Happy Birthday, Mom...

...and Kate Bush, too...

it's curious sometimes, the thoughts that bounce around my brain when i'm onstage...playing bass has become a very elemental thing for me and certain grooves become a meditation (as well as a medication) so ideas seemingly separate from the music intertwine with the notes and sounds...some are quite ordinary..."hmmm...i'm hungry...what do i have in the 'fridge to snack on when i get home?" or "did i remember to turn off all the lights?" or "who farted?"...
...but last night this thought popped into my head about what really contrary creatures we humans are and it centered on the fact that with one hand we make guitars with which we make art...we make music that makes people smile, dance, tap their feet and even sometimes think about the 'bigger picture'...and with the other hand we make guns...they were devised for one thing and one thing only...
...please don't tell me you're a "sportsman" unless you want to similarly arm and somehow teach gun functions to whatever creature in which you are about to blast a big bloody hole...
...killing for fun...seems that some of us are still standing at the mouth of the cave, peering out in fear and unable or unwilling to look inside our own black hearts...

Q: What did the Zen Buddhist say to the hotdog vendor?
A: Make me one with everything.

"The truth is always with you at every moment. It's not something far away, abstract or difficult. It is the uncomplicated and direct truth of what is right here, right now. Truth is not removed from your day-to-day existence. God, way up in heaven on his big gold throne, is just an idea. That itch on your left ass cheek right now is the truth. It's way bigger than God could ever hope to be."

~from Sit Down and Shut Up: Punk Rock Commentaries on Buddha, God, Truth, Sex & Death by Brad Warner~

sometimes it's strange returning
to my cloistered, monk-like cell
after nights onstage being admired
by thousands...ummm...hundreds...
ok...perhaps dozens...
but it's not the glamorous life
that most of them would imagine...

your humble rock & roll narrator
instigator
agitator
spectator
perpetrator
fornicator (well, i used to anyway)
curator
procrastinator
educator
navigator...after years on the road
i rarely get lost
and yet i can't find my way
to my heart...

what is this spectre
in the corner of my vision
something that i've left undone
or some future indecision...

the tears you see
know not years
not time
rhymes i spin
new as tomorrow
are dug from the dust
of yesterday
we enter this play
mid-scene
with our lines
and little more
deep beneath the present
is the score
plots, sub-plots, cues
clues to the truth
to muse and mull over
and over
defenses fall
bombarded by beauty
protective senses fall
crumble and fall
away...

This is how I would die
into the love I have for you:

as pieces of cloud
dissolve in sunlight.

~Rumi~

the words come slowly

buried in a
barrage of
thoughts
confusions
distractions
dillusions
instructions
obstructions...
...bullshit

the morning brings pain

i see you there
i turn and hide

locked up inside
overheated
moving parts melted together
thought that i could weather
the storm
formulate logical answers
from data amassed...
the fool looks for logic
uncovers chaos
at every turn
gets burned
at every turn
looks for learning
turns
steps back reeling
spirit
in need of healing
reaches out
bleached and dried
in the sun...

july breathes it's heat
across our brows once more
smiling prophets peddling candy
under flashing skies that pour
and the more i learn
the less i see
howling mobs of
zombies of love
run cunning jobs of confidence on the masses
sunday morning more masses
masses of masses
god's vicar on earth
reposed in splendor
wine in golden chalice
bread on golden tray
and at the very same time
and not so very far away
babies moan
and bloat
and die
somebody's grandmother fries up some dogfood
innocents are jailed and killed
as robber barons run free

it all makes little sense to me...

and each day that passes
gets stranger
aged infants spout wisdom
recorded by superstitious
frightened men...

those who dare to look
beyond man's limited existence
are dismissed as demons
or fools
because the rules outlaw
any fluxuation
from current situations

what power can words wield
against man's ancient ignorance?

