Sometimes the Truth Hurts...

Hey I'm on the side of the comedian, Michelle Wolf, who skewered, and eviscerated Sarah Huckabee Sanders and the current Presidential Administration at the White House Correspondents dinner over the weekend. It wasn't exactly hilarious, but her comments did seem pretty spot-on. I did not see or read her whole monologue, but I saw excerpts and her bit seemed like one of those classic, cringe-inducing "Roasts" that Dean Martin, (remember him?), used to host just for the alcohol-fueled hell of it.

Maybe sort of mean, but hell, it all seems like a pretty "truthful" monologue. Speaking truth to power, right? The truth. It's not polite. It's sometimes not nice. Often it stings. Sarah Huckabee Sanders gets up in front of the Press on a daily basis and lies and obscures with the best of the great Political Disinformationists, and Propagandists.

Michelle Wolf:

“Every time Sarah steps up to the podium, I get excited. I’m not really sure what we’re going to get, you know? A press briefing, a bunch of lies or divided into softball teams. ‘It’s shirts and skins, and this time don’t be such a little bitch, Jim Acosta. I actually really like Sarah. I think she’s very resourceful. But she burns facts and then she uses that ash to create a perfect smokey eye. Like maybe she’s born with it, maybe it’s lies. It’s probably lies.”

AND

“I’m never really sure what to call Sarah Huckabee Sanders. Is it Sarah Sanders, is it Sarah Huckabee Sanders, is it Cousin Huckabee, is it Aunt Huckabee Sanders? What’s Uncle Tom but for white women who disappoint other white women? Ah I Know, Aunt Coulter.”

The response to the monologue was a little mini-tempest of laughter and outrage. A mini-kerfuffle. According to conservative lobbyist Matt Schlapp: “Journalists should not be the ones to say that the president or his spokesperson is lying.”

Of course, conservatives like Matt Schlapp are part of the great unhinged political moment. They don't want us to listen to Scientists, especially if they tell us the planet is heating up from Carbon Dioxide, and they don't want journalists to point out when a politician and his minions are spouting lies. I would say, contrary to Schlapp, that truth-telling, and calling out the lies, is exactly what we expect journalists and comedians, and scientists to do.

I will give Rob Reiner, director of "Spinal Tap," and the most famous 70's "Meathead" the last word: "I attended the WHCD last night. Donald Trump has so poisoned the atmosphere by attacking the disabled, gold star parents, Muslims, Mexicans, Blacks, women, the press, the rule of law that a comedian who simply tells the truth is offensive? She’s joking. He’s not."

Free, Like the Birds and Bees...

This morning I go to the Great Google and ask "Where did money come from?" I get this, the "History of Money." I start to read it, but then, you know, I don't really care. I mean, my heart is just not into it. Bartering. Accounting. Tallying. Medium of Exchange. Yikes. Whatever.

I don't really care about money. Some times I've had it. Some times not. I'm"not good with money." There have times in my life when the money flowed to me fairly easily. And other times when I could hardly squeeze out a dime. I've had money in the bank, and also scraped along, living on smoke and mirrors.

My people didn't come from money. Our family never had wealth to hand down through the ages. I am not stingy, or a good saver, I'm not prudent. I think of money as just another energy. And not that important to me, except, of course, I want to make the rent, have enough for food and to spend on things I want to spend on.

I am not extravagant. I don't crave luxury. I don't use money as an ego-burnisher. I don't think it's what makes the world go round. Instead, I'd vote for love, art, music, poetry, creativity, compassion, empathy, heart, beauty. I do think the best things in life are free.  Just like the birds and bees.

The Buck, Our True Religion!

This extraordinary construction - sculpture, photo-collage &  haunting visual creation, is from the incomparable, unsinkable artist, Michael Doubrava. I think of it as a visual ode to "Mammon:" a Chaldee or Syriac word meaning "wealth" or "riches" ( Luke 16:9-11 ); also, by personification, the god of riches ( Matthew 6:24 ; Luke 16:9-11 ).

That early Christian, Timothy 6:10 (King James Bible) tells us that "Love of Money is the Root of All Evil." If only Timothy were around today. 

I mean, SHITE, he had no idea. What if you have a whole culture, a species, a planet, fall wildly, madly, deeply in love with the Almighty Buck? A species hypnotized by dollar signs? $$$. A species so hypnotized they don't even realize how they subsume everything - life, love, liberty, beauty, everything we do, say and think, to abject adulation of cold, hard, cash.  What would that look like?

