gbdances

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.

It seems very strange to me that for the first time in 44 years I am officially recognizing 10 years of continuously doing anything, and yet this weekend I am joyously celebrating 10 years in a serious, committed, loving, life-affirming and otherwise absolutely groovy relationship with the lovely and talented Starlight Dances.

Yes, there are other nearby milestones - next year, I will have been working at the same job for 15 years (yikes!) and it's the 5 year anniversary of losing damn near everything and starting over thanks to Hurricane Katrina - which also means five years in one location (i.e., Natchitoches), the longest I've lived ANYWHERE except New Orleans, where I spent 6 years.

But 10 years in a growing relationship is a big deal. For anyone, I guess, but particularly for me. And the most important thing about it is that it has been largely due to the changes in me that it is possible. Over the last ten years, I've become a better person. A nicer person. A person worth getting to know over a 10 year period.

And that's something.

Well, it started as a discussion about that certain part of the male hierarchy (and no, it wasn't a discussion about Viagra). And though it started with that certain reference in mind, the thought was expanded somewhat in the retelling:

"Unless you've actually seen your Supreme Being in the flesh, ALL deity-based religions are like single-parent homes:

1. There's definitely a parent missing.
2. There's no noticeable sign of support from that missing parent.
3. Anytime that missing parent does anything at all, it's a miracle."

After thoroughly enjoying my new Ampeg bass amp (the magnificent BA300 115), I am reminded of something essential:

It's NOT the lows or the highs, it's what you do with the middle that makes all the difference.

Yeah, the highs and lows are important, but it's the middle that defines who you really are. And that's brought home in bass amps by the incredible phenomenon that is the "Ampeg sound." Anybody can effectively woof or tweet. But unless you've got the middle right, it's either just mud or screech.

That's a metaphor for life, I want to tell you. Like your second and third albums, the middle of anything (life, a string, a circle, the universe) really gets to the core of your being --- and it either works, or it doesn't.

That's why there's such a thing as a mid-life crisis (or Chrysler, as a friend of mine used to say). Because if you get to the middle, you've got to either get your shit together or quit. Otherwise, you're like a dull knife that just ain't cuttin' it; talking loud and saying nuthin'.

BTW, the new Ampeg is awesome - only 59 pounds and pure SVT sound. You can get Duck Dunn, Bootsy, James Jamerson, Gene Simmons, Geezer Butler or Victor Wooten all with the dial of a button or two.

Wake Up Everybody (McFadden/WhiteheadCarstarphen)

Wake up everybody no more sleepin in bed
No more backward thinkin time for thinkin ahead
The world has changed so very much
From what it used to be so
there is so much hatred war an' poverty
Wake up all the teachers time to teach a new way
Maybe then they'll listen to whatcha have to say
Cause they're the ones who's coming up and the world is in their hands
when you teach the children teach em the very best you can.

The world won't get no better if we just let it be
The world won't get no better we gotta change it yeah, just you and me.

Wake up all the doctors make the ol' people well
They're the ones who suffer an' who catch all the hell
But they don't have so very long before the Judgement Day
So won'tcha make them happy before they pass away.
Wake up all the builders time to build a new land
I know we can do it if we all lend a hand
The only thing we have to do is put it in our mind
Surely things will work out they do it every time.

There is a poem, somewhere, here,
behind these words that ramble on
and with no seeming purpose try
to hint at meaning where there's none.

There is a poem, somewhere, here,
between ramshackle rows of prose
that seem too weak to stand erect
or hold in a protruding gut.

There is a poem, somewhere, here,
despite itself, against all odds;
in lock-step cadence down the page,
it rolls on in a drunken march.

There is a poem, somewhere, here,
too subtle for its meager words,
that feel so common in the mouth
and leave their sour taste on the tongue.

There is a poem, somewhere, here,
beyond where critics dare to look,
afraid they might find nothing left
once deconstruction has commenced.

There is a poem, somewhere, here,
one ardent fan, at least, insists,
who seeks some message more sublime
than those who practice show not tell.

There is a poem, somewhere, here,
but I have failed to write it down;
like here, and now, its life is past,
and will not come again. It's gone.

11 MAR 2009

at least to SOME degree ...

