gbdances

Pop Hymes, drummer extraordinaire, Natchitoches fishing legend and general all-around bon vivant, is fond of telling jokes, particularly ones that focus on musicians in some way. For example:

Three guitarists arrive at a studio to audition for a band. The first one is called, goes into a side room and finds the rest of the auditioning band waiting. He does his thing. When he's finished, the listening drummer shakes his said and says, "sorry, man, you've got too much loft." The first guitarist is not sure what that means, but understands the rejection. He returns to the waiting room, and signals the second guitarist to go on in. The second guitarist completes his audition, and this time, the bass player grimaces and shakes his head - "sorry, dude, too lofty." Likewise rejected, the second guitarist confusedly goes back to sit down. The third guitarist finally goes in for his audition. When he's finished, the lead singer says, "Nope. You've got desire, but your performance suffers from loft." At this point, the third guitarist goes back outside and joins the other two previous guitarists, who are waiting to see if any of them got hired. One says, "I don't know what these guys want. They said I had too much loft! What the hell is loft?" The other two guitarists describe their experiences too. None of them can figure out what "loft" is. So they decide to find out. They return together to the audition room and say, "what is loft, anyway?" The drummer shakes his head, laughing. "It's not loft. It's LOFT. Lack of Freakin' Talent."

This reminds me of things my father used to say:

"You should probably sing tenor. Ten or twelve miles away."
"Why don't you take a solo? So low we can't hear it."
"You ought to be in Hollywood. The walk would do you good."

And my favorite ...

"You should be on the stage. It leaves in five minutes."

You know how you can tell if it's REAL punk music? And not stadium punk, pop-punk or some other homogenized derivative? Real punk draws you into thinking and reacting to the world personally, as an individual. Not as one of the lighter-lifting masses, but as a unique voice of dissent. You may be singing the same lyrics as the person next to you, but you're separately digesting their meaning.

He that would make his own liberty secure, must guard even his enemy from oppression; for if he violates this duty, he establishes a precedent that will reach to himself. -- Thomas Paine

Reminds me of a poem I wrote back in 2003:

The Burning Times

It did not start with a single matchstrike,or bonfires blazing brightly in the night;it began with thinking they did not likethe fact that they might not be in the right

about everything; and so found kindlingthat could easily burn (at least catch fire);once the ready supply began dwindlingthey had to begin to plot, to transpire

against perceptions, to find illusionsthat could ignite the passion of the crowdto step beyond thought and discount reason.In this chaos, amidst such confusion,

can any call themselves brave or be proudif they are not currently in season?When we say, “never again,” do we mean“not to us”, or never to anyone?

Because we have been burned, are our hands cleanwhen the call for blood has again begun?Or is it this: that we truly believeone man in prison means no one is free;

that one widow or one orphan that grievesis too many? Are we too blind to see,despite our claim of universal kin,that the warm safety of our little den

is fueled by our dissident neighbor's pyre?How long will we continue to buy in -until the flames come just for us again?Who will be left to put out that great fire?

23 FEB 2003

It's all exposed online, you understand:
my life is more or less an open book:
my birth, my education, then my work,
and shared, too, all too soon, sickness and death.

The details that might make my trip unique
are no more poignant, pithy or sublime
than those comprising your own storyline;
if you want juicy gossip, look within.

This fascination with the small details
that keeps us all so spellbound with delight
as constant updates try, in little bites,
to feed our self-important appetites:

where does it end? And can such urgent lives
except in death expect to find much peace?

10 AUG 2009

"You are what you are because of your past daily habits. Day by day you must make or
break your body. You either build it up or tear it down." - Angelo Siciliano (Charles Atlas)

The way we live our lives is not one choice
that made, concludes the match or casts the die
beyond a moment's span or single day.
Like a deep breath once taken, it expires

and needs to be renewed, or else will fail;
and like that ring inscribed "this too shall pass"
that brought a sense of balance to a king:
when happy, knowing there was coming sad,

while in great sadness, finding seeds of joy,
so the decision that we make each day
to sow new life (or increment our death,
as Henry Miller put it so damn well)

determines who we are - not for all time,
but for each precious second of our lives.

