Old Glorious Reptiles, and I like Them!

We checked out the new Stones movie, "Shine a Light," yesterday. I'm thinking the story of the Stones is kind of like a story in one of those nature documentaries where we follow the life of a sea turtle. The mother turtle lays thousands of eggs, and the eggs that don't get eaten by the fish, the ones lucky enough to actually hatch into little baby sea turtles, who somehow escape the birds of prey waiting for them on the beach, those last few stragglers who inexplicably survive to become mature sea turtles, well those lucky, plucky soul survivors are The Stones. Think of all those others who just didn't make it, or flamed out, or faded away, or lost their mojo.

Crusty old beasts up on stage, flailing away as if their lives still depended on it. That's what Martin Scorcese captures (16 cameras, superb sound) in all their glory. These are old road warriors who wear every moment of their existences on their bodies. Keith Richards is otherworldly, almost reptilian, Ron Wood a sort of dessicated scarecrow. Charlie Watts still reminds me of Harpo Marx, sardonic grin, silent, with a powerful drumbeat. And then there's Mick Jagger. He defies time and nature, even as he shows all the lines and scars from a life well-lived (those lines on his face are mainly laugh lines!). Mick is still an extra-ordinary showman. His schtick is still (as once characterized by John Lennon) superb "fag dancing."

If you love the Stones the movie is for you. If not, not. In a big way. It's a concert movie. Almost two hours worth of music. And really I agree with Scorcese the music is the thing. The music, the songs, stand the test of time. Great rock and roll, put over with style, bravado, panache. The Rolling Stones are an essential band in the history of rock and roll. "Let It Bleed," may be the greatest rock and roll album ever recorded (apologies to the Beatles "Revolver," Dylan's "Highway 61," and Jimi Hendrix's "Electric Lady Land") and "Exile on Main Street," "Sticky Fingers," and "Beggars Banquet," are high on the list too.

These guys are old (which is not a sin!), and they don't act their age, (which is inspiring!), they are millionaires (they paid their dues!), they haven't written a great song in at least twenty years (they have an incredible back catalog!), and still, I don't begrudge them a thing (they have always seemed TRUE!). They are amazing. They are alive. And still true to some rock and roll ethic, where the music, the feeling is EVERYTHING.

UPDATE: Just a point of clarity. The Lovely Carla points out to me that of course, the sea turtle eggs are laid on the beach, and then at night, when the tide comes in the little ones that hatch make a charge for the water, that's when they can get picked off by the birds!

A Golden Day

We had one of those golden days yesterday. It was sunny and 60 degrees, and suddenly everyone was out and about. It was like a tribe of cave dwellers who suddenly emerged blinking into a blazing new world. We walked the lakefront, it was quite the scene -- when the sky is blue, the lake is too.

Sara our bass player came up to visit us, and we recorded some new tracks for our band WWSP in our little home studio (a Mac, a mic and Garageband!). I think we're getting even better as we go. I love the new titles we have so far: Tricks on the Brain, Lavender Rays, the Mirror. Sara tracked her bass, she has an old Fender bass that gets a real nice, deep resonant sound. She has really blossomed as a player.

Then we went over to the Brothers K Coffee shop on the corner and signed up for the open mic. There is such a great vibe at the Brothers K, it's a real neighborhood hub. A guy named Thomas runs the open mic, he's a guitarist who specializes in exquisite jazz stuff, one of his favorites is Django Reinhardt. There was also a guy named John who is kind of an old-timer, (older than me!), who blasted through a great acoustic version of the Who's "Pinball Wizard." John reveres the classics and he brings them across with panache. Plus he's got one of the sweetest voices you'll ever hear.

There was some other cool stuff, someone did an acoustic White Stripes song, a Dylan, there was a Cryin Shames song too. Then we got up, the three of us, me on guitar, Sara on bass and Carla on vocals. We put across three of our new songs. It was great, a good mix, Carla sang with confidence and grace. Everyone listened attentively. You can really feel it when an audience is with you. We finished and the audience clapped and cheered. It felt really good.

Like I said, it was one of those golden days...

UPDATE: Miles Raymer of the Chicago Reader tipped me to this great video mash up. Sergio Leone and Arcade Fire. A perfect match of image and sound. Check it out!

The Perfect Being?

According to NPR this morning, Bette Davis was born 100 years ago today!

"When they need a broad with balls, they call me." - Bette Davis

The Present Never Ends

According to an article in this week's Chicago Reader, when Del Close, improv master and impresario* lay in a hospital bed dying, he basically threw a party and many of his former students and associates came to pay their final respects.

It turns out Del was a pagan, and he invited a pagan priest and a pagan priestess to come and conduct the Ritual of the Four Elements for him.

I really like this part: "The god blesses you with the strength you already have - the strength of humor. For in the middle of a joke, there is no past, there is no future, there is only the present, and the present never ends."

*Del Close taught and inspired some of our best comic talents including: Mike Nichols, Elaine May, John Belushi, John Candy, Bill Murray, Mike Myers, Tina Fey and Larry David's "father" Shelly Berman. Now that's quite the comedy cavalcade!

The World is Completely Nuts!

I guess we knew this already. I'm paging through the NY Times this morning, and I'm reading about the stock market in Shanghai. It seems there has been a huge run-up in stock prices (over 500 percent in two years) and everyone and their brother, mother, aunt and uncle have been playing the market.

Now surprise, surprise, the market is tanking (down 45 percent since October). And as the Times puts it: "Suddenly millions of small investors who were crowding into brokerage houses, spending the entire day there playing cards, trading stocks, eating noodles and cheering on the markets with other day traders and retirees, are feeling depressed and angry."

Come on people, what were you thinking? You want to blow some dough? Come join me in the grandstand at Santa Anita. I mean, at least with the ponies there are fewer middlemen! And if we get a sunny day, no better place on earth to be.

But anyway, it was this part of the story made me want to fall on the floor and laugh like a mad coyote - ""Shopkeepers, real estate brokers, even maids and watermelon hawkers are said to have become day traders. A NEW VERSION OF THE NATIONAL ANTHEM MADE IT'S WAY AROUND THE COUNTRY LAST YEAR, BEGINNING...'ARISE! YE WHO HAVEN'T OPENED AN ACCOUNT! POUR YOUR GOLD AND SILVER INTO THE HOT MARKET.'"

Kind of puts the Star Spangled Banner to shame don't ya think?!

The Joys of Friendship!

Richard Brody writes about the friendship between Francois Truffant and Jean Luc Godard in the latest New Yorker. Brody calls them "abandoned children," who each found a path via the cinemas of Paris, together watching American films by Hitchcock and Hawks.

They became the key Surfers of the French New Wave. Their first films tell the story well, Truffant's "400 Blows," and Godard's "Breathless." And one could tell even on the first viewing of each film that these two had very different ideas about what films are, and what they should be.

As Brody puts it, Truffant was an outsider, looking to get in, and Godard was an insider, looking to get out.*

I have only seen a fraction of their collective output. But I think the last shot of "The 400 Blows," is still one of the most powerful, breath-taking moments in film. And "Breathless," changed the way I looked at French films and American films too.

Truffant is gone, Godard is still with us. They started as friends and then became diametrically opposed forces in French film. They ended up attacking the other quite brutally in letters and articles, both private and public.

Godard thought Truffant was ultimately a fraud and traitor to the cause of re-making film. Truffant, I think, was baffled and displeased by Godard's burning, lacerating contempt. Truffant had the best lines, he told Godard that he should make an autobiographical film called, "A Shit is a Shit."

Also Truffant once told Godard: "Like Sinatra, like Brando, you're nothing but a piece of shit on a pedestal."

Although, I kind of lean towards Godard's demonic approach, I must say, "Good one Truffant!" He was able to insult (maybe deservedly so), three titans in one simple but cogent line!

*UPDATE: I'm thinking I'd characterize myself as an OUTSIDER, LOOKING TO GET OUT!

Oh Buddha, Come On, Let it Go!

I started my morning, sipping coffee, listening to Wilco's "Sky Blue Sky," and reading an article on the Dali Lama. I came across what was purportedly the Buddha's last dying words - "Strive on, diligently."

Boy, you have to hand it to that Buddha guy, he was sort of like Yogi Berra, always had something to say.

You might think appropriate last dying words might be: "Arrrrggghhhh!" Or maybe, "Ohhhhhhh!" Or possibly, "Oh no, not now!" Or maybe, "Oh shit!"

Was it Yogi who said, "It ain't over til the fat lady sings." I don't know, and I'm not gonna go look it up, I mean, Buddha, Yogi what's the difference?

It would be just like that Buddha Dude to still, even in his last moment, sort of encourage us, to egg us on, so to speak, for us to keep on keeping on. And what about Jerry Garcia, Captain Trips? Isn't it obvious his last words were, "Keep on Truckin."

"Okay, whatever."

Dismantling a Universe

We broke down our set yesterday. The Flaming Eyeball is history. It was kind of sad, but at the same time kind of liberating to take the set apart, stack the walls in storage, make way for the next show. We worked together with our good friends from Elefant Foot theater. I brought pliers and screwdrivers and had the task of dismantling a universe. Our set had kind of an outer space motif.

A long afternoon of manual labor. Not too hard. I brought a stack of cds and we listened to music: Sigur Ros, Morphine, Ronnie Laine. We left a nice little black box theater space, waiting to be filled by the next renter.

