Organ Grinders, Dancing Monkeys and the McGee Fee

By Bob Cardoza:

My son Joe has asked me to share a recent holiday rant, which he now refers to as “The McGee Fee”, with his blog readers and being still overcome with holiday joy, I am happy to do so.

First, I must give credit to our singer/songwriter friend Inge Berge for introducing us to his Dancing Monkey theory. Isn’t that, after all, really what the public wants from its performing musicians when at the local pub for an evening of song and dance? Dancing monkeys doing the same old song and dance over and over again, week after week? The songs we all know and love?

Dancing monkeys date back to the 1800’s and performed on the streets with organ grinders, who hand cranked their instruments to produce music. The monkey would collect money from the crowd in a tin cup. If you wanted to hear another song, you put money in the tin cup. If you wanted the monkey to dance faster, you put more money in the cup. If you wanted the monkey to dance as fast as he could, you put all your money in the cup.

Today, few musicians understand the value of the tin cup the way the 19th century organ grinders did. In the age of free music downloads, the tin cup is more important than ever. Either the monkey or the organ grinder should answer all song and dance requests with a shaking of the tin cup, real or imaginary. If someone wants to hear a particular song, they should put even more money in the cup. To hear a song that the grinder is noted for, let’s use “Bobby McGee” for example, making the monkey dance as fast as he can, then they should put all their money in the cup.

Given the current economic gloom, the sad state of pub musician wages and the very few times Janis Joplin had to actually sing the song live herself, I think the “Bobby McGee Fee” should be $100 per performance. To sing this song for any less would be doing the dancing monkeys of the 1800’s a huge disservice. For almost a hundred years, they danced the streets until finally being banned for violent attacks on people who wouldn’t put money in their cups.

Reduction

History has a way of throwing the whole year into the pot,

blasting it on high heat,

the water evaporates and the weak parts cook down

until all that is left is potent sauce.

For example,

2011 is The Year We Got Married.

2003 is The Year I Graduated High School.

2004 is The Year the Sox broke The Curse.

I'm sure that your sauces are different.

I was thinking about how 2012 is going to boil down

but it's fuzzy because I'm staring at it too close

as we move on there will be a point where we'll be able to see it

crystal clear (20/20 hindsight)

and we'll reflect at that point,

before it fades off into the distance

from there all we can do is take a sample of the sauce

throw it in a jar and label it 2012.

Fiction1

She leaned into the room where her two boys were planted in front of the television, clutching the controllers and hammering on buttons.  She had waited until she heard the gloomy group of notes that signified the death of their digital character.

"Hey guys, you said you would come with me when your lives were up."

"Mom can we have one more game please?" asked John her oldest boy

"One game" she replied. Noticing Tommy her youngest boys mouth beginning to open into a scream she interjected, "EACH. ONE. Game. EACH. Then meet me in the car"

"Thanks Mom" said John "THANKS MOM" yelled Tommy.

 -----

She felt the vibrating phone in her hand and was staring directly at the screen but not answering the call, the buzzing stopped and the Missed Call number blinked from four to five. 

"No cell phone while driving Mom" she heard from the back seat, and before she could answer "Put on your seatbelt MOM" and she realized that she was losing grip on the facade she was trying to create.

"I'm sorry sweetie" she gently offered with a half turned glance, keeping her eyes on the road, but before she could even grab the seatbelt her pocket began vibrating again. Before she could press the IGNORE key young Tommy shouted "DADS ON THE PHONE" and John pressed the CONNECT button from the integrated system in the backseat. She had forgotten to turn off the damn bluetooth. She felt as though she was wearing sneakers on a frozen pond as the deep voice came through the many speakers throughout the car.

"Hello?" 

"HI DAD" both boys yelled in unison. 

"Jesus... John? Are you ok, is Tommy with you?" 

"I'm good Dad and so is Tommy and so is Mom and we're in the car going to the beach" 

"THE BEACH" the younger boy repeated with an excited scream. 

"Clara.  Take me off speaker phone." 

"It's ok Phil we're talking as a family right now" she replied calmly

"I tried so hard to get there.  We had so little time once the news came. The highways all jammed..." his voice trailed off. 

"It's ok Phil we've talked about this" 

"We were wrong. It's crazy. Just come to me instead" he offered. He sounded frightened. 

She felt a kick on her seat.  "Mom usually the traffic is on this road when we go to the beach but look today it's all on the other side we must be sooooo lucky"

"Where's everybody going MOM" the youngest boy shouted. 

"Goodbye Phil" she said aloud, but she had hung up long before. 

