Marathon Thoughts 2: Spun

I'm spun. 

Part of me would like to omit this from the blog altogether. Hole up and not write for a while until it blows over.

Because it's hard to organize these thoughts, when your mind is spinning uncontrollably...

******

I am down on Smart Phones but am inspired at how they helped keep people safe. 

(I'm also listening to a civilian's recording of the audio from last night's gun fight while I compose this. what a world) 

I am down on Surveillance but am intrigued at how a Shoplift (Fear) Cam helped catch these monsters. 

I've admonished The News and the fear-mongering of the contemporary mini news cycle. I don't believe half of what I'm seeing and yet I cannot look away. 

I'm not afraid. I was afraid for a long time after 9/11 but won't be this time. 

I'm not angry. I'm disappointed. 

I was upset they killed the Older Brother. I would have liked to hear his side of the story.

I don't feel a stronger connection to Boston now. This bomb exploded in North Dakota and Kansas just as much as it exploded at the finish line of the Boston Marathon. 

I hope we don't start a Ten Year war with Russia. LOL. 

I'm spun. 

Marathon Thoughts 1: Mission Creep

the tendency for a task, esp a military operation, to become  

 unintentionally wider in scope than its initial objectives

The bombing at the Marathon was horrifying.

There's a Fred Rogers quote that he attributed to his Mother, who told him in times of great disaster to "Look for the helpers"

they were certainly there at the Finish Line.  Look for them when graphic images bombard you.  They will be there.

*****

Scarier to me now is that Wheel of Violence will only continue to spin

(maybe it's never stopped)

somewhere in Massachusetts today a teenage boy ponders a family member who lost a life or limb

and that boy will muster up the courage over the next several years to join the Army

and eventually he'll find himself in a country that has nothing to do with the Boston Marathon

and he will be assigned the task of killing people.  that will be his job.

because of this madness he'll probably be willing to do it.

To me that is scarier than a pressure cooker full of nails. 

Chronicles of Wasted Potential: Bet On Your Baby

Bet On Your Baby was right up my alley. in my mind.

The title implied that Gambling would be a central theme of the show. Check.

I assumed the clientele would be Struggling-Wannabe-Hollywood-Actors-with-Kids,

and I imagined how much Satisfaction I would get from watching these horrible people pimp out their children to the Television

for what: a cash prize, a new car, a union card...

my hopes were high until the show actually started.  mere seconds in and I knew we were doomed.

they kept alluding to a "College Fund" the cash prize was seemingly connected too.  There would be no news reports 5 years from now about parents squandering the prize money the children had earned. Damn.

the host is an obnoxious woman and the first Mother was equally wretched. the baby was adorable but her husband was an immasculated shell of man who quickly hopped into a pink ballerina's tutu, just to get off stage and away from the two horrible women.

the editing was so poor in the Very First Game (a countdown clock, a poorly generated "dramatic" finish) that my old lady and I both vomited and vowed to never watch television again without waiting thirty minutes after dinner.

Excerpts From A Public Discussion Regarding Written Music (or perhaps something deeper)

(Editor's Note: This conversation was not at all hostile, as most public forums tend to be. I admire the man who started this discussion, but not for that reason. Authors here are initialed because the identities are insignificant. I don't know most of these cats. I've pulled my favourites from this discussion and left them chronological, if only to accent how late I joined the party)

Cliffs Notes personal background, aka: why Joey's simple status hit home so hard:

-Dad taught me to play by ear.
-self schooled thereafter in punk rock.
-wrote letters above every note of walking basslines to survive jazz band SENIOR YEAR in high school
-felt childish because of this
-honed reading skills
-took every sight reading bass class Berklee offered (because there was no homework. You just had to sight read)
-still enjoy flipping open the book to a tune I don't know, pulling up the audio online, giving a listen and reading it down, then trying to play it.

JUjr: I hope I never learn how to read music. I mean, given that attitude, I doubt I will. But still.