Well, maybe you gotta be real Olde Schule (as my grandmother might have said) to get the humor:

and how absolutely devastatingly it blew away anything that Alison Krause and Robert Plant put together ... because it sounds like the band Led Zeppelin wanted to be in its "country folk" phase, and demonstrates that a great voice crosses over no matter how wide the chasm between genres:



Loretta Lynn and Jack White (of the White Stripes, ya'll)

I just purchased a printing of Rabindranath Tagore's Gitanjali (with an introduction by W.B. Yeats). It includes the following disclaimer on the title page:

"This book is a product of its time and does not reflect the same values as it would if it were written today. Parents might wish to discuss with their children how views on race, gender, sexuality, ethnicity, and interpersonal relations have changed since this book was written before allowing them to read this classic work."

Wow. Quite a caveat for the reader or monitor for the reader.

Just a couple of things:

First, at no place in this printing does it identify WHEN this book was written, except by coincidence in the Yeats' introduction, which is dated "September 1912". The publishing date says (c) 2008 Wilder Publications, and also reads "First Edition". Really! A 2008 first edition is a product of THIS time. But I know that not to be the case, so what "time" is this book really the product of? And come to think of it, have the views promulgated in this writing REALLY changed all that much, for the majority of people? Probably not.

Second, who is this warning for? What uninformed soul is likely to read this prose poem unawares?

Finally, and perhaps most puzzling, why isn't this disclaimer printed in LARGE, BOLD LETTERS on the title page of the BIBLE?

It seems a far more appropriate warning there, doesn't it?

Here's one for you. The other day, stardances and I were discussing a mutual acquaintance that we believe is in denial about being a lesbian (now, before you raise your hand in question, let me just say that we absolutely believe that a person's sexual orientation and preference is their own business and their right to choose or decide).

When asked if this individual would ever admit they were gay, I said ...

"Doubtful. She's so far in the closet she can see Narnia."

Now THAT's what I call a great line, though I say it who shouldn't :)

OK ... so here it is.

Last night whilst playing my usual gig with Hardrick Rivers and company at the Pioneer Pub in Natchitoches, I believe that I discovered a new (and potentially revolutionary) technique for playing slap, pop and funk bass.

I had been thinking on two different wavelengths prior to last night.

The first was Victor Wooten's right hand technique, particularly the thumb technique where he uses his thumb as if he were wearing a thumb pick - as opposed to a Larry Graham/Bootsy Collins thumb technique which approaches the strings vertically (i.e., the thumb pops up vertically from the string in a primarily percussive thwack), Victor's technique involves popping with the thumb horizontally so it can perform an upstroke for additional speed and effect. When he combines this with left guitarist technique for hammer-ons and pull-offs, the end result is dazzling speed.

The second was Jaco Pastorius' use of chording and false harmonics. When exploring different chord shapes and voices around the neck, I sounded the chords out using arpeggios played with my thumb, index, middle (and sometimes ring) fingers - not an unusual approach when one is playing acoustic fingerstyle guitar - or banjo. Particularly claw hammer style banjo.

The innovation is the claw hammer approach. I admit I was troubled with the "double-thumb" technique of Victor's. Why not just use a thumb-pick, as you would on a banjo, instead of resting (and in a sense, limiting the range of motion of) your thumb. I've always avoided techniques that involved resting the hand in anyway on the strings or nearby props (like the old Precision thumb rests). And my thumb slap technique was deeply rooted in the vertical style.

But to use the thumb and first fingers in combination, and move the thumb for a second combination stroke with subsequent index and ring finger "plucks"? Keeping an underlying rhythm going consisting of sounded notes and/or muted string unsounded notes while the hand floats above the strings (and along the neck)? That, my friends, is "claw hammer funk" bass.

I'm still working out the details and some of the mechanics. But the end result should be (provided that you have sufficient hand strength) a bass style that provides both thumb and finger pop and slap, with a fluidity and dexterity akin to Earl Scruggs banjo technique.

And there you have it.

What still remains when words have run their course,
and soundless, lay exuberant and spent
beyond the realm of sound? What is the source
that waits between each breath, self-evident

for just the briefest moment, as the lull
when one idea dies and one is born
expands in pregnant silence and is full
of consonants and vowels not yet quite formed?

In which dimension does such time exist?
It has no breadth or width, nor is it tall.
It has no form, but hangs like evening mist
on summer nights surrendering to fall.

And past that quiet whisper, when all sound
has faded into nothing and is gone,
the meaning of the universe is found:
the stuff that only dreams are built upon.

02 JAN 2009