brothers from
other worlds choose
at times to show themselves
show us bits of expanded knowledge

they come in spirit
they come in ways beyond
our scope or reason
they have existed here
they watched as firstlife
slithered from the slime
waited as great monsters
thrived
then died in an
onslaught of ice

they initiated early man
in hopes that this emerald
of the cosmos
could become paradise

paradise

i hope their disappointment
is not too great
as they survey this
plundered
ravaged
paradise...

so
all you turtles
afraid of truth
pull back into your shells

afraid of hell
air-condition your shells

i won't tell anyone where you're hiding

but this bird is going to fly
while there is still sky and time
for flying...

it's raining tonight in the desert
washing clean the city air
that cools twenty five degrees
in just moments
winds gust and debris
fills the air and
i happen to find myself
driving through this
and i have to turn on my
windshield wipers
for the first time in months...
those days and months
of light and heat
heat and light
fused rubber to glass
glass to rubber
and the first mechanical stroke
wrestled for an instant with
adhesion
then the weakened rubber gave way
and on the second stroke
took on the appearance of
wet licorice whips
lashing back and forth
to and fro
uselessly across the windshield...

i looked with sheepish chagrin
at the new wiper blades that i bought yesterday
sitting on the passenger seat
and once again marvelled at my
monumental procrastination
and crept cautiously home...

...my horoscope for today says that i'm going to meet someone that "is going to show me that life is about daring to live life to the fullest..."

...highly unlikely...unless some magic portal opens under my workbench and such a mystical being materializes from another dimension...

...the stars don't seem to know me all that well...i strongly suspect today will be another hot, dry, dusty, solitary desert day...

...oh...another vignette that i forgot in the previous post...as we were loading our gear into Pinon Pines for our show there, we caught a piece of conversation that was startling in it's gruesomeness...a weathered, grizzled old biker type exclaimed to his friend in a whisky and tobacco ravaged voice, "well...i've got three human skulls already, but i want one with a BULLET HOLE..."

...just the sort of thing one wants to hear walking into a gig...

more tales from the road

hmmmm...lets see, where did i leave off?...

...after the Telluride trip, we were home for two days and then back out for four days of shows in northern Az....all the gigs went well...played two new venues (for us, anyway) and blew the roof off both places, so Pinon Pines and the Raven Cafe will be added to the regular slate of shows...
...we had saturday night off on this trip, so we were able to go see some friends play at Coyote Joe's in Prescott...they have a Beatles tribute sort of band called Ringo McLennonSon...drummer Jimbo Gibbons is an old bandmate of mine from the jazz fusion band Dr. Bombay, where he provided percussion, comic relief and physical intimidation if things ever got dicey...the band was excellent and a spendid time was had by all...Tom and i even got up and did our arrangement of 'She's a Woman'...our studio version of that one features Jimbo on tabla drums, unfortunately, he didn't have his tablas with him that night...
...we were heading back home sunday night, ready to be back to our own beds for a while, rolling down the mountainside when the vibration started...slight at first, with each passing mile it became more pronounced...we had just gotten out of what we call the "yee-haw" portion of the drive, some steep mountain grades and serious curves, and just past Black Canyon City, and i was just about to suggest that we pull off at the next exit and BOOOOOM!!!, a tire blows out...
...fortunately, we were back to the flatlands and it was a rear tire, so we were able to limp off to the side of the freeway and ponder our next move...the only way to get to the spare and safely jack up the van would have been to unload all of the gear onto the hot desert roadside in the middle of the fuckin' night...we quickly nixed that idea and called AAA and had a tow truck take us the rest of the way to Tom's house in Scottsdale...had to wait about two hours, but that's a minor inconvenience compared at to what might have happened if that tire had blown five minutes earlier on a nasty downhill curve in a whole pack of vehicles doing 65mph....
...a sobering end to an otherwise lofty journey...