You might have a planet of needing, wanting, grasping beyond your wildest, darkest, imaginings. Burning up the fossil fuels, using $$ to fuel & fire every last whim and addiction. Using the Buck to beat our fellow human beings into senseless submission.

What happens when a species comes to believe that all should bow down and worship the Great Almighty Buck? What happens then?

"Wealth Determines Consciousness, Alas." - Tariq Ali

A quote from the 1960's. I think Tariq Ali was saying that $ stick with $. I suppose sometimes it's true, sometimes not. That particular quote came out of a discussion of the Rolling Stones "Street Fighting Man," and Mick Jagger's political consciousness back in 1968.

Can we transcend the influence of $? When, for instance, Kanye West on Twitter tells us he "loves" Donald Trump, that they are "brothers," and they share "Dragon Energy," do we think it's just one Wealthy Kook embracing another Wealthy Kook? Or is it obviously a  case of two sort of whack, extraordinary self-promoters who have much more in common than we all realized?

Kanye West: "I am Picasso. I’m Walt Disney, I’m Steve Jobs.”

Trump: "With the exception of the late, great Abraham Lincoln, I can be more presidential than any president that's ever held this office."

Two rich guys. Bonded by stocks and bonds? Bonded by overconfidence, massive ego, ostentatious displays, delusions of grandeur, married to Stepford-like wives, constantly displaying Tourettes-like behavior on Twitter, TV and stages across the land. Yeah, so maybe the accumulation of $ is just one of the things these guys have in common.

Kanye & Trump, the Ebony and Ivory of our cultural/political/social zeitgeist & sickness...

Nobody's Fault But Mine!

Wake up speaking Latin (see previous post), and really, well, I don't speak Latin. I mean, in some ways speaking Latin would sort of be like "speaking in tongues," or speaking in dead languages. It did set the tone for the day.  I walked around thinking "through my own fault." It was my mantra for the day. It also sent me into a mental tailspin. 

You think you know yourself. You think you "know where you're coming from," but maybe not really. My brain was formed, marinated, or pickled in Catholic grade school. I remember my Grandmother saying her prayers, ticking through her rosary. I am sure I heard her whispering "Mea Culpa" somewhere in the distant past. Makes me think I'm still much more "Catholic" than I think. Even though I have lived much more in a Zen/Pagan way.

Why would that phrase percolate up? Why would that phrase be on my lips? What kind of wacky, disturbing dreams would lead me to such a state? Who knows? Can't conjure it all up. So this morning, I'm back to it, looking up "Mea Culpa," maybe there is an answer to be found.

"The phrase originates in the Confiteor which is a part of the Catholic Mass where sinners acknowledge their failings before God. Confiteor translates as 'I confess'. It has a long history of use in English and was used by Chaucer in his Troylusas early as 1374:

"Now, mea culpa, lord! I me repente."

To emphasize the point the phrase is sometimes strengthened to 'mea maxima culpa' - literally 'my most grievous fault'. This also has longstanding use, as here in Watson's Decacordon, 1604:

"Shall lay their hands a little heavier on their hearts with Mea maxima culpa."

The Confiteor uses both 'mea culpa' and 'mea maxima culpa'. 

In Latin:

Confiteor Deo omnipotenti,

beatæ Mariæ semper Virgini,

beato Michæli Archangelo,

beato Ioanni Baptistæ,

sanctis Apostolis Petro et Paulo,

omnibus Sanctis, et vobis, fratres (et tibi pater),

quia peccavi

nimis cogitatione, verbo et opere:

mea culpa,

mea culpa,

mea maxima culpa.

Ideo precor beatam Mariam

semper Virginem,

beatum Michælem Archangelum,

beatum Ioannem Baptistam,

sanctos Apostolos Petrum et Paulum,

omnes Sanctos, et vos, fratres (et te, pater),

orare pro me ad Dominum Deum nostrum.

Amen.

... and in English:

I confess to Almighty God,

to blessed Mary ever Virgin,

to blessed Michael, the Archangel,

to blessed John the Baptist,

to the holy Apostles Peter and Paul,

to all the Saints and to you, brothers (and to you Father),

that I have sinned exceedingly,

in thought, word and deed:

through my fault,

through my fault,

through my most grievous fault.