07 AUG 2009

I often wondered, when I was a goth
(did we have that name back in '85?)
about the downward spiral of the world;
and contemplated shadows, where I thought

the secrets of the universe were kept.
From chiaroscuro, I firmly believed,
a balance quite long-lost could be restored.
But just how deep I thought, I question now;

it could be I was restless, young and bored
with trying to achieve so-called success,
and plotted revolutions in my mind
that would require no real degree of work.

With who I used to be, I'd like to share
a lesson learned from twenty shadowed years:
there are so many colors besides black;
the only limits are imagined ones.

05 AUG 2009

Time was when I used to write a sonnet a day - for about two years, if you care to look back through the archives here.

I think it's time to kick start that old tradition. You know the saying "There's no time like the present"? Well ...


No Time but the Present


I could pretend that life is fine as is:
an endless string of cloudless, sunny days
that start and end in some exquisite bliss,
a smile that finds my face and somehow stays.

And yet, to just imagine such a place
seems such a boring, pointless waste of time;
to think that at least half the human race
is waiting to retire there, is sublime.

For most can barely make it through a day
without expecting more, right here and now;
Eternity? Quite frankly, there's no way
to even fathom it. I think, somehow,

that what we have right now is all we need.
You use it, or you lose it. Guaranteed.

04 AUG 2009

Thoroughly enjoying listening San Pedro's own Minutemen. Haven't listened to D, Mike and George since, well, since the 80s in San Pedro, remembering how cool it was for punk intellectuals when the skinheads weren't around.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sAmQlXUtcG0

1. Have you ever played in a band that performed original material? If no, then stop. We're probably not musically compatible.

2. Name ten bands that have influenced the music you've played/written in original bands, in no particular order. For example, mine might be:

The Beatles
Bauhaus
Black Sabbath
The Cure
Lou Reed or maybe more like Iggy Pop
Elvis Costello
Jonathan Richmond
David Bowie
Black Flag
Bob Dylan

If you don't match at least three of these, stop. We're probably not compatible.

3. Name at least 3 bands not listed above whose style you've considered, but never had the opportunity. For example, mine probably would be:

X, Yes, Blondie, the Damned

If you don't like at least one of these, stop.

3. On a scale of 1 to 10, how important are the lyrics of an original song you're performing? If less than 6, stop. We're definitely not compatible musically.

OK, so I'm now 45 years old. I've been playing music onstage since I was 8. That's 37 years in some kind of band or another, on stages of all kinds, in six different states and on at least three TV channels.

And here's the bottom line, for me.

I don't want to play in any more bar bands. As a matter of fact, I don't want to play at any venue (except as a huge personal favor to a good friend or two) where the main purpose for attending wherever the music is playing is something other than the music onstage. And that includes places that use as their marketing campaign something like "Fridays and Saturdays, live music" as if the music were some kind of gracious amenity that attendees got as a bonus. No more gigs where you show up to do something else, and there just happens to be a band playing.

I'll go one further. The audience (which we've already stipulated has to be primarily motivated by wanting to hear live music) also must be there to see me. Not accidental live music, not breezing through town and luckily catching the only live music in on that particular evening, but deliberately coming either because they know me (or have heard of me) or because the venue has specified "ME - live and in person" and is likewise excited (to some degree) about having, promoting and paying for non-anonymous performance.

I'm not so foolish as to think it must be exclusively ME. It could be me solo, me as or in a band, or even me opening for another band that folks also are interested in hearing. It's also not about the money - although if you're coming to see live music, and not just getting it included in your meal (solid or liquid) like a free dessert, you ought to be willing to pay for it. It's a privilege, not a right.

One final stipulation ... when you come to see me play, it's to hear what I WANT TO PLAY. I'm not your human jukebox.

I think that covers it. If your gig doesn't meet this criteria, don't call me.