ESR: there is nothing that you can know that you will be a worse/less creative musician for knowing

JUjr: I have no use for it. You can do it. I choose not to. I tried a bit to. It's just none of my business. Charts are for dorks. Math is dumb

CC: math is for people. so is music. don't put us down

JUjr: It's true. But it's more fun to ignorantly whack away at them. Reading music is like reading spoilers. I don't wanna know how it ends!

JOEYJIVES: If you read tabs you read music if you jot down chords on a napkin then play them later than you read music don't argue against knowledge MAN it's not becoming

CS: It's not for everyone. I think it was Dizzy Gillespie who said he liked to play with mostly "ear players". You need to be able to mark a chart to compose and arrange for a few different instruments tho.

JUjr: I get where you're coming from. And it's worked well for you. And you're one of the cooler ppl I've known and don't really have the 'tude of people who can read. And you joe are an ear player who can read well. It's different for me. Everybody plays different right? Different things work for different people right. Just pull it outta you, if it's there. Z'what I'M sayin.

JUjr: With yo HEART not yo HANDS.

SG: How is this different than reading any other second language nomenclature in a post-Cagean world and if it's not then is this racist?

GH: When I started playing out, there was a stigma against knowing too much theory - you were either "too Berklee" (code for having studied somewhere) or condescended to by slumming fusioneers ("I love punk rock - it's so primitive!"). I used to hear both.

As far as I can tell, there's nothing wrong with either approach, though the idea that theory & such can ruin your playing still seems kind of ridiculous. I saw an interview in the 90's where Bill Frisell was asked about that & he replied - I'm paraphrasing here - "you can also make crappy music without learning to read."

JUjr: And now I'm a racist. This has taken some interesting turns.

JUjr: I also hope that I haven't discouraged anyone from reading music, and realize that it can sound alittle ignorant. Maybe I'll learn one of these days my girlfriend Jess has talked about teaching me in the past. But the idea of lording an inability over someone is something I've always been against. But so is taking pride in ignorance. Maybe we'll all be able to laugh over a cup of tea about it. Or whatever.

Balance

The year is 2013

not 1695

which is unfortunate

because if it was 1695

I could really go hard on my young music students

I doubt Johann Sebastian Bach played soccer or did karate as a young piano prodigy

it's easy to appreciate the well-rounded-ness of my students today

(the music geeks at Berklee that didn't appreciate sports, or Anything-But-Music always irked me)

Teaching for me in 2013 is a Balance

if it is too Easy there is no Growth and they are merely Entertained, which is not sustainable

if it is too Hard they quickly become Frustrated, and move onto one of the million Other Things

teaching for me is pushing to the very edge of Fun

Supremecy2: Love and Money

Day 2 of Supreme Court marriage battles

if I have the story straight (pun intended)

this lady Ethel was with her partner for decades

worth emphasizing: DECADES

and when her partner died Ethel got whacked with Estate Taxes over 400k

(the sticking point is this figure is Way higher than a surviving heterowidow would have to pay)

Estate Taxes are no joke and 400k is Real Money.

the kind of Real Money that breeds lies & broken bones and things far worse,

like court cases and social revolutions.

like getting The Supremes off the golf course and into their robes for a while.

this isn't about Love. this is about Money. who was I trying to fool?

(myself)

Supremecy

The Supreme Court is hearing a case regarding California's ban on same sex marriage today

and I can't help but think there must be Something more important to deal with

than who can marry who.

worth noting that Heterosexuals have historically been pretty bad at marriage.

also worth noting that Dictionary.com recognizes gay marriage.

the "catch" is that the people of California voted against gay marriage

(which doesn't seem right.)

insert money and power and lobbyists

and "The Side With The Most Money Wins"

and it starts to make more sense

so hopefully The Supremes will say the right thing today:

"Yeah...sure. Whatever."

How Does Anthony of Padua Keep Finding My Things?

I had to search to determine which St. Anthony I was looking for

for there are many. 

Our man is Anthony of Padua

his story is too good to paraphrase and worth reading 

the idea of praying to St. Anthony to help find your missing shit

probably came from Mom & Dad

(always seemed sort of fake to me

maybe Wrong is a better word than fake? maybe not.)  