Therefore I beseech the blessed Mary,

ever Virgin,

blessed Michael the Archangel,

blessed John the Baptist,

the holy Apostles Peter and Paul,

all the Saints, and you, Father,

to pray to the Lord our God for me.

Amen.

I Do Understand!

Yes. Sleep well. Sleep long and hard. Wake up knowing you visited distant lands. You spoke with noble souls. Grand events transpired. You can recall nothing. Except...

The words on my lips upon awakening? "Mea Culpa!" Latin. I actually spoke the words out loud as I got up from the bed. Literally "through my own fault." Right. OK. I don't know, but I do understand.

"Feed Your Head."

You have a brain, use it. Grace Slick once sang, "Feed your head." A good idea. No sense wasting brain cells. Always be looking, reading, thinking. Wondering. There is a joy, a pleasure in sinking into thought. Turn off the internal monologue and chase another thought-train. It can be a clearing. A healing. An adventure. You might actually learn something. Discover a thought, an idea, you never had before. That's pretty cool. And surprising.

Lately...

Lately, I have wondered to myself... "Am I really as smart as I think I am?" And how would I know if I wasn't?

So Happy Record Store Day is a Thing!

Jon Langford

My friend and I did Record Store Day 2018 with both feet in. Total commitment to the day. First we played a r&r show with our band on the sidewalk in front of Vintage Vinyl (see previous post), a ragtag group of early risers turned out for our 11am set. It was cold, but our fingers on fretboards held up, and the set pretty much went without a hitch. It was a surprisingly satisfying outing.

Then we trekked to Bloodshot Records to check out their Record Store Pop-Up Shop, we scored CDs, T-shirts & special blend coffee, then we motored down to Reckless Records in Wicker Park and joined the teeming masses scouring the used record and CD bins for treasure.  Finally, we ended up at Falafel Grill and had a hearty, meal. It was a great, very satisfying, fulfilling day.

We saw the great, incomparable, Jon Langford at Bloodshot. I gave him a nod of recognition but didn't have the nerve to start a conversation. He is such an inspiration, an incredible singer, songwriter and visual artist. The complete Renaissance Man. We purchased two new CD's from artists on Bloodshot Records: "Cowboy Sally's Twilight Laments" by Sally Timms, and "Existentialism" from the Mekons. Also snagged a Bloodshot Records T-shirt: "Alt-Country, Not Alt-Facts," and we scored a special blend of coffee beans from Dark Matter Coffee: "Over the Cliff, Bloodshot."

Jon Langford

At Reckless we made these purchases, can't wait to give them a listen: "Unhalfbricking" - Fairport Convention, "Cinder," - The Dirty Three, "The Covers Record" - Cat Power, "Take Care, Take Care, Take Care" - Explosions in the Sky, and "Goodbye Yellowbrick Road," - Elton John.

There was so much energy on the street and in the stores. So happy that Record Store Day is a thriving thing! So happy we got to be a part of it all.

Record Store Day 2018!

Hey, it's Record Store Day today. A bit chilly and gloomy this morning. Our band whitewolfsonicprincess will be on the street in front of Vintage Vinyl this morning, playing a set at 11am CST.  It's always cool to be onto the next thing. This one might be extra cool. Another show. Always a challenge, and fun too.

Actual Text Conversation between band members:

Person #1: "Dress Warm. Supposed to be around 50 degrees."

Person #2: "I'm wondering how my fingers will handle that..."

Person #1: "Me too. Might be a challenge."

Person #2: "Ok, we will work with it."

Person #1: "You know like the Beatles on the rooftop."

Person #2: "Haha, I don't think we're the Beatles."

Person #1: "We might be cold like them! :)"

Where can I get a coat like George's?

Regret Everything/Regret Nothing!

"If you marry, you will regret it; if you do not marry, you will also regret it. . . . Laugh at the world’s follies, you will regret it; weep over them and you will also regret that. . . . . Hang yourself, you will regret it, do not hang yourself, and you will also regret that; hang yourself or do not hang yourself, you will regret both. . . . This, gentlemen, is the sum and substance of all philosophy." - Soren Kierkegard

I came across this paragraph looking for other things. Seems old Soren was a Gloomy Gus. Of course, he does put his finger on a conundrum. We are always making decisions in the moment without any clue about ultimate consequences. We are held to account on decisions in which we have scant information.  Even if we always want to "Do the Right Thing," how do we proceed if we have no idea what that right thing really is?