Afterwards all of us went to Julius Menil, a cozy, Austrian restaurant on Southport in Chicago. They serve an amazing array of sandwiches, soups and desserts - I had a the vegetable focaccia and a chocolate buttercake. Highly recommended.

We had one of those great, rare dinners, a long and rambling, funny and free-ranging conversation about art, life and what's it all about anyway? What is good? Why do we do what we do? What are we trying to say? Does the universe care? What's really going on? Can we ever figure any of it out?

It was a great way to put our little artistic adventure to bed. It was all laughter and smiles even as we talked about the most important things.

Marching to a Different Drum!

Hey if the "long emergency" (no oil, no power, no internet, no electrified gizmos to entertain us), is coming, we will be ready. Last night our little drum circle during the Earth Hour Blackout turned out to be the highlight of the evening. I've participated in a few drum circles before, and sitting in the dark, with a few lowly little candles adds just the right ambience. We had an incredible turnout for this part of the evening, something like 40 souls came out to shake, rattle and roll.

We had a great "ringer," a guy named Nickolai who really knows how to drum. He was basically our Drum Captain. Then Heather (one of the actresses in the Flaming Eyeball), got up and served as our very own Drum Conductor (shades of Leonard Bernstein), and with hand gestures she brought the unholy cacophony up and down from a whisper to an avalanche.

So we sat for an hour beating away. It's something truly primal, something our ancestors did and have been doing for centuries. It brought up some genetic entity type energy to the fore. As Sonny Bono once said, "the beat goes on."

So there's the beat, the heartbeat. And that's life. It was cool to see everyone in the room perform. No fourth wall. No division. Everyone in a large circle united by the vibration. Kosmic Kool!

Anyway the Flaming Eyeball closed in style. It flamed out and then it expired. We made merry with music and fun. A good time was had by all. This morning..."there's a space, a hollow, where the other eyeball should be..."

I wonder what will be next?

Plate Spinning is Cool!

Last night was all about comedy at our little theater space. We were on the bill with Valid Hysteria, an all woman improv group. Female, funny and fearless. A dynamite combination. These woman should rule the world!

Also on the bill was Matt Griffo. Young, sharp, sort of nerdy-looking kid (anyone under thirty looks like a kid to me), armed with a ukulele and an appealing voice. Matt sang funny little ditties and made things with balloons. Matt is following in some big footsteps, but he is making all the right moves!

Ed Sullivan would have been proud of us. If only I could've booked that guy who used to spin those plates on sticks. Now that is truly a lost art! Here's a link with instructions. Come on people, let's not let this great form of entertainment die!

Tonight is our big closing night show. We start off at 8:00 p.m. in the dark. Literally. We are participating in the World Earth Hour Blackout. The Lovely Carla made this happen! We'll turn off all the lights, light some candles and do a little drum circle. And pray, (does anyone pray anymore?) for better days.

Then it's Famous in the Future, the Flaming Eyeball, and then a musical jamboree with the Banana Street Band, Sandro the Magnificent and WWSP. It should be a real interesting evening.

This is probably unfair to butterflies...

I thought of this last night as we were video-taping our play.

This is probably unfair to butterflies...

When we act, write, direct, we are playing butterflies - lively, fluttering, in the moment, the moments flying away even as we experience them.

We can also play observer, collector and critic of butterflies. Sometimes we play all roles simultaneously.

It's probably most rewarding to play. Or sometimes just to observe. But we have tendency to want to capture the moment of the butterfly. This means killing it, preserving it, putting it under glass. Beautiful but lifeless. We can imagine the life it once had; the colors, the form of it evoke the life, but still it's DEAD!

Finally there are those who will critique the butterfly. It's good or bad, it touched us or not. It says something, or it doesn't.

Still butterflies come and go. And they have a purpose. To pollinate. I think that's what art does. It pollinates. Not every flower, but still...

Once, I had wings...

I trained down to the big city yesterday for a big power meeting. Meeting with the big boys, don't cha know? The city was alive, a sunny, early spring day in Chicago. Still quite brisk, still needed your overcoat and gloves.

I had no expectations, no trepidation, no annihilations...

I love the energy of a big, buzzing metropolis. So alive, with people from all walks of life. One wonders if this way of life is fated to fade away, or disappear in a blaze of glory, or maybe just meander on just fine. There's so much talk of apocalypse, peak oil, global warming, one crisis or another. And has it always been so? The end is near!

So I found myself in one of those big vertical buildings that defy gravity. Sat in a bright and shiny office with an incredible view of the city, the lake blue and frothy. Perched like an eagle, just watching all the people scurry around down below like a bunch of crazy ants.

Above it all for the length of the meeting. Then back down on the street. Just another scurrying little ant too. But for awhile I HAD WINGS!

Intoxicating

We had a WWSP band rehearsal last night. Three of us, minus our fabulous drummer (he will be with us on Saturday). It was great to sit and play music with other folks. I've been playing guitar quite a bit, working up new riffs and chord progressions. I finally learned Hendrix's "Little Wing," one of his most beautiful songs.

I found a new thing, I fire up Garageband, plug in my guitar, and then go to You Tube and find a group of musicians to play with, it could be Cream or the Stones, or Neil Young, Elvis Costello, or yes, even Guns N Roses, and then I jam away with them. It's a great way to hone my chops. But really it's a solitary, stupid, video game kind of existence.

There's nothing like playing music with real people (as opposed to the video image). Last night it was me, the Lovely Carla on vocals and Sara on bass. It all sounded so good. We played in a dark gallery, the music kind of swirled up around us. Intoxicating. It's really the relationship between us, no one part, but all parts working together that makes it something.

And really, that's what it's about all around too, don't ya think? We all have a part to play, it's how we work together, inspire each other, surprise each other, that makes the journey all well worth it.

Brought Down by a Heavy Wind

I've set myself up for one of those impossible tasks again. It happens all the time. My life is full of impossibilities. It's probably the same with you too. Anyway, last night we starting shooting video of the Flaming Eyeball (it closes this weekend), this is part of our ritual, we put on a play and then try to capture it, preserve it, whatever.

First off, it just can't be done. It's sort of like taking your little digital camera and trying to capture the Grand Canyon. I mean you can get some nice shots, but really so much is left out of the frame. And like one of my photography teachers once said, "the camera always lies!" As I shoot I can see all that is not going to be captured.

And then, we're shooting video at the Peter Jones Gallery, which is one of the airiest, noisiest places on the planet. Last night we learned that if someone upstairs has "the vapors," and they happen to "rip one," the whole building will hear it. I mean we're shooting the second scene, everything is going fine, and suddenly a major fart rings out. We all fall down in a heap of laughter. I wonder what the "farter" thought of that response?

So, anyway, I'm feeling a little like Sisyphus, I keep rolling that rock up the ridge and well, excess gas just sends it tumbling down back down again. But of course, as any Good Pilgrim knows, we all must carry on!

A Broken-Down Idealism

I came across a phrase this morning, that kind of resonates with me: "a broken-down idealism." Kind of sums up where I'm at. Kind of like Kerouac's "beat" from "beatific."

As life goes on, pop culture's eternal nowness, our quest for some kind of suburban, consumer utopia seems like such a poor substitute for nature's perpetual creation/destruction cycle.

The old conception of "tragedy" has been absorbed into a greater absurdity. It's our quest for immortality, for a life with no pain, that renders us mute when "bad things happen to good people." Maybe we should be mute.

But absurdity is really a poor substitute. Life is not just absurd. Although it's that too. If we take the dark things away, (they never go away) we sanitize our lives of a richer meaning. Now that meaning is not really revealed to us. It just hangs over us like a pile of laundry, on the line, sopping wet, dribbling down upon us.

We laugh not at the absurdity of it all, but at the baffling beauty. The clue-less-ness that we bring to the occasion.

So anyway, is this the greatest song ever written? Morphine doing "Cure for Pain."

Love and Incomprehension

The second to last weekend of the Flaming Eyeball show. We weathered a snowstorm on Friday night and still had a great little audience. And last night we were on the bill with Famous in the Future, one of Chicago's comedy treasures. Saturday was one of our best, most vocal audiences.

Our play is a comedy, but it's really weird and hard to track with, and some audiences sit in silence. Which sometimes feels quite strange, but it's something that happens often at our type of shows. So it was good to have a comedy group before us, kind of "fluffing" the public, priming them for the laugh. It also helped that the Famous in the Future cast members stayed for our show since they really have gotten to know us, and well, you could feel they were really with us.

So Famous in the Future was kind of our laugh track. I'm thinking a laugh track, or a "designated laugher" might be a good edition for every show. It gives the audience license to laugh, "hey maybe that really is funny!?" Anyway, a very satisfying night, one of our best shows. Looking forward to the final weekend, and a big closing bash next Saturday. Our band is playing too next Saturday, so I finally get out of the tech booth and back onstage. I kind of miss being under the lights taking in all that love and incomprehension.

About Pawns and Rooting for Chaos!

Pawns: I came across this line, looking for something else: "We are all pawns in a game whose forces we largely fail to comprehend." Yes, and sometimes we are happy pawns, and sometimes we are pissed off pawns, and sometimes we are just don't know what we really feel like pawns.