-----------------------

30 minutes back they had passed the POINT OF NO RETURN sign her nephews metal band had used as an album cover. For a while now she could see the nuclear power plant itself. There was smoke billowing not just from the top but from the edges. Dark smoke. The kids only noticed the dunes as she pulled into a parking space and turned off the motor.  

"THE BEACH!" they shouted. "LETS GO" the older boy began to reach for the door but she grabbed his arm. "John can you recite a poem for your brother and I first" she asked gently. 

"Peanut Butter Sandwhich by Shel Silverstein?" he asked holding back a mischievous smile. 

"No. Anything but that. Which one is your favorite right now?" 

"Fire and Ice by Robert Frost."

"What. Really? No. Did you learn that in class?"

"No Mom that's not a poem for kids. Dad taught me." 

She sighed. "And it's your favorite right now." 

"Yes. You asked me to pick my favorite." 

The black smoke was getting thicker from around the circular dome. She and her friends had always referred to it as the Boob of Death but being correct did not ease her apprehension as the destruction approached. She wondered if their bodies would incinerate or melt and she was praying to Saint Mary that it wouldn't hurt. John began to speak in the back. Slowly and calmly, with a big smile. 

"Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice."

"I don't like this one" Tommy whined.

"From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire."

"I said I DONT LIKE THIS ONE" Tommy shouted

John looked directly at his brother and spoke a little louder "But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of HATE" 

"STOP IT JOHNNY. MOM make him STOP" 

"Let him finish Tommy he's doing great" she whispered to herself in a quivering voice, her eyes tearing up as they witnessed the plant in front of her explode, a mushroom cloud rising...

"To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice" 

The State of the Bandit Kings

We have received many questions about the future of this band.

(Which is great. It feels nice that You care.)

We tried to discuss it,

but collectively and individually the five members of this band are trying to live in a very day-to-day, Zen, in-the-moment way...

so when we tried to discuss it we all just sort of laughed.

What's going to happen next year? 

I personally find that to be a really deep, hilarious and unanswerable question.

BUT...

we love you
and as mentioned above,
we care that you care.

So the gang nominated me to blog about the situation.

*****

with a little (LOT) help from our friends fundraising, our third full length album of original music is ready for release.

Dan King was the driving force to capture the music, transforming his apartment into a studio and balancing his roles as primary songwriter, engineer, guitarist, arranger, producer... The Man Behind the Curtain, if you will.

Dan has decided that his personal journey is calling him West
and that he will depart early 2013.

The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated

Only this precise combination of five people make the Bandit Kings. We've managed gigs with subs throughout the years, fine gentlemen and talented craftsmen. Most played the parts well, some even mustered true vigor & passion, and although we thank them genuinely we cannot ask them to 'play the part of Dan' going forward.  We love them too much for who they are.

Three albums of original music will live on digitally, coming to life on demand with a click of your mouse.

We hope that you'll continue to listen and share our music with people who like music.

The door for live performances, in The Future, is wide open.  We've literally done hundreds in the past couple years.  We hope you caught a few and had fun.  We certainly did.

New Years Eve at The Rhumbline is going to be a Finale of sorts to this phase and also a CD RELEASE show so there's life & death, the whole package and I've convinced myself to wear a suit by writing this also the BFs will be there drinking and probably playing and there is a very high potential for all this energy to explode at the stroke of midnight.

The Man on the Keys

The fog had set in on the dark road that winds Topsfield into Beverly

lights were spinning 360 at the small airport and they were distracting my driving

so I quickly began gulping the hot coffee in my right hand, clutching the wheel with my left

(Captain Joe taught us that in a pinch you should always hit the gas, not the brake, but that's a story for another day...)

I had been thinking about "Man on the Keys"

a song on the night's setlist

I'd always imagined the song to be about a pianist

but it turns out that the WIFE of the man on the keys was a nurse

the first nurse who told Gary he likely had MS

she could tell, because she herself had MS

her husband didn't believe her so he left her (and their children)

and moved to the Florida Keys

likely the most heart wrenching tale I've ever played in G major

Personal Revolution and The Christmas Tree: An Essay From My Old Lady

My old lady had an awesome idea about Christmas Trees

so I asked her to write it out for the blog,

as the idea is too good to paraphrase.

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Christmas Trees: Live, and let... Live? A genial idea! 

I recently had a lovely trip with my mom and sisters up to North Conway, NH where I purchased a small box of incense made from pine in one of those great country stores.  I had to buy it.  I crave that smell, especially this time of year.  

My sister asked me if Joe and I were going to put up a tree for Christmas.  I told her that we have a fiber optic plastic tree from Aunt Dolly that we might put up, but that a real tree was probably not in the cards for 2012.  Is it December 5th already?  No, actually it's December 6th... what? 