Follow your gut, follow your head, follow orders, do what everyone else tells you to do?

Ah, yes, a Lifetime of Regret! That's Philosophy! Soren, you, (just like us), are stuck in your analyzer. If you regret everything, you regret nothing? If you choose not to regret anything, will you regret not regretting? Aye there's the rub!

Always the Next Rehearsal.

How many rehearsals? 

It was a raw day yesterday here in the heartland. Cold. Windy. Moist. Gloomy. It's hard to convey the complete and utter gloom that permeated every aspect of the day.

How to carry on? Just slog through. Step by step. It was hard. Like walking through molasses. Last night we ended up at our rehearsal space, running through songs. Just three of us. A guitar, a bass, tambourine, two voices.

The gloom lifted a bit. Always doing the good work. Whether it is good or not. Just do it. That's really the thing. How many rehearsals? Uncountable. Might as well ask how many waves in the lake? How many molecules in a cup of water? Can't come up with a number. Already looking forward to the next rehearsal.

The Circular Nature of Our Existence.

The circular nature of our existence. Sometimes life feels like a line. One long road. But I think it's true that it's really a circle, or an endless series of circles, strung out one after another. We are in a cycle. A cycle of cycles. We are carried along. There is a propulsive, forward movement, but the spinning, the endless spinning is at the heart of everything. I think it's good sometimes to take your hands off the wheel, and to watch it roll.  It rolls with us and without us. 

Bind Ourselves Up!

I was gonna do another blog post about our crazy politics. But this morning, I just don't have the heart. It's a mess. Crazy. Weird. The GOP is imploding from the madness of their deeply corrupt Fraud King, and their disinformation network, Fox News, is being exposed as a total joke and plague on our national discourse. My only hope is all the corruption, all the bad deeds, all the lies come out into the light of day. Maybe that way we can isolate and kill the plague. Staunch and cleanse the wounds. Bind ourselves up. And try to heal. I see a Blue Wave in November. I hope, I pray, that we can take the country back and try again.

Gateway to the Jaws of Hell!

I was sort of blown away by Adam Davidson's article in the New Yorker: "Michael Cohen and the End Stage of the Trump Presidency." An experienced, informed reporter running down his thoughts on our very compromised, very, very mentally, legally, morally, politically & ethically challenged President.

Seems his thuggish, meatball lawyer could be the gateway to a whole host of creepy characters and lots of bad deeds. Be sure to read the article, not just the headline. I think this will be a memorable piece, and will come in handy in the next few months.

Also, it's worth following Davidson on Twitter. I came across this one, and gulped, we are staring into the Jaws of Hell...

"Some of the phrases that will come out in reference to Trump's business partners and will become part of our national media diet:

- Terror financing.

- WMD proliferation.

- Sex trafficking.

- Murder.

- Boring old stuff like bribery, sanctions violations, money laundering."

— Adam Davidson (@adamdavidson) April 15, 2018

Isle of Dogs - A Better, Roomier Imaginative Space!

Generally my friend and I don't go in for animated, or "stop-action" movies. We do make an exception for Wes Anderson. He is one of our favorite Directors/Filmmakers. A few of his films are on our all-time favorites list.

What does a great or even a really good movie do for you? Makes you a better human. Deepens your heart. Makes you laugh, cry, etc. Art (music, poetry, film, literature, etc) can be a clearing, a healing; renews, inspires, creates space for the imagination. We all need a better, roomier imaginative space.

"Isle of Dogs." Yes. Loved it. Laughed. Lots of laughter. Afterwards we wondered: "How did they do that?"

whitewolfsonicprincess on the Street!

You ask: "What is your "neo-psychedelic folk rock" band, whitewolfsonicprincess, doing for Record Store Day April 21, 2018?"

We are playing a set. On the street in front of one of the last great vinyl record stores, Vintage Vinyl in Evanston, IL. As I wrote in our r&r diary a few weeks ago...

"Records… we love records… working on another one ourselves… thinking it will be called “The Alternate Boot: Sun/Moon.” 14 songs. Distinctly whitewolfsonicprincess! Won’t be available on Record Store Day, April 21, 2018, but we will be doing a live show that morning at Vintage Vinyl in Evanston, IL!"