...fast forward to 4th of July weekend...Payson, Az...the Smoot electric band was booked to play a three hour show on the street in front of Bootleg Alley Antiques and Art, owned by our good friends Ken and Brenda Mooney and then do a short set at the Ox Bow pub afterwards...
...we got to town and checked into the motel, run by a jolly, but nearly unintelligible Chinese gentleman...i understood about every third word and smiled and nodded a lot...went to the site of the first show and noticed that storm clouds were tumbling toward us, the wind picking up and the temperature dropping (i liked that last part!)...so Tom and i decided to play an unplugged duo thing inside the antique shop...we had played a few tunes when, we were convinced that the storm was going to pass us by and we should set up outside and play...
...well, you've probably figured out by now that we got three songs finished before the skies opened up and it poured until the streets looked like rivers...we were able to power down before anyone was killed by lightning and got all the gear to safety before anything got too wet...
...went back to the rooms to get some dry clothing and headed back for our evening show at the Ox Bow...and things continued to deteriorate...as it always is with multiple band shows, there is a distinct possibility that the schedule is going to get fucked up...and given that this was the first time the organizers of this function had ever done such a thing, it was a certainty...the band that was tasked with handling the backline and sound for the event were handed a shit sandwich...the P.A. gear that the promoter provided was woefully inadequate for the size of the room and the levels at which some of the bands play, such as ourselves...we don't play at ear-damaging volumes, but every band needs a system that is punchy and clean...this was neither...
...so, we're standing around waiting for our time slot, which is getting later and later all the time and decide it's time for a beer...yeah right...bud and bud light, coors and coors light...
...hey...you know what coors light and having sex in a canoe have it common?...
...they're both fucking close to water!

...and then i noticed that about every other male person in the room was wearing some sort of american flag shirt...i mean, i know it was the forth of july and all...i was sporting a red t-shirt with a Hopi fetish design, the first americans, the real americans...
...finally our time came to play and we hit the stage as hard as the earlier thunderstorms hit the streets...we decided to change the attitude of the room and country rock and cowboy music gave way to Superstitious, nasty Detroit funk as mean as we could deliver...the lighting system was set on a dipshit sound activated thing and they were flashing so much i spent much of the show blinded, hovering somewhere between vertigo and a seizure...i couldn't see it happen but i'm told that the room's collective jaw hit the table when we launched into our first song...i love shocking peoples sensibilities...Tom and i have talked about this at length...he got into music strictly from the artistic side...the quiet singer/songwriter sitting on his front porch, crafting tunes, pulling lovely melodies from the ether...i on the other hand viewed it as an act of rebellion, of revolution, a gathering of the tribes to make sounds to shatter the walls of conventionality...for me, it was all about the thunder, the groove, the bottom end...i was born to be a bass player...
...we are still pretty much the same...just a bit older...

but i digress...so we did our show and everyone was raving about the band (especially the other bands) and the promoter wanted all the bands to hang around and do a big jam for the last part of the night...i wanted no part of it as i was still feeling the effects from some questionable fish tacos from two days before and just wanted to be back in my room, close to the potty, if you catch my drift...
...the next night at the Ox Bow was to be the same type of show...several acts throughout the evening and ending with a jam...oh boy...i like jam on my toast...
...our lead guitarist had to split to fulfill a prior commitment so i was thrust into the bassist/soloist mode as it is with the duo...but with Matt there bangin' away at the skins, it freed me up to experiment with playing in and around and over and under the beat...big fun...
...but the biggest fun was our last number... we got our dear old bud Hans Olson up to play harmonica on the song 'Forgive' , a song that he recorded with us on our third CD...it was spectacular...Hans is a blues monster...
...we made our excuses and bailed on the jam and headed back to the valley...an uneventful trip this time as there is all new rubber on the road...

cruisin' faithfully...the horizon calls...

Today I will loan a bothersome friend
a novel with pivotally important
pages removed.

from Today I Will Nourish My Inner Martyr ~ Affirmations for Cynics