Craig Pilo.
Madam's Organ in Washington, D.C., is, the blues capital in the nation's capital.
I made that up, by the way.
The drive from Williamsburg was quick and easy. We even had time for breakfast, compliments of the leader, Pierre Lacocque (gracias.)
"Washington DC has always been rich with Blues, R&B and Jazz and Madam's Organ Blues Bar is the place to find it! Madam's Organ is an authentic Soul Food Restaurant & Blues Bar located in Adams Morgan, DC! ALL LIVE MUSIC - SEVEN NIGHTS A WEEK!"
This is the quote on their Facebook page. They build (and bill) themselves as the place to be. In fact, someone that works at the club said that the strip that the Madam works (made that one up too,) will be filled with about 10,000 people tonight.
A typical Friday night, I suppose. We shall see what we shall see.
Well, anyone who's been here knows that D.C. is kinda crappy. Homeless people camping out (living) in front of the White House and all.
Traffic is horrible, too. It took us almost 30 minutes to drive the 2 miles from the club (set up early. Sweet.) to the band house.
Band house?
That's right folks, yours truly is not only back in the van, but back in the band house. It's not nearly as cool as the Slippery Noodle's pad, but it could be (and has been) worse.
The first leg of the tour was quite eventful and successful. Even if I DID have to sleep in another strange hotel.
J.M. Randall's is more of a sports bar than music venue, here in lovely (colonial) Williamsburg, VA. It's got several big screen t.v.'s, a pool table, and a full service menu. Perfect for a blues party, eh? I, for one, appreciate the fine art of watching a band and the Yankees at the same time.
Not really.
But, they had an actual sound system and an engineer, so the music club definitely trumped the restaurant aspect of it. It was a pretty healthy crowd, too(just about all the seats were full,) and they seemed to be into what was going on. Even a few dancers showed up. When you can pull that off on a Thursday night, you can do just about anything.
On a side note, the legendary linebacker, Lawrence Taylor (LT) was in the audience. Apparently he grew up just a few blocks from the club and his dad still lives there. He had a crew of people with him, and they stuck around for almost the entire 2 sets. Pretty cool.
Now it's on to Washington, D.C., where taxation without representation abounds. The name of the club is Madam's Organ (I like it.) Tonight is a 3- set hit, so it'll be long, but not daunting.
A long time ago, in what, at this point, seems like another lifetime (it actually was), I was a street musician.
One of the best summers of my life.
I was 19 years old (with ways just like a baby child) and in college. I had no money. I had no real gig. I had no real experience. I was underage (although I'd been working the clubs since I was 18).
I wasn't really that good yet, either.
Just like everybody, in the beginning.
I knew this guy who was (is) a saxophone player. Beau Barry is (was) his name. We had a mutual friend who was a blues singer, L.C. Walker (RIP), and had done a few cheap-0 gigs together, as was the case most of the time in those days.
Meaning cheap-o gigs.
Beau supplemented his career (supported it, really) by performing on the street (sure beats selling drugs. Or junk bonds.) Or at Wrigley Field. Or in the subway on the platform. Essentially, he would go wherever there was likely to be large groups of people. That makes, uh, sense, right?
(It sure beats selling drugs. Or junk bonds.)
Large groups of people.
At some point in our relationship, he suggested I join him. He said that it was very good for your chops. Lot's of playing.
Pretty decent dough (you haven't lived till you've brought home $200 worth of quarters) too.
However, ahem ahem, it would take roughly 4-6 hours to make that kind of coin (get it? Coin? I slay me sometimes.) Also, it was a sax/drums duo, so it was very unusual. No bass. No chordal instruments. New territory for both of us, frankly.
In order to play for 4-6 hours, you need a lot of stamina, perseverance, and patience. You also need material. Any working musician knows that a large repertoire requires a lot of practicing and learning. Since we were playing 4-6 hours, and doing the cheap-o gigs, that didn't leave much time for practicing. Meaning on our own time in a room by ourselves. So where do you practice?
While you're on the street, working, of course.
Look, a street musician's audience is mostly transient. Kind of like a prostitute (but without the nasty diseases.) They walk up to you, they may or may not stop to listen, they may or may not drop a ducket in the bucket. Sometimes (and for Beau and me it was often, because we kicked ass, after a while) people would eagerly gather around and we'd have an actual crowd. That was always a ton of fun. People of all ages, races, religions, creeds, and colors. Exactly what you would expect in a major, supposedly international, city (that's really where this is going. Patience.)
The people, however, DO move on sooner, rather than later.
Even when they dig it.
The point is that there is a point where you run out of material. So what do you do? You play tunes many times a day. You play it over and over, tweaking and refining it. The musical freedom you are allowed on the street is like nowhere else. No band leader, no club owner, no booking agency to pay off, nothing like that. You're not even asked to draw your audience.
The ultimate DIY (read: the American Way.)
And it's music, the one true international language. If people like it, they pay. Or not. It's not a requirement. If people don't like it, they don't pay. Or maybe they do anyways (like I said, the American Way.)
We kept playing our limited-yet-growing material over and over. We're better off for having done that.
We were also required, as street performers still are, to purchase a license (the city ALWAYS gets her cut). So the city, one would assume, considers this a legitimate line of work, right?
Yeah, right.
In the Sun-Times last week, Chicago Alderman Brendan Reilly (42nd) introduced an ordinance in the City Council to curtail the already very-limited freedom of street musicians. He's claimed that, "Street performer noise comes up at literally every condo association I address."
"Imagine a boom-boom-boom for six hours outside your window. If you're trying to work, it sounds as if they're playing their instruments in your office. And it's tremendously disruptive . . . on residents."