Conjuring Jesus and the Devil in Copenhagen!

Yes, lately, I have been communing with Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. I read the biography. I have been main-lining the records, especially, "Skeleton Tree," "Push Away the Sky," "Murder Ballads" & "No More Shall We Part."  The finest stuff.  My humble opinion: some of the best albums ever recorded.

I have also seen the movies: "20,000 Days on Earth," and the amazing, devastating, supremely profound and gorgeous "One More Time With Feeling." Heavy. Beautiful. 

And last night, we watched "Distant Sky" in Chicago. A one-night only showing (although I expect it will be available on a streaming service sometime in the future). The theater was filled with Nick Cave and the Bad Seed fans. A cool, little cult of music fans; well-dressed with lots of leather, cool t-shirts, well-coiffed hair. A pretty interesting crowd.

"Distant Sky" - Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds Live in Copenhagen... yes it was thrilling, fantastic, so inspiring to see this band in concert. Every move on stage seemed intentional, played like theater, great ensemble playing, not a wasted note or gesture. Total commitment. Oh yes, it was totally transforming too. They transformed themselves and the audience. Nick and the band conjured Jesus and the Devil and everything in between.  Not bad.

"Grifters, Cons, Sharks, Goons & Crooks..."

I do think America is lucky. We still have the rule of law, and a Free Press. I don't go in for  that "fake news" thing. I think it's actually pretty easy to wade through all the noise and find solid, reliable news sources. For instance the Washington Post & The New York Times. Two great newspapers. Lots of great reporting during these very stressful times.

I am also a fan of the New York Times Editorial Page. Their latest on the Law and Little Baby Man is superb: 

"Mr. Trump has spent his career in the company of developers and celebrities, and also of grifters, cons, sharks, goons and crooks. He cuts corners, he lies, he cheats, he brags about it, and for the most part, he’s gotten away with it, protected by threats of litigation, hush money and his own bravado. Those methods may be proving to have their limits when they are applied from the Oval Office. Though Republican leaders in Congress still keep a cowardly silence, Mr. Trump now has real reason to be afraid. A raid on a lawyer’s office doesn’t happen every day; it means that multiple government officials, and a federal judge, had reason to believe they’d find evidence of a crime there and that they didn’t trust the lawyer not to destroy that evidence."

Yes, we are witnessing a little political stress test. I am hoping the Rule of Law and the Free Press will help us get through these difficult days ahead. Let it come down! 

What of the Cornered Rat?!

I had a very unrestful sleep. Lots of disturbing dreams floating through my head. I thought I was so ZEN, but maybe not as ZEN as I thought.

What happens with a cornered rat? "A cornered rat will bite the cat, one who is cornered will fight like a devil."

What happens when the man in the highest office feels the walls closing in? How will he lash out? What will he do, or refrain from doing? Who will support his madness? Who will stand up to him?  Who will stand up for the Rule of Law, Truth, Justice and the American Way?

Can all that vanish in an instant? Are we one out of control rant & explosion away from catastrophe?

The Steely, Unforgiving Jaws of the Rule of Law!

Little Baby Man is melting down in real-time because the FBI raided his meatball, thuggish, long-time fixer lawyer's office, home and hotel suite. Things do not look good for the thuggish, meatball lawyer. And things do not look good for Little Baby Man either.

Seems karma really is a bitch. You must be careful how you spend your days. You must be careful how you choose to live. All of your thoughts and actions have consequences. And yes, reality does have a way of catching up with you.

And search warrants, FBI raids, indictments, pleas, convictions; well, they have a way of adding up. You can be a Little Baby Man. You can spend your days watching Fox News. You can spend your days yelling at your TV. You can shout: "Fake News," and "Witch Hunt" all day, until you are blue in the face.

But you are still basically FUCKED. This is not fake news, and it's not a witch hunt. Little Baby Man is not stuck in the steely, unforgiving jaws of the rule of law because of his "unpopular views," he is smack dab in the middle of the steely, unforgiving jaws of the rule of law because of all the bad shit he has done in his long-term life of dissolution, silliness, bad faith, bankruptcy and fraud. Oh yeah, and as a special bonus: Did anyone say "Russian Dupe in the White House?!"