Chaos: I also came across this from David Denby's (my least favorite movie critic on the planet) overview of the Coen brothers' movies. As usual, I hated the essay, but I liked the closing line: "They (the Coens) have become orderly, disciplined masters of chaos, but one still has the feeling that, out there on the road from nowhere to nowhere, they are rooting for it rather than against it."

"Rooting for chaos" sounds like some kind of mantra. Essential in a world where there are no longer philosophers who we trust to explain it all for us, instead we now have LIFE COACHES who help us "actuate our possibilities!"

So True Then, So True Now!

This is from E.J. Dionne in the Washington Post:

Listen to what (Martin Luther) King said about the Vietnam War at his own Ebenezer Baptist Church in Atlanta on Feb. 4, 1968: "God didn't call America to engage in a senseless, unjust war. . . . And we are criminals in that war. We've committed more war crimes almost than any nation in the world, and I'm going to continue to say it. And we won't stop it because of our pride and our arrogance as a nation. But God has a way of even putting nations in their place." King then predicted this response from the Almighty: "And if you don't stop your reckless course, I'll rise up and break the backbone of your power."*

*sunny jimmy - Personally, I'm not partial to all the God talk, although that's what preachers do, they like to tell us what's going on in the great NOGGIN IN THE SKY. Everyone seems to think they know the mind of the great creator, which is probably just some undefinable cosmic energy, not anymore substantial than a hair-ball, but let's go with "God" as a metaphor here, a stand-in for some kind of universal karmic law - EXCESS PRIDE AND ARROGANCE LEADS TO MAJOR BAD SHIT!

Who Said the Rock Could/Couldn't Act?

Think Wallace Shawn (one of America's greatest playwrights) as an evil genius in gaudy eye make-up and a frou-frou toupee. Think Buffie the Vampire Slayer as a dippy porn star. Think the Rock with a look of pure terror in his eye ("How did I let my agent talk me into this one?"). Think of an ice cream truck hovering over Los Angeles spinning into a crack in the space time continuum. Think Donnie Darko's creator offering a vast, over-blown, wild-ass ride. Does that make you want to see the movie?

Not many people saw it. It came and went in the blink of an eye. It was pummeled by the audience at Cannes. Did it kill Richard Kelly's career? I hope not. Donnie Darko is one of my all time favorites and this one might be some kind of mad masterpiece. I'm not sure, but I think it might be great. Plus it's got a superb soundtrack by Moby!

I think I loved Richard Kelly's "Southland Tales." What a kooky movie. Borders on the ridiculous, no, sometimes goes completely over the border. That's what I like to see. Someone takes a chance, does something really unique. Willing to fail. Daring to fail, and maybe somehow, improbably, pulling it off. What a great flick!*

*UPDATE: My mind was racing while I went for a run. Just why do I think Donnie Darko and Southland Tales are great films? Richard Kelly has made movies that for me are multi-layered. There's more than meets the eye. Multiple viewings of Darko has opened up a number of sub-layers for me. It's about alienation, and time and space anomalies, and spirituality, and clairvoyance. Scenes that seem to be about one thing, might actually be about something else. One of the keys to both films are the soundtracks, the use of music, which serves as a counterpoint, and opens up new dimensions to what's shown on screen. Moby, great grandson of Herman Melville, is a sublimely rewarding choice for Southland. These films are mysterious, and for me that's fundamental to my experience of the world. They are dark and funny, they use pop cultural icons and markers to make comments on some of our most profound questions. Plus they are both fun and ridiculous. I can't sum them up and just say they are about one thing. Man, that's what I love, you can't sum them up, or if you do, you miss so much, and hey, well, that's what life is like for me in all it's wacky, multi-colored aspects!

Evolution/Revolution!

Atrios (Duncan Black) a primarily political blogger based in Philadelpia, is one of my favorite reads. He's always got his finger on the pulse of what's floating out in the the zeitgeist. If you get a chance read this little post it seems to sum up the White/Black and Right/Left dichotomy oh so well.

This is definitely something that swirls around in my head all the time: "Be disgusted with the country as it was and is, while hoping for an evolution to a better country."

For Those Moments' Sake

Sometimes I read books, and sometimes I just read reviews of books. It's kind of nerdy. I know. Here's some stuff I came across from reviews of "On Deep History of the Brain" (ODHOTB) and "Predictably Irrational" (PI).

ODHOTB - "The brain of a monk does not resemble the brain of a soldier or a taxicab driver." AND "Culture is wired in the brain and cultural practices can have profound neurophysiological consequences."

PI - "We aren't cool calculators of self-interest who sometimes go crazy; we're crazies who are, under special circumstances, sometimes rational."

Plus here's two bonus quotes from famous people:

"The common people know what they want, and deserve to get it good and hard." - H. L. Mencken

"Art comes to you proposing frankly to give nothing but the highest quality to your moments as they pass, and simply for those moments' sake." - Walter Pater

On the Bus

If you want to get from one side of Chicago to another on a Sunday trek, and you are in tune with the Public Transportation Gods, there's no better ride than the Red Line to the Halsted St. bus, and then the bus for miles and miles of smiles. I kid you not.

The Lovely Carla and I were on the hunt for some creative inspiration, (a dance performance and a movie) and somehow we found the best spinach quesadilla ever. I mean it. We found it at the Kristoffers Cafe in East Pilsen.

We also caught Sara's (WWSP's bass player) dance performance called "Tradeshow." It was provocative, evocative and all about clothes, and yarn and well, it was strange and cool.

Then we got back on the bus and went off to see Gus Van Sant's great new movie, Paranoid Park. It's beautifully done. Powerful, wistful - skater punks in Portland. Sublime.

Sunday we were alive in this little subterranean paradise. On the bus - discovering little islands of sweet life.

How to Deal...

How to deal with the doom and foreboding? Serpentine! Keep moving. Spin. Never stop. Unless you're unconscious. And even then...well, do what you can.

Entropy!

I woke up with George Harrison's "All Things Must Pass," swirling around in my head. Feelings of doom and foreboding. I put the double cd in the machine this morning and listen to George's masterpiece once again. It's still so powerful, beautiful, mournful too. Maybe more mournful because George is gone - really, a long time now. The album is a Phil Spector production, made when Spector was still considered just an eccentric genius, as opposed to his image today - EVIL MUNCHKIN!

Recovering from another Flaming Eyeball show - the actors are getting better and better, Masha did some new stuff that really cracked me up. My brother's band, the Banana Street Band opened for us last night. They were really, really good. A strange, Polish Gypsy blues, with some kind of middle-eastern drone, fueled by a strange, mad passion. Leadbelly meets Polanski. I see the same weird determination and drive in my brother's eyes that I sometimes see in the mirror.

We are both on some mad Don Quixote type trip, conjuring dreams and sounds and images for some unknown purpose. So as one of the actors says in the play, "our flaming eyeball is destined to flame out." 5 shows left. I think it's good work, I'm watching it slowly disappear even as it dances before me.

My Damn Butterfly!

We've made new friends working on our latest theatrical production. People from Russia, Belarus, Ukraine, Serbia. Chicago is such an interesting mix of cultures and sub-cultures. Anyway, sometimes you see things anew if you look through someone else's prism.

This is a roundabout way of saying that our friends introduced us to an amazing group of women who call themselves, My Damn Butterfly. Check out some of their music here. They are an a cappella group unlike any I've ever encountered. We caught their show at UnCommon Ground last Wednesday and it was beautiful, inspiring and haunting.

I usually like to hear blazing guitars and thumping drums in my musical cocktail, but 5 powerful, nimble voices, classically-trained, swooping and fluttering over Estonian folk songs, Nina Simone blues stuff, Enrico Morricone film scores and poems and readings brought to life with the most pliable, amazing instrument, the human voice, is quite the feat.

This is a unique group. Ten years running. If you ever get the chance, you must check them out!

The Bottle Nose is on the Ball!

John Lilly talked to dolphins, he wrote a book, and they made a movie about it starring the great George C. Scott. I grew up watching "Flipper" ("Lassie" with a blow hole!) and well, I have no problem with the idea that dolphins possess some kind of advanced intelligence. The Lovely Carla is convinced, and repeatedly reminds me, that animals are smarter than people. Every time I pick up a copy of the NY Times and start surfing the pages, I can't really dispute her contention.

So anyway, we have to look out for the good stories that are out there too. I'd say this dolphin, dubbed "Moko" by New Zealand beach folk, is some kind of hero. Saving beached pygmy whales is certainly cool, and I'm sure the dolphin could have spent the time doing other dolphin things, but this kind creature expended time and energy to help out some distressed beings. Sometimes you realize we truly do live in a strange and wonderful world. Maybe we can all learn something from our finned brothers and sisters.

OK, maybe Jack is right, I can't handle the truth!

Every day some information comes through the air that is sort of difficult to process. Yesterday I learned:

1. The EPA has buried the fact that major amounts of ASBESTOS (not good for human consumption) have been detected at Oak Street Beach in Chicago. (The EPA has done everything they can to hide this fact - hat tip to Carol Marin NBC News!)

2. The FAA has buried the fact that Southwest Airlines has been flying planes that were supposed to be retired for maintenance. (The FAA inspector is a good friend of the airline - most assuredly on the take!) One wonders why anyone would want to evade the maintenance schedule - save costs? We're talking airplanes! You know flying in the air! What are these idiots thinking?