Condo associations.
Trust fund babies.
Credit card hippies.
Investment bankers.
Chicago is allegedly an international city. So they say, anyways. The Mayor has been selling us out to obtain the 2016 Olympics to solidify that fact (we'll be right up there with Lillehammer, Norway, no doubt.)
One of the things that defines an international city is a fairly large population. Meaning a lot of people.
Meaning a lot of noise.
If you want peace and quiet and space and alienation from the rest of society, then you move to the country.
Or the suburbs.
You DON'T move into a downtown condo on Michigan Ave. That makes you just as annoying as the people who move next door to the airport and then complain that there is too much air traffic.
The good Alderman also cites the "criminal element" of street performers, particularly and specifically, the "bucket boys."
You know who they are. The kids who play drums on plastic buckets. Kind of like a drum corps for a college football team. Just less formal. They're (for the most part, anyways) pretty good, too. Believe it or not, it is a talent and a skill to play the same rhythms with the same stick patterns (including the twirling of the sticks and other show-biz tricks) among a group of people.
Besides, with the domination of American Idol, and things like that in our society, how can any form of musical entertainment not be considered legit?
"There is a criminal element. Some crews use their performance merely as a distraction to lure unsuspecting tourists. And there are people in those crews who are tasked with reaching into people's shopping bags, purses or wallets to make off with their valuables," Reilly said, noting some drummers have "lengthy criminal records."
Ok, point taken. Sometimes the (often quality) performance is a ruse in order to accomplish a bigger scam.
Are you listening AIG? Or Enron? Or the Investment Banking Industry? Or Bernie Madoff? Or George W. Bush?
Or Mayor "I razed Meigs Field in the middle of night under the cover of darkness with no witnesses or the press. So what?" Daley and the rest of the Chicago City Council?
Did I mention that the Bucket Boys are generally young black kids?
So it goes...
************************ photo credit: Richard A. Chapman/Sun-Times
"Mary Lou she found out how to cope, she rides to heaven on a gyroscope. The Daily News asks her for the dope. She says, 'Man, the dope's that there's still hope'."- Bruce Springsteen, Does the Bus Stop at 82nd Street.
The Boss was here in Chicago a few days ago, and, sadly, yours truly was not in the audience. It's the first time in a while that Bruce came to town and I didn't show up.
Tickets are pricey, you know, but that's not the point.
Or is it?
Anyways, I had written previously about songs. More specifically, the fact that so many cats on the scene don't learn songs.
That fact still annoys me, by the way.
That's not the point either.
No, the point for today is that Bruce Springsteen knows songs. He writes songs. His band learns his songs as well as other people's songs (they did the Who's My Generation just a couple of days ago- man I would have loved to have seen that.) The catalog of the E Street Band is in the hundreds.
Hundreds of songs. Just 1 guy (and his guys.)
Springsteen is one of those aging rock gods that people love or hate. Surprisingly, there are a lot of musicians who are in the latter category. I've always wondered why that is. Here's a guy who started his career nearly 40 years ago playing crappy dive bars in sleepy Asbury Park, N.J.
Not exactly a tourist destination (native New Yorkers notwithstanding.)
Bruce can play. Well. Same with his group. It would be a challenge to find a tighter unit. So why are cats against him?
Maybe his looks.
He's not the most attractive guy (ok, ladies, lemme have it.) He's short, like me, and has a hideous under bite, not like me. You can see the wear and tear in the lines on his face from years and years on the road, and he travels well (when's the last time THAT band got in the van?)
Must be jealousy of his success.
Yet, he's still as relevant as ever. Why?
Songs, songs, songs.
Unlike the Rolling Stones (and they ARE the world's greatest rock and roll band) who haven't put out a meaningful album since Tattoo You (1981- it was a "comeback" record,) Springsteen is still writing new material. Most of it is even quality material. Sure, none of it is as impressive as his very early stuff (most songwriters write their best tunes early on, when they're young and hungry,) but he has refined and polished and had the E Street style well defined. He is also, from what I understand, relentless in his rehearsing of the band, and by the time they go out on the road to start a tour, they're more than ready.
They're even ready for tunes they may have not rehearsed. After all, when your catalog is that large, how can you really prepare?
The answer is that they have been preparing their entire careers. They (the band) have been learning material for decades. Not sort of learning it. Really learning it.
You stay ready to keep from getting ready.
Like I said before, they also do other artists' tunes. They do some Motown stuff (you should hear the Detroit Medley- fantastic.) They play folk music (get the Seeger Sessions.) They do blues.
Bruce is successful because of songs, and we as musicians need to understand that without knowing songs, the chops you have (or think you have) become meaningless. Your guitar shredding becomes noise. Your thumb popping on the bass is a bottom end rumble mumble jumble. The crazy drum fills are just, well, crazy.
And then people don't want to hear you, and you're stuck wondering why there aren't any gigs out there better than bar gigs that are worth fifty bucks and a chicken sandwich.
You gotta learn the songs of your genre. I do, and you can too.
Max still hasn't called me to sub, though. He thinks his kid is better than me.
Pro Musician, Chicagoan, Globe-Trotter. Making a life of telling it like it is...
Mostly these pages are about me and my life as an insider in the music industry. You'll also get a few thoughts on other things affecting my life like politics, sports, art, and city life. After all, I can't complain about the music biz every day, can I? These are the things that I find amusing and entertaining and worthy of a healthy rant. I hope you do too.
To quote the late, great Kurt Vonnegut, Jr: So It Goes... email me at: mrodbard@yahoo.com
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