I Bow To The Divine In You.

So, yes, if "The Days are The Gods," the Gods are infinitely changeable. Blazing sunshine yesterday, fresh snow today. A beautiful coat of white. It's Spring here in the heartland. The days do not need to justify themselves. It's up to us to meet the day. Engage. There is no guidance. Follow your heart. This day, this God, has never previously made an appearance. "Namatse," - I Bow To The Divine In You.

"The Days are The Gods!"

Waking up at someone else's home. First, happy to wake up. Another day. Emerson tells us that no one ever suspects that "the days are The Gods!" Before coffee is always a sort of zombified twilight. Always feel a bit crunchy, gritty, delicate, artbitrary. After coffee flooded with good feeling. So I go from bad to good in just couple cups. Funny. 

Took my little furry friend for a walk. The morning sun breaking out a new dawn. The sun sits like an enormous fiery ball at the end of the street. Sun at street level. Wow. Bathed in sunshine. It's cold, can see my breath in the air, but the light is brilliant, overwhelming. Cosmic force. Turn down the block and my furry friend and I throw our shadows on the sidewalk. Every step our shadows grow. We get to the end of the block and our shadows are thirty feet tall. Blazing light. Ghostly shadow.

Back, sipping coffee, listening to Dylan live, the born-again, evangelizing, Jew for Jesus Dylan. Killer live band. Singing along with Dylan and his amazing backup singers: "Ain't Going to Hell for Anybody!" New morning.

"Possibility is the Secret Heart of Creativity." - J O'Donohue

I am reading John O' Donohue's "Anam Cara." Amazing. Beautiful. Enlightening. The words of the book are a conjuring, an incantation, a spell. I have really taken it to heart. I have surprised myself. Maybe the book is just hitting me at the exact right time? Maybe it wouldn't have had the same impact earlier in my life? I will never know. This time, this place, this "me," this book. No resistance, no cynicism, no skepticism. Every sentence a healing. I can truly say this book has enlivened me, opened me. It's made me Alive, Renewed, Deepened. Yes, it a book of great heart, great wisdom, a book of poetry, music, philosophy & love. Anam Cara is Gaelic for "Soul Friend." I believe we can make our lives, and everything in it, our soul friend. I believe.

Stupid. Yes. But Maybe Not that Stupid?!

Note: Even is his hair is a ridiculous, improbable fraud. Amusing. I also take it as an enlightening little metaphor...

Yes. We are stupid. Check out the headlines. Every day. But, me-thinks, we aren't as stupid as our stupidly stupid President thinks we are. I mean, there must be a limit to our stupidity. Hopefully it is not a bottomless well.

For instance, few of us are so stupid that we believe that Little Baby Man's lawyer, unbeknownst to Little Baby Man, paid $130,000.00 to an Adult Film Actress (Think: Porn Star), from his own account, to keep her from talking about a sexual liaison that didn't happen right before the 2016 election, in the wake of the "grab them by the pussy" audiotape. AND, this meatball lawyer never told Little Baby Man that he paid of this woman off with hush money for an event that never happened!

Either our Stupid Little Baby Man President is lying, or his thuggish, meatball lawyer is lying. Or I mean, of course, they are both lying. Little Baby Man is pleading complete ignorance (not a surprise), and his thuggish, meatball lawyer is telling the world that he paid of the Porn Star from his own pocket, for his own unexplainable reasons.  None of this makes a lick of sense.

I mean, yes, we are stupid, and gullible, and easily fooled, but maybe, just maybe not that stupid, gullible and easily fooled. Is this important? Well, in another time and place it would probably have destroyed a political candidate's career, but we are now in a such a different time and place it doesn't seem to have quite the same consequences. We are a lot more stupid. Stupider. And I guess most of us are not surprised that Little Baby Man is a sleazy liar.

Still if our stupid Little Baby Man President would lie about something as stupid as this, I mean, if he's so confident and stupid to try to put over such a stupid, unbelievable lie, which all can see is a lie, well, just how damn stupid does he think we all are? Pretty stupid.