Here's one from way back in 2005, pre-Katrina:

Stop all the clocks! The hours must halt
their slow and steady marching on;
let all lay fallow in default
until this fickle mood is gone.

Stop all the movement of the sun
and stars against a sombre sky;
let fall in finish what's begun
until this darkened thought goes by.

Stop wishing, stop your work commute,
leave off that endless exercise
until that dream that convolutes
and busies us lays down and dies.

Stop forward motion! Stop retreat!
Let all momentum slow and cease;
pretend, for once, the world's complete,
and does not need to be policed.

Stop watching! Look for no more signs
revealing subtle Divine thought
Let that watch halt; do not rewind
its mechanism. Let it rot.

Stop all the clocks! Keep time no more
inside each minute's careful cage;
let structure collapse on the floor,
and words escape the page.

Stop reading! Let the lines of text
begin to swim and blur to black;
throw out your plan for what is next.
That moment's gone. It won't be back.

24 JUN 2005

Maynard Ferguson, X, LA Guns, Love and Rockets, The Cure, The Cult, The Fall, All (live and in rehearsal), Chris Whitley, Aaron Flinn, James Brown, the Allmann Brothers, Dr. John, the Meters, War, Mad Monster Party, Easter, Iggy Pop, Ray Manzarek, Randy California, Billy Ray Cyrus, Carl Perkins, Dwight Yoakum, Wynton Marsalis, The Average White Band, Neighborhood Texture Jam, Elvin Jones, McCoy Tyner, the Bloodfarmers, the Dickies, the Chameleons UK, Public Image Ltd., the Meat Puppets, Henry Rollins, Dramarama, Blancmange, Depeche Mode, Echo and the Bunnymen, The Other Ones, Van Morrison, Irma Thomas, Downy Mildew, Julian Cope, Bob Mould, Michael Jackson, Paul McCartney, Raymaker, the Six Million Dollar Band, Confederate Railroad, Dan Beard, John Cale, Peewee Crayton, the Gun Club, Jet Boy, Tangerine Dream, Ronnie James Dio, Jethro Tull, Vermin, Hans Krypt, L7, Patti Smith, Siouxsie Sioux, Bob Dylan, the Osmonds, Frank Sinatra, Rozz Williams, Chuck E. Weiss, TSOL (in rehearsal), the Long Ryders, Ozain, Fishbone, the Blue Wave Band, Mac Davis, Scotty Moore, Merle Haggard, Ralph Stanley, Ricky Skaggs, Alison Krause, John Hartford, John Renbourn, Dave Brubeck, Stub Junkman, Hot Tuna, Frankie Beverly and Maze, Wayne Toups, James Burton, Jeff Bates, and probably dozens of other nameless or unnamed acts.

Just shut your eyes and zip up your lip;
let the illusion of indifference slip
you in a coma of the beautiful life
you pretend.

It doesn't matter which way you choose.
Your revolution is yesterday's news,
lost in a column on the bottom right
of page ten.

Here it comes again...
the feeling you should not be feeling,
the knowing right from wrong,
the urge to find the answers,
the make a difference song.

Just keep your mouth shut, don't say a word.
Don't let on that you think it's all absurd,
a trick of light and mirrors meant
to fool the marks.

It doesn't matter, those who get paid
are on the right side of the barricade.
The choice is death by drowning,
or life with sharks.

And here it comes again...
the feeling you should not be feeling,
the sense that something's wrong,
the need to turn the light on,
the make a difference song.