She looked disappointed, explaining that Joe and I are married now and really should think about getting a real tree.  I was confused at first.  What does being married have to do with getting a once-living Christmas tree as opposed to a man-made tree?  I began thinking about Christmas Trees and where I stand on the whole subject.  

There is something about the real tree that I love; taking the time to find it, figuring out the best way to get it in the house (always a challenge), waiting for the branches to unfurl, dressing it up, and basking in that amazing nostalgic pine smell with your loved ones throughout the holiday season.  I totally get it.  In fact, I miss it.  

I was a lucky kid.  My parents always bought a real Christmas tree.  Sometimes we went to the tree farm in Newbury and cut it down.  Whether pre-cut, or not, choosing a tree was a process to say the least.  No bent trunks, or holes in the branches allowed.  It was important (especially to my Dad) that the tree was near perfect and we would all work to find the best tree on the lot (rooted, or cut).  I looked forward to this event every year.  

My favorite Christmas Tree memory is probably lying on the living room floor with my head under the branches looking up at the lights... psychedelic.  I would lay there for a long time feeling peaceful.  

Although one could conceivably achieve that feeling with a man-made tree, the aspects of my memory I find most comforting can only be reached with real pine; running my fingers over the delicate branches, feeling those little needles, some breaking off into my hands, leaving that fresh, real-pine smell on my fingers.  That bit of nature in the house during the winter just feels good.

Back to the pine incense, I've been trying to recreate these feelings without having to buy a real tree and I can honestly say that it is not working.  I want a real tree in my house for Christmas.  I just can't shake it (pun intended).  

However, as I get older I find myself becoming increasingly more weary of such practices and others.  I've recently limited the amount of meat and animal products I consume, I found my grandmother's cloth napkins to use in lieu of paper ones, I will not kill a spider, and I don't even know if I can go fishing with my dad anymore.  I am becoming a hippie, naturally (another bad pun) and I'm fully embracing it.  

Along with these changes, I am realizing that I just cannot bring myself to cut down a beautiful, thriving, teenage pine tree.  "It's not ready to die, it's just a baby!"  ::hugs tree::

At this point I need to clarify:  I am not discouraging these practices as I support purchasing real Christmas Trees as well as consuming meat and dairy products, fishing, hunting etc.  I also think that it's great when people support their local tree-farm businesses.  I want them to prosper as well!  

I'm just having a lot of trouble with the idea of purchasing a real Christmas Tree, myself.  I personally need my Christmas Tree to live and continue living after Christmas.

My idea for a solution is this:  I want to purchase a living baby tree (from a local florist) and bring it in the house for the month of December, in it's pot.  I want to give it a makeover every December, make it pretty with lights, ornaments and all.  At the end of December, I want to bring it back outside where it can continue living and growing into the beautiful adult tree it can be, reaching it's full potential.  We can upgrade it's pot as it grows and get new baby trees when the adult trees are ready to live in the forest.   

I think I will do it...next year. It's already December 6th! 

Worth noting potential hurdles:

-I can't even lift my own piano hard-case and I'm thinking this potted Christmas tree will get heavy.  Sorry Joe... 

-I kill every plant I try to grow. 

Still! I am optimistic that this idea will work. 

For those who are not big babies and prefer cutting down their own Christmas tree, or purchasing a pre-cut tree, there are so many ways to re purpose your pine after the holiday season.  Tree recycling organizations will use them for many helpful, environmentally friendly things.

We always burned ours in the campfire in a blaze of glory.  Another great memory. 

Merry Christmas. 

Love, 

Joe's Old Lady

Two Tony Texts also Pizza Factory Fashion Consultation

psychedelic text messages
from brother Anthony:

**********

They wouldn't hire you anyway... Hair can't be covering ears and sideburns can't extend past bottom of earlobe... Written notice required to grow a mustache or beard (will draft the letter soon)

10:02 pm 12/2/12

**********

To whom it may concern: I am writing to formally announce my intentions to grow a mustache.  Please be advised, that like a butterfly, my mustache must pass through several phases to reach its full potential.  Thank you, from the bottom of my upper lip.

Tepid Regards,
Mustachio Cardoza

10:05 pm 12/2/12

***********

My hair is undeniably ridiculous at the moment: uncut in over a year.

it has been a long year, this hair has witnessed crazy things.

I recently considered having it cut by a professional
but at the exact moment of that consideration/acceptance
I was picking up a pizza
and the old grandma type behind the counter says
"your hair! its-a-beautiful"
and that was that.

Worth noting that I'm unwilling to "trim"
it's all or nothing
not as extreme as a buzz
but the directions will be "short as you can go with scissors"
when the time comes