The Beloved Dead

The Beloved. We do like our heroes to suffer. And then to overcome obstacles and challenges against all odds. Sometimes they don't actually overcome until they transform. How do they transform? They die. They transform when they drop their bodies, shuffle off their mortal coil. We especially celebrate and treasure those who die tragically; young, in the fullness of life. Those are special ones we truly deify. We like our heroes to be dead. And gone. I guess it's safer that way. Less dangerous. Less messy. Life is always messy. Being alive in the day to day flow, making choices, making mistakes, making enemies, doing the hard work, challenging people, failing; all that changes when death comes. That's when the legend grows, the myth begins. The messy part of living is over. Then we are left with the words, the speeches, the music, the images, the symbols. Think: Jesus, Lennon, MLK Jr, RFK, JFK, Gandhi, Elvis (ok, in Elvis' case we have a bloated, fat, and drug addicted hero, but, you know, we always think of the young Sun Records era Elvis first). It's a sad, noble, tragic, inspiring & safe pantheon. The Beloved Dead.

"Unarmed Truth and Unconditional Love..."

Born: January 15, 1929 in Atlanta GA,  Assassinated: April 4, 1968 in Memphis, TN

"I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality... I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word." - Martin Luther King, Jr.

Breaking Up is Hard To Do!

Is that how (see previous post),  a r&r band breaks up? I'm not saying this particular r&r band will break up, but a bad show, a "debacle-type" show is the kind of thing that can kill a band. 

I read about r&r bands all the time. It's one of my obsessions: music, bands, collaborations. It's always fascinating to see how a small group of musicians get together and try to create something. 

How do collaborations work? How do people get in a room and work together for a bigger thing? When it is creative and successful, how does that work? Why does it sometimes fall apart?

Even the big, creatively successful, and monetarily successful bands, who seemingly have it all, can crash. Think: The Beatles, The Eagles, Buffalo Springfield, The Byrds, The Stones (they crashed and re-booted a few times), The Smiths, CSN&Y, Simon & Garfunkel. These acts not only "broke up," in many cases, after the crash, there were long-running feuds and hatreds that never subsided.

You have to believe in what you are doing. You have to have the creative fire. You have to be willing to work together. You have to pull in your ego a bit, you have to include other folks in your vision. Those other folks all have to believe too.

The upside: you get to create music and play it. Maybe you make some $. Maybe you just have a sense of accomplishment. Maybe you create a sense of community. Maybe you just have some serious, cool, fun.

A bad show is like a curse. It can erase all that upside. Do you write it off? Chalk it up? Or blow the whole thing to smithereens? Who knows? Who decides? It's sort of a Bad Fog of Loneliness hanging over you... do you retrench, reboot, retreat?

The Hangover of the Hangover!

I'm not a Rock Star, but sometimes, I do get to do some Rock Star kind of things. For instance, plug in my guitar and play r&r music for lots of folks. I mean, usually it's not for lots of folks, it is usually for small gatherings. But once in awhile, for instance over the weekend, I got a chance to play for lots of folks.

In this case, it was a small, neighborhood Chicago bar full of drunk folks. Lots of drunk folks. I mean, a small place overstuffed with drunk people. It was quite the scene. The band arrived in the aftermath of the crowd watching "The Big Game;" it doesn't matter what game it is, there is always a game, a Big Game, and drunk folks always, always like to watch the game.

The music on the sound system was ear-splitting. Volume is required to try to penetrate the drunken fog hanging over everyone. Folks were dancing, drunkenly. Folks were singing. Folks were drinking to excess. Folks were staring blearily at the video screens above the bar. This was a place full of people having serious fun.

Our garage-rock band took the stage and the crowd thinned a bit. We tried to fill the space, to seize the room with our raw, r&r sound. Didn't really happen. The crowd wasn't there to see and hear us. We were just another noise floating in the space. It was like playing for one large, multi-limbed, multi-headed beast occupied with other things. Deranging of the senses. It's a lifestyle. We flailed about a little, and actually started playing like a drunken band of fools. It was weird. The energy of the crowd kind of seeped into us too. 

We were lost. Swallowed up like just another shot of some rot-gut poison. It was sort of a debacle of a performance. We got louder, played more recklessly, seemingly looking for some kind of connection, but it all kind of short-circuited. Afterwards, there was a hollowness. A bad feeling of ineptness. Add it to the great fog of unknowingness. I was stone-cold sober, thinking about the hangover of the hangover. 

Alive in the Room!

Happy Easter. 2018

Alive. Alive in the room. Now. The room is the Cosmos. The Cosmos is Us. How to get our heads around that?