3. The Federal Reserve pumped 200 billion dollars (that's a lot of cabbage!) into the banking system (a teetering wounded dinosaur) yesterday. (When does the Dollar start looking like a Ruble? How come the Fed can't just give each and every one of us like $50k? I promise to invest it wisely!) When the Conservatives tell us about the invisible hand of market capitalism how do they explain bailing out stupid bankers? NOTE: If the Fed gave $200 billion dollars directly to poor people that would be WELFARE - bad, very, very bad. If the Fed gave $200 billion dollars to the folks who got stupid loans on over-inflated property that would be SOCIALISM - bad, very, very bad. If the Fed bails out banks to the tune of $200 billion dolllars that's MONETARY POLICY - good, very, very good - our free market capitalists think that's cool - there's no such thing as a free lunch unless you're in the club!

4. When the sun collapses and dies, everything in our solar system will be sucked into a black hole. (This is a well-known phenomena, but it popped up again on TV yesterday, just so we don't all let it slide into obscurity).

5. Eliot Spitzer paid $5,000 for two hours with a call girl at the Mayflower Hotel. (What exactly did the guy get in return - Around the World? He must have some great kink don't ya think?). Also, salacious detail #2: he paid $80,000 in one year of call girl frolics! (Now that's what I call ENTERTAINMENT!)

6. The Olympics in Bejing this coming summer may be hazardous to the athlete's health! I guess the air quality is so bad breathing in big gulps of air will be one of the key hurdles to an olympic medal!

Straight Arrow!

Eliot Spitzer: Governor of New York, shining star of the Democratic party, crusader against corruption, Eliot Ness, straight arrow.

It seems that maybe his arrow was just a little too straight.

I mean, what happens behind closed doors with two consenting adults is nobody's biz. But, if you make your reputation on bringing down Wall Street robbers, and holding up the letter of the law, well, one should make sure you don't drop letters either.

It will be interesting to see if the other shoe drops. Why were the Feds wire-tapping the Governor of New York? This dude had a lot of enemies. In some circles, high priced call girls are just the perks of power, but that's not supposed to be part of the Eliot Ness portfolio.

UPDATE: I'm thinking this could be a step up. I know nothing about the man except he's a Democrat, an African American, and legally blind! That sounds like a winning combo right there!

The Pope is on-board! (don't need no ticket either!)

I was born into the Catholic faith, baptized, confirmed (my confirmation name is Paul! - I was thinking McCartney at the the time!). But that was a long time ago, in a land far away.

Somehow I never believed that the Pope was infallible. Just didn't really enter my hardened noggin. And I felt bad for that Jesus guy, but "son of god" always seemed a little too grand, (unless we say every living thing is in the same category), it seemed like he got the short end of the stick, but then, he somehow got launched to greener pastures, and well, that was how the story went.

I always saw it as a story. Never totally bought any of it.

So, anyway this is a roundabout way of getting to the news that the Pope (I always thought the job was just a little bit silly) now tells us that polluting the earth is a sin! Excellent dude! Glad the Pope's on-board, but really, was anyone just sitting around waiting to hear it from his lips? Does the fear of hell now loom over billions of Catholics who thought they were clean as a whistle?

Wonder if it will move anyone to be a little more conscious of their conspicuous consumption? Does that mean that Jesus wouldn't drive a HUMMER? He wouldn't throw his Wendy's wrapper out on the highway? He wouldn't make jokes about Al Gore? And what about plastic bags? And the rain forest and the polar bears? I'm thinking the sinning is just about endless! Pope you got some work to do here!

UPDATE: I've been ruminating over this, does one gain "indulgences" against previous sins, if for instance, one rides public transportation? Riding the red line on a Saturday does sort of seem like purgatory. Or how about taking the Irving Park bus on a bitter winter day? Can one trade in the time spent on public transportation (it's the environmentally friendly thing to do), can the time accumulated be charged against future transgressions? If I buy a Prius, do I lessen my chances of burning in hell for eternity?

Night of the Telepaths!

I have to blog about the Telepaths. Last night we opened for Black Forest's Flaming Eyeball show and it's was probably our best r&r outing yet. We filled the Peter Jones Gallery with about 30 or so devotees "in the know." We were playing on our home turf, at a premium time. All the elements were there - the sound system was set perfectly, we were in tune, Peter V. our drummer was perched on a little platform behind us so that his groupies could see him swinging and sweating, the vocal mics were warm, Pat McD was relaxed, and his voice actually sort of purred.

Our set is now a pretty tight mix of originals and covers. Our best songs are probably our own: "West of California," "Bye Bye Dubai," "Area 51," "What is the What," "Susan Sontag" (yes, we have a quirky little tribute to Susan that is my personal favorite!), and "Crude War" (a bitter, blazing Metallica-ish brute of song penned by Peter V. that conjures the black hole of hell that is the Iraq War).

But we also have made some of our covers uniquely ours. Our version of "Rusty Cage" (a Soundgarden song via Johnny Cash) has become one of our great moments of r&r mayhem. There's nothing like the beauty of a three minute, three chord song played with pure conviction and joy. My vocal moment comes when we get to Neil Young's song "Fucking Up" (the Lovely Carla asks me why of all the songs written on the planet, this song has come to be my anthem?). I don't know, I like the riff! I'm such a Neil Young fan, my guitar style is certainly influenced by his big open ringing major chords and chopping, anti-technique lead lines.

So we put the set over with complete joyous abandon. We added a new song as the closer, which I brought to the table after seeing Elvis Costello burn the Chicago Theater down with it in a one-man, acoustic version, "What's So Funny About Peace, Love and Understanding?" It's the right question...always.

Flaming Eyeball Flaming Strong!

Pat McD, lead vocalist of the Telepaths gives Black Forest's Flaming Eyeball a nice write up over at HollywoodChicago.com.

Not bad considering he and I were cast in an earlier version of the piece and well, we were both eliminated (by me) in the final stage production. The lovely women who replaced us, bring another level of physicality and creativity that we just didn't seem to have in our more terrestrial-based performances.

Last night was probably the Black Forest cast's best performance yet. Our special guest was the Puppet Bike and it was a great little opening show that sort of helped set the wacky, carnival gone off the rails vibe. It devolved into supreme lunacy and joy when Brian Jones sang songs from the Smith's catalogue while Jason Trusty (master Puppet Man) showed us all how to cook breakfast on a light (you had to be there to get the mad beauty of the thing!).

Tonight our special guest is the Telepaths in all their mad rock and roll glory. I of course will be on guitar. We play once in awhile, we rehearse once in awhile, and when we get up and play, anything is liable to happen. I do love this band. There's something about being able to crank up the volume and just bash away on 3 minute rock songs for about 50 minutes that is supremely liberating (at least for us!).

This Black Forest run has been instructive, and we are doing some new things. For instance, we're doing the Radiohead thing by letting people pay what they want, or nothing at all. We have a hat and people are free to put some cash in it, or not. We have encouraged folks to BYOB. This is great, no worries, no liquor expense for us!

Also we're doing a 45 minute show, which seems to me just about perfect. I mean, even if you hate the show, you can't really be too bummed, it's over before you know it. Plus the special guest idea is genius! Every night a new vibe, a new crowd. The acts we have lined up are quirky and cool.

So far, so good!

UPDATE: Check out the Peter Jones Gallery site for additional Flaming Eyeball info. Special guests in the coming weeks: Sandro the Magnificent, Famous in the Future, Matt Griffo, WWSP, Valid Hysteria and the Banana Street Band!

Go Guy Go!

Amazon Books sends alerts. They tell me that I might be interested in Guy Debord's new book "A Sick Planet." Since Guy died in 1994, I guess it's quite the feat that new work from him is still coming forth.

They are trying to hook me with this quote:

“All my life I have seen only troubled times, extreme divisions in society, and immense destruction; I have taken part in these troubles.” -- Guy Debord

You go Guy!

UPDATE: A day of messages. I go to take a shower. I look in the mirror to assess the damages. The Lovely Carla has pasted this message to the mirror - "do what needs to be done." I tell her, yes, that's just what I needed to hear this morning. The Lovely Carla shakes her head and laughs, "Of course you'd think that was about you!"

The 11th Commandment

Beware the asshole. They are like George Romero's zombies, they live amongst us. They sort of look like us, but really they are dumber, less "well-rounded" versions of us. They weren't born that way, I mean, they started out as cute little blobs of fat, they started out with all the essential equipment, but then, somewhere down the line, as Joseph Heller would have it, "Something Happened."

We all go through that asshole/zombie phase, but most of us get through it, or just dabble with it, (hey let's be a zombie for the weekend!), we overcome it, we realize that life is more than just sucking blood, or eating brains, or whatever it is asshole/zombies do to survive.

Another horror film master, Wes Craven, lives by what he calls the asshole theory. Life is too short. Don't work with assholes! He works with a very tight, committed crew, he weeds out the assholes on a shoot.

Herman Melville, wrote about this thing in one of his books, the title escapes me, about working on a merchant (not a whaling) ship. Melville, preferred to be up in the crow's nest, far from the madding crowd. He did his best to avoid the confirmed assholes down in the hold. Proximity to an asshole can be contagious. Or maybe it's osmosis - little asshole-like cells or vapors can easily flow into an unsuspecting victim.

So one of the commandments (the 11th Commandment!), Moses must have spaced it: Thou Shall Avoid the Asshole!*

*Sometimes it is impossible to avoid an asshole. In those cases, you might want to start sniffing (helium = laughing gas!) whipped cream canisters!