09 JUL 2009

Even though they're not necessarily my "favorite bands of all time" there is certain music I'll never turn off if it comes up in rotation (on the radio, on a random play through my collection, on internet sites, in a friend's car, wherever). Because for whatever reason, their music is infinitely interesting to me. I've discovered that this music, with the exception of the Beatles or Lou Reed (who I'll listen to anytime), is largely alternative-goth-post punk oriented, strangely enough. Well, maybe not so strangely. The greatest band (in terms of the enjoyment and creative juice I got from it) I ever played in was a post-punk LA band called Faith Assembly. So maybe the music I listened to extensively during that period still resonates strongly with me:

Gang of Four
Joy Division
The Cure
Love and Rockets (including Tones on Tail, David J and Bauhaus)
Cocteau Twins

and let's not forget:

The Damned
The Chameleons UK
New Order
The Jazz Butcher
Christian Death
Siouxsie and the Banshees
Wire
Television

Watching the Michael Jackson memorial in bits and pieces in between work, I noticed that so many mentioned his songs as the "music they grew up to". And it made me think of two things:

First, I've always said the music you listen to is the soundtrack to your life. But thinking about it today, I realized that as a musician I deal with that differently than maybe a lot of non-musicians. You might think key moments, and the songs that are associated with those times, are like "the song that was playing when I lost my virginity", "my first slow dance", "music from that summer by the pool", "my wedding song". Maybe. But for me, the key music always involves my being a musician - the first song I performed for a girl, the first song I wrote, the song I wrote when my father died.

Second, "the music I grew up to". Because it transports you to a different time, a time of "innocence". Because you don't listen to music anymore? Because music changed and you never did? Because you just "don't understand kids today and their music"? REALLY? The first record I ever heard was Elvis. The second, the Beatles. But those records don't inform or make who I am any more than Bauhaus' Bela Lugosi's Dead (the first time I heard it) or Mozart's Piano Sonata No. 4 or Keith Jarrett's Koln Concert or James Brown Live at the Apollo. Unless the movie is over, or you're in a constant state of flashback, the soundtrack (which has to play at the speed of now, or die) is constantly changing. It evolves, or your storyline (and your character) never do.

I've always hated nostalgia, "oldies" radio formats, and revival musicals (like Grease or High School Musical X, that dare to presume that anywhere near the majority of people had a positive experience in high school, regardless of the decade they attended). Like Satchel Paige once said, "don't look back...something might be gaining on you."

I think it was Chris Rock who said that the music that is the most important to you in your life, that you remember the most fondly, is whatever happened to be playing at the time you first had sex.

Is that true? Personally, no.

My soundtrack is on an entirely different level.

Accidentally browsing through my journal archives, I ran across this gem from 2005. It touches somewhat on the work of Charles Bukowski, who died in San Pedro, California in 1994. I think now that I had driven by his house a couple of times in the late 80s when I was living in California, and thought about stopping by, but never did. Some friends of mine at the time knew him pretty well, and he occasionally showed up at the Dancing Waters club in San Pedro to see an awful band (like most of the ones I knew). Of course, the Dancing Waters club was infamous for making almost any band sound pretty bad - they had a live waterfall going full-time at the back of the stage that was quite loud.

For Bukowski

Believe it ... poetry can heal wounds;
of course, an awkward, ill-set bone
will sometimes need to be re-cracked,
and soft illusions that so gently cradle us
to bind the flesh beneath, must go.

And often, language is so poor
a conduit for what needs said
that poetry, to remain true,
must eschew words and simply ape,
pretending to be civilized.

In drunken rages, curses slurred
and spewed into a sewer's maw,
a poet finds epiphany;
and if not driven to reveal
that underbelly, often pawns

off lesser dreck to pass as art,
or spends their time in all-night shops,
dissecting life with coffeespoons.
Let he who is well understood
explain such mincing words. Pray tell:

What inner demons exorcized
conduct themselves with grace and charm?
The world needs screaming, now and then,
and herds of pigs snorting, pell-mell,
beyond decency's cliff.

04 OCT 2005

There is a wall around a thing that does not know to love
that keeps it safe, in some sad way, and far from the great harm
experience brings with it when it visits and leaves broken pots and pans,
dead flowers for your freezer, dirty clothes and empty hands.

It can be climbed, for sure, if one is fit enough to try;
although its worn-smooth edges don't leave much for finger grips,
and can, more times than not, result in sore and aching arms
that try to hold on tightly, but must let go before long.