UPDATED NOTE: The Lovely Carla reminds me that if I ever need to solder a pickup in a guitar, or make a drug reference, I should first check with her. She corrected me on today's substance abuse reference: of course you don't sniff a whipped cream canister, you INHALE, and it's not helium (which makes you talk like Pee Wee Herman), its NITROUS OXIDE!

Clear As Mud

Ohio - not so close. Texas - close. Goes to Clinton. Maybe that 3:00 a.m. phone call ad was effective? What do I know?

I watched McCain claim the Republican nomination. Was he pleased? Hard to tell.

Chuck Berry's "Johnny B. Goode" blared from speakers after McCain's speech. I guess it's McCain's theme song. A telling choice. A great, seminal song. One of the towering achievements in rock and roll history. You've heard that Berry guitar lick played over and over by millions of guitar players from all across the universe - from garage bands to stadium tours.

It was written in 1958! I think McCain wants to be President of that America. A long time ago, in a land far away. Post Korea, Cold War, pre-sixties, pre-civil rights, pre-feminist revolution, pre-pill, black and white TV, no home computers, no internet, no ipod - no Britney!

A time never to be repeated - okay, maybe in an alternate universe. But really did that time and place ever really exist?

UPDATE: McCain served in Viet Nam, captured, tortured, war hero. I just flashed on the idea, that even back then, in the sixties, McCain was a man out of time, he went to fight World War Two, and he finds himself at the Hanoi Hilton. Could be the premise for a sci-fi flick.

When is a Metaphor Not a Train?

Yesterday, I was alerted by "the authorities," that a couple of knuckle-heads I used to know, have recently discovered this blog, and they have been doing extensive "opposition research," looking for information to use against me. Oh boy, how exciting - new readers! I checked my stat counter and confirmed that my site traffic has gone through the roof! And all roads lead back to Knuckle-Head Land!

It seems these two bozos are going through my posts over the last 4 years (Blogger tells me there's 1153 posts and counting!) looking for...what? Mixed metaphors? Over-wrought rhetoric? Badly constructed puns? Over-reliance on curse words? Dangling participles? Anyway, these cretins actually filed a complaint against me based on a dramatically placed metaphor. Seems they took it literally. Some people just have no imagination!*

Reviewing my site, one might say maybe it's not the finest writing in the land, but certainly there are no hanging offenses.

So yes, the thought that these two idiots are sitting in a dark room somewhere, pouring over years of my blogs, looking for something to hammer me into the ground with, is kind of funny, kind of creepy too, but hell, when you do a public blog, anyone, and I mean anyone is free to read it.

When you write, you kind of hope you are reaching out to like-minded, cool, creative folks who might stumble across your blog space, but it's probably good to be reminded that there are some really hopeless, pathetic people in the world too. These guys have jobs, they get paid pretty good money (these guys are way over-paid!), and what are they doing all day? Surfing every post I've ever conjured out of my fevered brain! I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. Although, on the other hand...

* I actually took the offending post down, not because the complaint had any validity, but simply to extend good feeling and fellowship to those so mentally challenged they can't see a literary device hurtling down the track!

Building up a reality from very little information!

As you probably know, if you read this blog, I write plays, or, I don't know, maybe they're not really plays, I write stuff that my little group of co-conspirators takes in and then puts on stage. I write and then WE PLAY! So anyway, we played this weekend. And afterwards someone came up to me and asked "where do you get your ideas?"

This is a frequent question, and one I always find kind of baffling. I mean, the short answer is: these aren't really my ideas, these are things that are just floating all around us, I just sort of collect stuff, and I think somehow the things I collect are connected, and then I put them together, and then they form some kind of whole, and well, that's what I call a job well done.

I came across this quote from the filmmaker Michael Gondry, and this is how he defines his process: "I look at something and then I scroll through the shapes in my mind until I imagine what it could be. Your brain is very creative. It makes up all sorts of meanings and shapes. We build up our reality from very little information."

Now that seems like some kind of motto I've been living by: Building up a reality from very little information!

The Good Stuff

To stay alive, sane, happy, to enjoy this strange trip we are all embarked upon, one must acknowledge and celebrate the good stuff, no matter how small, no matter how insubstantial. To that end, I must remark upon the odd fact that my little theater company is in it's 14th year of existence. Sometimes it's just been a logo, a name, an idea, a wisp of a dream. Just like a real forest, Black Forest is not a money-making phenomenon, it's not essential to the life of the planet, it's more like a mirage, or a heat wave shimmering on the pavement in the blistering dead of summer.

It means a lot to me, and some of the people around me. And that's really enough, and a lot, and I'm glad it still has life. Today is a day of rest after a nice, life affirming opening weekend. We have found a great group of artists that are all committed to doing the work. That's the essence of the game right there. The game where there's no winning, no losing, just the doing, and the doing well, and really it's the doing that is the art, and it creates us, as we create it.

Seismic Waves

In my little world last night, an event of seismic wave proportions. Black Forest opened the Flaming Eyeball and launched it into the universe. We had a small, friendly, crowd. It kind of felt like circus people performing for other circus people. Our opening act was Sandro the Magnificent, and he really does live up to the moniker with which I dubbed him. Hard to explain, but Sandro's from Russia. He is a classically trained clown - think Chaplin, think Keaton, think Pushkin and Baryshnikov, think Tiny Tim, Jeff Buckley and Axl Rose. Or something like that. Sandro did a little performance piece - movement and song, and really it was exquisite and kooky.

Then we did our thing. We had some hitches, I'm working lights and sound and we played a little dvd in the beginning and of course, for the first time ever, as it played it started to hiccup, it paused, hesitated, for a brief moment it seemed the whole little world we were about to conjure was going to come crashing down in a heap of good intentions. Anyway, the dvd kind of sucked it up and carried on to the end. Big sigh of relief.

Then the show ensued. It was the first time the cast really did the whole piece in one gulp. Which is kind of scary, and wasn't really planned that way, but it was fine, with some rough edges, missed cues and lines, but hell, in it's own wacky way, it did sort of sing. We've got the first one under our belt. Nine more performances and then it vanishes back into the misty black.

The Three Trillion Dollar War (and still counting!)

Joseph Stiglitz, Nobel prize winning economist tells us, via the Australian (US newspapers just can't be bothered?) that the Iraq War has cost us Three Trillion dollars - so far. I suppose it's all just funny money, but it's not all that funny. And as the business dudes always ask, "what's the ROI?"

Well, you've got death, destruction, detention, pain, maiming, hatred, physical and psychological distress, crushed lives, dead children, massive collateral damage...

The people who dreamed up this little adventure have lots of "splaining" to do. "Staying until we finish the job." Madness of the highest order!

UPDATE: And some people take this dude seriously. He's been in the Senate a long time...one really starts to wonder about the Senate!



UPDATE #2: I think this ad from the H. Clinton campaign is supremely silly. I know they are scratching their heads trying to come with an angle to stop the Obamamentum, but this ain't it! Who will answer the call at 3:00 a.m.? Sheesh!

Alien Invasion

I've been working on another little project that will see the light of day tomorrow. It's a play, or performance piece, or an experiment called, "The Flaming Eyeball." It's Black Forest's latest work. I wrote the text, but the realization of the thing is thanks to Davey J. our set designer, and the Lovely Carla, our creative dynamo, and our wonderful actors and co-collaborators Masha (from the great, mind-blowing Elefant Foot), Natasha wind sprite and gymnast, and Heather comedienne and improv goddess.

So it's a work from many minds and hands. Not sure how it all will translate to the stage and then filter into the minds of "the public." Our run-through last night was sort of painful. There's always one time (at least) during rehearsals when I hate a show. Last night was that time. But still, I think it's pretty good, and it's different, and with the great limber, fearless cast we have, we are exploring a wild physicality like never before.

So, it's kind of about my obsession with outer space, and what's a life, and well, there are three galactic space cadets that conjure a flaming eyeball hurtling through space and it's got aliens and Elvis and well, what else is there?

It starts with this little video, (the backing track is one of my favorite Sigur Ros songs) which I posted on YouTube. This version is cool, but it's pretty dark, which I like, but it doesn't really work on a big screen, so I'm gonna have to lighten it up for the run. So this is the internet only version! It's called "Alien Invasion." Like all the wildest shit, it's all true. Check it out.

WWSP Live in Chicago

WWSP's fabulous bass player, Sara, parked a video camera in the audience at our Puppet Bike show last Friday. She captured our performance and posted some video over on YouTube. I snagged my two favorites and post them here for your enjoyment. Both clips feature Sara on bass, Carla on vocals (see also furry boots), and me on guitar, (check out the silly hat).

WWSP is fortunate to have a great fan and collaborator Charles Smith who also makes an appearance (steals the show?). Check out Charles' amazing, super-kinetic interpretive dance performance. Charles is an exotic soul who has fallen in love with our band. He comes to most shows and we really love having him perform with us too.

I thought we were kind of ragged, but I think this sounds pretty good. Not the same polished performances as on our digital download, (check out "This Car Available" on iTunes!), but a nice raw energy if I don't say so myself. I think Sara and I are really starting to get a nice alchemy of energy going to back up the constantly inspiring Miss Carla.

Here's "Dead Pecker Bench" (watch Sara do a knee bend and kick her legs in the air at the end - it's cool):



And here's our closer, "Salty Son." I think by this time Charles was getting a little winded, but still, he is amazing! I wish I could do that!

Death Match

I'm still a shareholder in a company where I no longer work. The people that currently run the company totally detest me. I mean, if I wanted to get a dose of pure hatred, disrespect and invalidation, well, I'd just make a visit. I did last Friday morning. It was a shareholder's meeting, and according to a letter I received, I was "cordially invited." Of course, the letter was a lie!

I walked into the little "den of thieves" that I knew so well. It was amazing to me, that over a year had passed since I'd last been through those doors, and it was like time had stood still, the same four twisted ego-maniacs sat around a conference table with a speaker phone and a couple other shareholders were on the line.

You should of seen the stunned look on the faces as I walked in bearing a hot chocolate and a smile. It was all bravado on my part, the chocolate to sooth my nerves, the smile to hide the pure contempt for these folks that raged in my soul. See, I must confess, I too have strong feelings for these creeps, I was treated badly by these guys and I haven't forgotten. Which is not a good thing. I know.

It's a matter, (not worth going into), all wrapped up in words like honor and integrity, and success, and power and failure, and well, I mean you can spend a lifetime wrestling with those shadows! And what did I do? I actually threw a bomb into the space. I submitted a list of questions (not so innocent) for the board of directors to address. It was an act of audacity, of provocation. I mean, I saw a hornet's nest and what did I do, I took a stick and starting whacking it with all my might.

Maybe not so smart. But there it is. After the meeting, I was escorted out. I was called "a loser" (coming from the man who said this to me, it doesn't sting, in fact, I'd call it a compliment!). I felt good. Liberated in a way. I mean there's something about blowing shit up that's exhilarating. Two days later, I have sort of a weird karmic hangover - if you wrestle with slime-balls you get slimed! Instead of just walking away from a bad scene, I kept the game alive. And to what end? Good question.

Ultimately I see this as a dumps/sunny death match. The real conflict is inside me. And of course, both sides are equally matched and there's no final resolution, except maybe when I reach the final resolution, which may not really resolve anything, if you know what I mean...

The Puppet Bike

Hey I have to say a few words about the Puppet Bike Extravaganza. The puppet bike is the brain-child of the extraordinary Jason, a master of many trades. The puppet bike has been showing up around town entertaining the public for 5 years. It's cool, kitschy, especially if you know the artistic souls who bring it all together. So there was a 5 day celebration (wow two days longer than Woodstock!), and we performed on Friday night.

WWSP did a raw and ragged set (the lovely Carla was battling a cold), but with a full house, it turned out to be one of our best outings, our enthusiastic and limber bass player, Sara ,did a deep knee bend during "Dead Pecker Bench." It was exquisite.

Then Black Forest did a little preview of "The Flaming Eyeball." It's a total whack piece. Three galactic space cadets traveling on the outer fringes of the universe. It's kind of like Beckett on acid. Or something like that. The audience was suitably baffled.

Finally, late in the night, when the audience was down to the most wasted hardcore, the Telepaths ripped off a quick set. The Boyz in the Band all wanted to go home, I was chomping at the bit to play. My motto, "any time, any place." We did a loud, combustible set, the disco ball was twirling, when the Jason turned the lights down during "I'm So Tired" I lost my place on the fret board and played all the wrong notes!

It's amazing to watch a night go completely off the rails. I experienced it all stone cold sober. By the wee hours, the drug energy - the booze, the cannabis, the whatever, kind of took over the room. I watched it all spin out of control. It was wacky, dangerous, cool too. So that's it. A good time was had by all!

Here's the Puppet Bike by the light of day:

"Everybody's in show biz, everybody's a star..." - R. Davies

I love this one.

According to the latest New Yorker, Ray Davies former front man of the Kinks, is in NY kicking off a new album and tour. Here's Ray telling a little story to the New Yorker writer Nick Paumgarten: "The Kinks did a gig here in the early seventies and somebody spiked my drink before I went on and I lasted about three songs before I passed out. We got through the show somehow. And afterwards I walked around the city all night, crying, because I'd let everybody down. My manager took me to Elaine's to cheer me up, but I was inconsolable. And I ended up at Howard Johnson's in Times Square. I was sitting there, it was like eight in the morning, and a guy next to me said, 'You've been up all night - who do you think you are?' It was this big black guy sitting next to me, and I said, 'Who are you?' And he said, 'My name is Joe Frazier and I'm the heavyweight champion of the world.'"

Here's Davies singing one of his best, "Waterloo Sunset...

Oh Yeah!

We stood out in the stark naked freezing cold last night staring up at the moon with a small crowd of people. It was a full moon and a lunar eclipse which doesn't happen very often. See more about how it all works here: Lunar Eclipse for Dummies!

It was all so surreal. Looking up into the vast black night sky, dotted with stars and planets, makes you feel sort of monkey-like. Objects spinning in space, vast distances, large bodies, and there we are shivering, stamping our feet, looking up into that vast immensity. It's all so incomprehensible, even though everyone looks up and has no problem explaining it all for you.

"The earth's shadow is passing over the moon."

OK. Yeah, that explains it. Then there's all those other questions swirling around in your little noggin. Left unsaid.

Career Attention Deficit Disorder

I've had many jobs in my life. My career trajectory has been more like a strange zig-zag-like pattern. It turns out my favorite jobs were two of the worst paying, but in some way they were totally liberating: bike messenger (try doing that for a year in Chicago - hot and humid summers, frigid winters), and guitar tuner (this was a dream job for an aspiring musician - tune guitars all day long, listen to Steve Dahl's "Breakfast Club" on the radio). I've also been a movie extra, you can see glimpses of me in Oliver Stone's "Natural Born Killers," (I'm a prison guard, a dead prison guard and a dead prisoner too - nice big shotgun wound in my chest - don't worry, all that blood is actually karo syrup!). I've also been an election judge, worked in factories, warehouses, and I've been an account rep for a bunch of technology firms - think upscale Willie Loman - shoeshine, smile, cell phone, laptop - and a lot of talk!

Anyway, I'm up early, doing the account rep, accomplished bizman thing today, big meeting out in the suburbs. I rented a car, spiffed up my suit, it's time to play aspiring man about town. Of course, all the stuff I like to do most I haven't figured out how to turn into a job: (maybe that's a good thing?) theater mogul, actor, writer, director, musician. Could it be I just have career attention deficit disorder (ADD)?

So, how about these guys? Some might think they are way too old to be still jumping around on stage, and how about the movie director behind the camera? A case could be made that both of these creative titans (band and director) did all their best work decades ago, but you know what, the work they did stands the test of time, (at least my time! Think "Sticky Fingers," "Raging Bull," "Exile on Main Street," "Taxi-Driver," "Let it Bleed," "Good Fellas," "Beggars Banquet," "Mean Streets" "Aftermath" "Casino"), and I'm glad they are all still doing what they do. The Stones look like they've been to hell and back a couple of times (that's what being on the road for 4 decades or more can do to you), but there ain't no sin against growing old - relax it's natural! At least these guys are willing to just let it all hang out. And you have to give them credit for pure consistency. These guys have all had the same job for decades. More power to them! I'm looking forward to the flick (can't afford going to an actual concert!). Rock on boys!

Just Enough

I'm a little toasty today. Stuck doing a paid writing gig about steam meters, which I've been procrastinating on doing. It's not exactly riveting reading, or writing, but there's nothing like the do re mi. So, no great insights today, just plodding along, glad to be alive. Sometimes that's just enough.

"An unregulated global marketplace is now firmly ensconced in the role of the sole superpower." - John Robb

John Robb over at Global Guerillas tosses off verbal bombs that open new holes in the firmament as easily as someone else tosses a salad. The real superpower today, is not Fortress America (we've hocked our future building stuff that blows shit up and shipped off our industrial might over to China), it's the UNREGULATED GLOBAL MARKETPLACE. Makes everything so much more understandable.

The idea that America would thrive in this global marketplace was a fairy tale. Especially since we've been spending so much time and effort building the mightiest military state in the known universe. We can't kill them all, can't blow up enough shit to make the rest of the world like us. They may fear our rain of bombs, but without allies, we are ultimately a big bully that no one else really respects.

It's kind of like we've been playing two games simultaneously, Risk and Monopoly. We concentrated on Risk and borrowed against our Monopoly funny money to build up our armies on the Risk board. So we have become this enormous military beast, but we find ourselves in hock up to our eyeballs. And the Monopoly game has gotten bigger, more complex and interconnected. And no one can keep track of the rules anymore. Soon we might not be able to feed ourselves, but at least we have Britney!

Sunday Morning Coming Down

Sunday morning. The alarm goes off. It's raining outside, it's still dark. We both lay in bed. Time passes. We wrap our arms around each other. Still, silent. Finally...

sunnyjimmy: well i guess it's time to get up and make the coffee.
lovely carla: why get up?
sunnyjimmy: we gotta get up!
lovely carla: oh god.
sunnyjimmy: we gotta get up so we can worry.
lovely carla: i worry when i sleep too.
sunnyjimmy: well, we gotta get up to do some vertical worrying.
lovely carla: hmmm.
sunnyjimmy: you want spice island, or mexican zacateca?
lovely carla: just make it with love.
sunnyjimmy: you got it.