"Keeps out the riff-raff," some might say, and smile self-satisfied;
the kind of folks that think that love's in limited supply.
If all the work we seem to do to keep a bad thing out
were spent in more productive ways, we might just learn to fly.

There is a wall around a thing that does not know to love;
a wailing wall, where suitors spent untold long afternoons,
their faces wet with salt and sweat, their eyes turned red and tired.
Then all too soon, their season's done, and just the wall remains.

There is a wall around a thing that does not know to love
that like a rusting prison cell, keeps in as well as out;
a mausoleum for the soul that dies where it was born,
and leaves no friend to bid farewell, no single voice to mourn.

29 MAY 2009

www.natchitochestimes.com
By DEMETRIA LEDET, Lifestyle Editor
Published: Wednesday, May 27, 2009 8:54 PM CDT

It's hard to believe that 40 years have passed since Hardrick Rivers began playing music on his tenor saxophone and performing vocals. He will celebrate 13th year of performing at Roque's with the Blue's band, although, he has been a musician for 40 years.

The performance will be at 9 p.m. Friday, May 29 at Roque's on Carver Street.

Friends and musicians from around the Ark-La-Tex are scheduled to attend and help Rivers celebrate his 40th anniversary of music.

The spotlight is not new to Roque's. River's recalls being interviewed by a CNN television crew who came to Natchitoches to see him years ago. "Ever since that CNN interview, people have come from places like Ireland, Australia, really, all over the world to see performances at Roque's.

"I guess my legacy has been established, people are calling for me, by name now. It's all about paying your dues."

Not bad for a 13-year-old youth from Powhatan who was lured into the music business for a soda, a sandwich and a chance to stay up late.

One of his earliest influences came from hearing a saxophone player named Junior Walker performing hits like "Shot Gun" and the Jazz Crusaders' saxophonist Wilton Felder. Now, Rivers is a household name in Natchitoches and his fans never grow weary of his soulful and Bluesy sounds.

Background

He is a 2001 graduate of NSU and was inducted into the Louisiana Folklife Center's Hall of Master Folk Artists in 2001.

It seems like a new scene - a nightlife - has began on Front Street since the restaurants began featuring bands and live music. Natchitoches residents made it possible for the native to blossom at home.

"I play for the Blue Jean Service at First United Methodist Church and I play at weddings and for private parties," said Rivers.

He performs vocals and on the saxophone at Pioneer Pub each Thursday with Don Hyams on guitar, Sammy Nix on drums and John Litzenberg on bass guitar.

He also plays at Mama's Oyster House on the first and third Fridays and at Roque's on the last Friday of each month.

When he isn't performing, Rivers teaches band at Red River High School in Coushatta. He is also an unofficial tutor of students at NSU.

"I teach them improvisation. I have an open-door policy when it comes to musicians," he said.

Rivers said he isn't planning to retire just yet.

"There are countless places I'd love to play for. I want to travel to Barcelona, Spain, Africa and to visit all the Smithsonian museums. I've performed in Canada, Mexico and the Netherlands, but there are many more things I want to do before I retire."

Words of wisdom

His advice to younger musicians is that the music business is tough, but "persistence is the success of it."

Rivers, according to his biography, formed his group called the Lighthouse Crew which he left in 1992. In 1994, he formed a new group, Rivers Revue Band. In 1996, a group of musicians decided to have a monthly jam session at Roque's Grocery. Overton Owens joined many of these sessions and from this grew Roque's Blues Band. Rivers plays with both Roque's Blues Band and Rivers Revue Band.

The husband, father and grandpa says he doesn't believe he would change anything about the course his life has taken, even if he could.

"I never get tired of entertaining people. In fact, I get more motivated each time someone comes up to me and tells me how my music made them feel better after work or eased their burdens somehow."

Squinting sleepily into the red-eyed stare of early summer noon, hoping to slip into slumber soon; and knowing though this day seems long, one careless blink and it is gone.