Dead in the Water

We live in a fear factory. There's a political machine and a corporate industry that seems dedicated to keeping us in a state of fear. I propose it's beneficial to the military industrial complex, and it's probably explains why we are such mad consumers. Maybe all of our stuff will save us?

These are some of the things we are supposed to fear: gays, socialized medicine, liberals, taxes, immigrants (legal or illegal), brown people, black people, really any people with too much pigment in their skin, islamic militants, crazed jihadis, do-gooders, you get the drift.

On the other hand, there are some really kind of scary things going on. For instance global warming, peak oil, the Military State, unfettered government surveillance, torture, indefinite detention.

As Americans we are now basically known for shopping, and blowing shit up. Not exactly a positive prescription for world dominance.

But this is the kind of shit that really scares me, because it seems so plausible. Our way of life, our mad quest to harvest every last resource has probably brought us to a tipping point. How about dead zones in the ocean? Areas of no oxygen, areas where everything dies? Probably a result of global warming. Now we're just discovering this stuff. We don't really understand the process, and it's probably real complicated and there are many culprits, and maybe it's all been set in motion and there ain't no going back?

It's gonna take a long time before we really even think about doing anything about it. I mean first we have to run through all those Al Gore jokes, and then, what will we do, and when? And is it plausible that by that time vast areas of our oceans will be dead? What happens when the watery planet becomes a planet of dead water?

A Kick in the Balls...That's Entertainment

I always loved this Jam song. This acoustic version with Paul Weller and Noel Gallagher is sublime. You can't go wrong with two Brits weilding guitars. So, yes, the world is falling down around our ears. Everyone I know seems to think that we've reached the end of something. We're watching the world we know slowly melt before our eyes. Maybe we're just too sensitive? Maybe it's our love of drama? Maybe the universe is here to simply entertain us? What was that phrase from Howard the Duck: alive in a world we never made. Or alternatively, are we making it up moment by moment?

Audacity of Atrocity!

John McCain may be a war hero, he was a prisoner of war who was tortured by the Viet Cong, (you'd think he'd be solidly against torturing anyone), but when he starts pandering to the pro-torture crowd in the neanderthal Republican base, his shiny medals start to acquire a little tarnish. It's been an amazing little dance to see Mr. Straight Talk Express try to convince the base that yes, he certainly can kiss George Bush's totalitarian ass, and at the same time try to prove to the Independents (who are they?) that he's not just another well-heeled ass-kisser, who basically has no principles, at least not any that would lose him votes with the base. One suspects that the Republican party's rhetoric in the months leading to November will not reflect well on a this fractured land. Our audacity of hope is gonna have to withstand an avalanche of atrocity!

Zoot Allures on TV!

I got sidetracked yesterday, chasing dreams of Eldorado. I know there's a golden city out there somewhere with a street with my name on it. Or maybe it's a broken boulevard, or could it be the jimmydumps cul de sac?

Anyway, as part of my series on guitar players, I found this old video of Frank Zappa on the Mike Douglas show. This is like finding something from another world, long lost, and far away. Did it really ever exist?

Not exactly like finding the Dead Sea Scrolls, but when Zappa plugs in and blisters the TV stage with some choice licks, it almost makes you want to get down on your knees and send hallelujahs up to the great freakster in the sky!

Like Hope, But Different

Hey, there's gonna be an election in November. And one of the contenders will probably be this crazy old coot. Seriously. Anyway, to get prepared you must watch this video!

Do I have to have an opinion about everything?

Unfortunately, dear reader, the answer is "Yes!" Even opinions about things I know little or nothing. Which covers a lot of territory. For instance, Heath Ledger. What really can I add of substance or gravity? Well, I'm still flabbergasted (it's not an uncommon state) that a young 28 year old man, sensitive and talented, (I never saw "Brokeback Mountain," but I did see "Cassanova" and I thought he was very good), dies in bed, with 6 different prescription drugs in his system. Proof positive that too much of a good thing can be a bad thing. Seems you mix these drugs together and you get a very unfortunate result.

The brand names are so friendly-sounding: Oxycontin, Ambien, Valium, Vicodin, Xanax, Restoril, plus an over the counter "sleeping pill." Yes, well there is sleep and then there's the "Big Sleep." The actual ingredients sound a little more ominous: oxycodene, hydrocodene, diazepam, alpraszolam, temazepam, doxylamine. Now all of these were prescribed by a doctor or doctors, and well, is there a witch doctor in there somewhere? Maybe this talented, sensitive dude was a little "over-prescribed?"

I do believe our pharmaceutical industry is a multi-billion dollar snake-oil biz. And the doctors who prescribe this shit are basically "drug-pushers," pushing shit that has short and long term consequences that no one really knows. Most of this crap is most assuredly worthless. If someone has anxiety or can't sleep, maybe putting a drug into them isn't the best medicine?

I still believe the best drugs are illegal ones. Some are less bad (I'll take pot and mushrooms over cigarettes or alcohol any day!), and the bad ones are known to be bad, and people take them knowing they are bad. At least someone smoking crack or shooting heroin isn't deluding themselves into thinking that taking the drug is good for them and is gonna cure them!

So yes, we are a drug culture and even pop culture itself sometimes seems like a drug. Some of our best music is also a history of drug intake (rock & roll and amphetamines, booze and blues, downers and heavy metal, ecstasy and rave, crack and hip hop, coke and disco, LSD and psychedelic rock, heroin and well the all star heroin roster is endless think: Charlie Parker, Eric Clapton, John Lennon, Kurt Cobain, Keith Richards, Jim Morrison, Miles Davis, etc.)

Drugs are us. It's a human thing, but this medicalization of drug use is a total scam! I think I'll brew up another pot of coffee. I mean there's nothing more forlorn than a caffeine freak with an empty cup! Another cup and I'm sure I can come up with another topic I can bloviate about.

The Jury Pool

It's kind of like one of those George Romero movies, the zombies line up quietly, go to their seats, sit and wait. Snooze, read, watch TV. It's just a dead zone, even if there's some live wires in the crowd, they all turn down the after-burners. It's one of those situations where you become part of a faceless crowd. No joy, no beauty, no love. That's the beauty of the thing. A docile crowd. Just point us to our seats, tell us when we can go to lunch, when we need to be back, listen for our number, wait until we get our check, give us permission to go home. I think our sheep-like instincts come out. There's comfort in the herd.

This is your constitutional right! A jury of your peers! What a sweet lot!

My number was never called, so I sat and read a book. I read "Crosstown Traffic" a really great little book about Jimi Hendrix and the world he came from, and a history lesson about the blues, gospel, r&b, soul, jazz and rock & roll. The pages are filled with people who were total live wires, with the after-burners turned all the way up, it's a story of joy, beauty, love and sweat, pain, hardship, betrayals, early death, lost opportunities. Did you know that Miles Davis and Jimi Hendrix were talking about working together?! Now in some counter-factual universe those two great musical beings are jamming and making some incredible challenging sounds. You sit quietly, you can almost hear the great, beautiful music they created together.

So, I almost finished the book in one sitting. I collected my check for $17.20. I guess it's not bad pay for playing a zombie for a day!

Not all games are fun!

My number finally came up. There are some things from which you just cannot wriggle free: death, taxes, jury duty. I received my second summons for jury duty, and I cannot avoid my fate. The first summons came and went, I just made a mental note of it and then promptly forgot. If I'm asked why I missed the first round, do I tell the truth?

Question: "Sir, why did you not come when you were first summoned?"
Answer: "Judge, I just did not give a god-damned!"

No, honesty is probably not advisable. The second summons, in big, black, bold type tells me if I blow this one off I'm liable to be punished! The last remaining, barely flickering embers of my Catholic upbringing tells me that I deserve to be punished. One wonders if living through a Chicago winter is punishment enough. Punishment or not, jury duty is my civic duty!

So, I'm up at the crack of dawn, (who am I kidding, dawn ain't on the schedule for hours), although, since the Lovely Carla has a photo shoot today, we're both up, me making the coffee, she getting ready to be high-powered Fashion Maven.

So, I will go to the bowels of the R.J. Daley Center, and queue up (one thinks of Kafka!) with all the other unlucky ones, but for me it will be with a heavy heart. I mean, I do not buy into the whole judgement thing. I cannot be an impartial judge of my fellow man. I mean, "dumps" tells me that everyone is GUILTY! And "sunny" tells me everyone is INNOCENT. That leaves me supremely confused, strongly ambivalent, and basically recalcitrant.

War criminals occupy the highest office in the land, the Titans of Capital are crooks and flim-flam men, the hypocritical, totally misguided war on drugs is imprisoning a generation of poor suckers trying to hustle a buck, Scooter Libby scooted, innocent men are sitting on death row (those on death row are really there because they had the absolute shittiest lawyers in the land!), justice is a game, and really now, we know it's a game that's rigged and corrupt and as Woody Guthrie says "some rob you with a six-gun and some with a fountain pen."

Or as Dylan asks us in "Hurricane:" How can the life of such a man/Be in the palm of some fool's hand?/To see him obviously framed/Couldn't help but make me feel ashamed to live in a land/Where justice is a game.

Right!

The Joke

I suppose I don't have to remind the transplanted Arizonians I know, or the transplanted LA Angels out there somewhere in the blogosphere that living in Chicago in the winter is sort of like living in a freezer, or meat locker. The sun is just a dim bulb that rarely makes a visit. We've had some good snowstorms lately, ice storms, freezing rain. OK, ok, I know the weather is boring. I hate weather stories myself. I usually immediately switch the channel when some dude with a map of isobars pops up, but sometimes the weather wants to be heard!

Yesterday was just ridiculous. We trudged through wind, ice, snow, slush. We were dressed like Eskimos. We were dressed ridiculously. Big, funny-looking hats, oversize mittens, big clunky boots. I mean, we looked stupid. Like big cartoon versions of characters with no fashion sense. Makes you want to laugh. I think living here ups the levity factor. Except, of course, if you get so damn depressed you just up and off yourself. But, even that seems just so stupid and ridiculous. No way we can take anything that seriously. It's all just so dark, and cold, and messy. Makes you want to laugh until the tears start dribbling down your cheeks! But of course, they'd instead just freeze in place!

Be

"Be the change that you want to see in the world." - Mahatma Ghandi

I'm Pulling the Lever (do they still have levers?) for Barack Obama!

It's Super Tuesday, primaries all over the country. We get to vote today in Illinois. I'm voting for Barack Obama. I'm not voting against Hillary Clinton. I think each of the Democratic candidates are excellent candidates and I will of course vote for either of them in November. My mom voted absentee for Hillary. I'm not sure, but I think the Lovely Carla is voting for her too. According to Paul Krugman Hillary's Health Care proposal is better than Obama's.

The key for me is THE IRAQ WAR. This is from Wikipedia:

Obama was an early critic of Bush administration policies on Iraq. On October 2, 2002, the day Bush and Congress agreed on a joint resolution authorizing the Iraq War, Obama addressed the first high-profile Chicago anti-Iraq War rally in Federal Plaza, saying: "I know that an invasion of Iraq without a clear rationale and without strong international support will only fan the flames of the Middle East, and encourage the worst, rather than best, impulses of the Arab world, and strengthen the recruitment arm of Al Qaeda. I am not opposed to all wars. I'm opposed to dumb wars."

On March 17, 2003, the day Bush issued his 48-hour ultimatum to Saddam Hussein to leave Iraq before the U.S. invasion of Iraq, Obama addressed the largest Chicago anti-Iraq War rally to date in Daley Plaza and told the crowd "It's not too late" to stop the war, though many demonstrators conceded that war appeared inevitable. Obama sought to make his early public opposition to the Iraq War before it started a major issue, to distinguish himself from his Democratic primary rivals in his 2004 U.S. Senate campaign who supported the resolution authorizing the Iraq War, and in his 2008 U.S. Presidential campaign to distinguish himself from four Democratic primary rivals who voted for the resolution authorizing the Iraq War (Sen. Hillary Clinton, Sen. Joe Biden, Sen. Chris Dodd, and former Sen. John Edwards).

By the way, in 2002, these Senators voted AGAINST AUTHORIZATION FOR USE OF MILITARY FORCE AGAINST IRAQ: 23 Senators voted NO: Alaska (D-HI), Bingaman (D-NM), Boxer (D-CA), Byrd (D-WV), Chafee (R-RI), Conrad (D-ND), Corzine (D-NJ), Dayton (D-MN), Durbin (D-IL), Feingold (D-WI), Graham (D-FL), Inouye (D-HI), Jeffords (I-VT), Kennedy (D-MA), Leahy (D-VT), Levin (D-MI), Mikulski (D-MD), Murray (D-WA), Reed (D-RI), Sarbanes (D-MD), Stabenow (D-MI), Wellstone (D-MN), Wyden (D-OR).

I know we are not voting for a Psychic, we are voting for a President, but I think it's important to reward Barack Obama for being right on Iraq. The day Barack Obama is sworn in as President will be a complete unambiguous rebuke to the war and it's supporters. Those Senators in 2002 that gave Bush the power to use force against Iraq bear some of the responsibility for the horrors that were unleashed and are still unwinding even today.

Always Take the Points!

Yesterday was the day of the UNDERDOG! I'm a betting man, but I confine my betting to the ponies. Somehow I know in my dark heart, that if I started betting sports, I'd end up "in a van, down by the river," probably doing crack, trying my best to come up with a scheme to out-smart the point spread conjured in the bowels of the Vegas brain trust.

So I can't claim any great winnings today, but yes, I was rooting for the underdog, and I must say, I am so pleased that the NY Giants brought down the mighty, undefeated New England Patriots (my brother reminded me that Tom Brady, the New England QB is a Bush fan - so fuck him!). It was truly an upset of epic proportions. And to me anytime a lowly, under-regarded opponent, does the improbable, it warms my heart. It affirms that sometimes, against all odds, the little guy can pull it off. As Jimmy Cliff once said, "the harder they come, the harder they fall...one and all."

I also thought it was so cool to see Tom Petty and Mike Campbell up onstage, in front of billions and billions of eyes, doing their classic rock and roll thing. They are two grizzled old dudes, (I loved the beards!), they looked fine in their shiny suits, loved their tight little set of r&r gems. The Heartbreakers are kind of a rock and roll underdog outfit, they've had their share of hits, but hey, they look like improbable rock and roll heroes. Put them in some raggedy t-shirts and hoodies and they'd fit in with the crowd at Maywood on a cold Friday night, betting the buggies, scouring the floor, looking for discarded winning tickets or cigarette butts.

As Spoon (this gives me a good excuse to post this great video) tells it, "you've got no fear of the underdog, that's why you will not survive." Sweet!

Schlepping to Satisfaction Quotient

So, as Dave Thomas of Pere Ubu once remarked, "rock and roll is about moving big black boxes from one part of town to another." There's a lot of schlepping playing music. You've got amps, P.A. systems, cords, mics, and if you go with the full band there's all those assorted drums and cymbals, and well, I guess it's one way to make sure your biceps don't atrophy.

I've come up with a new measure for any possible gig. It's the "schlepping to satisfaction quotient." It came out of hard experience over the last two years. Any show requires schlepping, it's inevitable like acid rain. The same is true in theater but if you're putting on a theatrical production most of the schlepping is done beforehand. Once your production opens the heavy lifting is basically over, and well, you have your "run" and then you just have the show itself to grapple with.

One thing I noticed is that the music gigs where the schlepping factor was low, the satisfaction factor has usually been high. This weekend was the perfect illustration. We played the Flatiron on Friday and it was basically my beat up old guitar, Carla's tambourine and magic egg, one vocal mic, a cord and well, since my brother provided that amps, we plugged in, and the rest was our shining personalities and boundless (not really) energy. We took public transportation, (the train, the bus - hey, there's Pat McD with his little Epiphone amp, sitting in the back of the bus pretending to be one of George Romero's Zombies!) and all went without a hitch, without straining a muscle.

Same thing on Saturday. There was an open mic at our local coffeehouse and we walked a block, plugged in and burned the house down with a little three song mini-set. Low schlepp/Maximum Satisfaction! Plus I got a great hot chocolate in the bargain. Now that's what I call life on the road!

KSM the Mayor of the Flatiron!

My brother KSM is the unofficial Mayor of the third floor (my brother has an artist studio there) of the Flatiron building in Wicker Park. The Flatiron is where an odd assortment of artists live, work and hang out, carrying on a hard-edged bohemian existence in this little island in the heart of a now very "gentrified" neighborhood. Maybe that John Cusak movie had something to do with the crazy, explosive growth and the strange wanna be coolness factor?

Anyway, the last two years there's been a whole nother thing going on, it kind of sprouted out of the "rock opera" I was working on for my theater company. The rock opera spawned a bunch of songs and the Lovely Carla, Pat MCD of the Telepaths and I would go to the Flatiron at my brother's invitation and play in the third floor hallway, just kind of working out our sound. We would do this every once in awhile on the first Friday of the month. Over time we started to build a little fan base, mainly artists and other hangers on, looking for illicit substances, the free booze and pizza that floated around. It's a very cool scene and we've had some of our best gigs in the hallway, the building is so resonant it's almost like you you're not playing an instrument, you're playing the building.

Well, at one of the sessions I encouraged my brother to join in on harmonica. He hadn't played for many years, but the first time playing together really sparked something inside him, and now he's playing and singing, and well, he ended up starting his own band with some players that were drawn to the scene. They're called the Banana Street Band, and they have a really cool sound, a melding of my brother's blues sensibility (his favorite musician is Leadbelly) along with Yako's exquisite Polish Gypsy guitar playing, topped off by guy named Jeff who provides a steady, mecurial beat on a pair of big bongo type drums. Anyway it a really unique sound and they are wild and combustible and you can hear them on Thursday nights jamming and rehearsing.

My brother has a little digital recorder and over the last year he recorded a number of performers who stumbled through the hallways and laid down some tracks. Last night was the CD release party, (the cover image is one of my brother's paintings) and it was a real joyous night. WWSP played first with Pat MCD as our special guest, and we were in fine form. Then I just sat back and watched the carnival. It was marvelous! The disc is great too. Only a limited run. I'm sure it will be a collector's item. And my brother, well, he's the Mayor and last night everyone in his little domain was happy with the world and the world can sometimes be a place where you play and sing and watch others play and sing and there ain't no bullshit, no competition, just a mosaic or rainbow of vibration and it's a beautiful thing.

A Lonely Hoe to Row!

The Lovely Carla laid into me last night, "you are not a team player." I suppose she's right. I don't really want to be a member of any team that would have me as a member. And the teams that wouldn't have me as a member, well, "fuck em!"