(I don't have to explain why praying to a Saint to help you find your missing shit seems selfish and not really the point of prayer) 

even the lowly Wikipedia refuses to mention the missing-shit-prayer

my brother recently texted a short crass poemy version, 

"Tony, Tony rally round, 

  something lost

  that must be found"

minimal internet research this morning provided a website where someone posted the same poem, testimonial style with small variations, from Chicago, Jamaica, as far as Poland. 

for me the praying to St. Anthony was about not freaking out, 

about taking a quiet moment to cool down,

admit that You lost something 

reflect on why it is important to you

admit that you need help finding it 

and that in that quiet moment you generally remember where your missing shit is.  

CATM

The Story, as I know it:

Ross' ex-girlfriend had the idea and they shared a laugh

so he shared it with me

(then Darkness)

months later an idea for a song popped into my head

and I couldn't shake it

so we worked it to nearly 60% completion

until Life swallowed us up

(more Darkness)

next I heard that it was the background of a '30 Rock' scene

(a faux-movie poster)

it does not matter if Ross'-ex-Liz stole or borrowed the idea

from Tina's-character-Liz

the real question is broader:

can two different people, thousands of miles apart, independently come up with the same idea?

(for example, Con Air: the Musical)

I vote Yes.

bananastream

a simple thought
such as
I could eat a banana now
leads to a less simpler thought
such as
that first caveguy/cavegal
who mustered the courage to peel Her
and eat what's inside
that's Real.
real Something (to be determined).
if Time is more valuable(powerful?) than Money
Hunger may be more powerful than Time
if you could measure such things
i'm still hungry
for knowledge and also bananas.

Concert Review 2

THE QUEERS / TEENAGE BOTTLEROCKET / MASKED INTRUDER / THE ACROBRATS

Church, Boston, MA 3/3/13

The Acrobrats will someday tell their grandchildren that they opened for the Queers.

Masked Intruder is not just a catchy name, they actually wear masks!  What else can I say?

Teenage Bottlerocket was better than I anticipated. Is it fair to say that the songs sung by Kody were a bit more melodic & catchy and the songs sung by Ray were a bit more raw & energetic? Maybe. It would be Unfair to assume they each wrote those particular songs, and then judge them on that assumption. I am intrigued and will do further research.

The Queers opened with "Tamara is a Punk" and never looked back. We danced shouted and raised our fists to "I Met Her At the Rat" "Kicked Out of the Webelos" "I Hate Everything" "You're Tripping" "Granolahead" and probably 30 more songs during a 30 minute set.

My journalistic integrity must be questioned at this point. I tried to get as close to Joe Queer as possible, like a fanatical Beatles girl, only drunk. I let ugly people push me around while riding the wave of loud power chords and an overwhelming smell of body odor.

Joe Queer taught me many years ago that a) it's ok to write silly songs and b) it's ok for those silly songs to be energetic and intense and VERY real. 

Thank you Joe.

Hypocritic Oath

This isn't really about Hypocrisy

but I won't let that stand in the way of a catchy headline

My birthday was Incredible this year. Heart warming even. 

and if you read my last post...

Please don't read my last post. Let's put it that way.

I don't think I'm a hypocrit.  but I do contradict myself.  all the damn time. 

maybe that's ok.  my ideas can be fluid.

because my environments and situations are fluid.  the world is fluid.

the world is awesome.  life is good.  celebrate each lap.  I love cake. 

Anniversorry

Just when you've convinced yourself

that everything is connected

everything is Fluid

that we're on a 45 degree slope

climbing positively towards the stars!

at least a 20 degree path

slow, steady progress

and then there's your Birthday

stuck in the fucking mud

reminding that it's all a big circle

spinning in place

back to the starting line

anything to show for the past lap

besides the notch on the belt

that signifies we're that much Closer to the End?

who wants cake?

Dairy. and also Aliens.

I was thinking about cow's milk

in that it's produced by cows, for baby cows.

not for humans.

I'm sure with enough money and research you could prove Milk is BAD

and then someone else with more money would prove that not only is Milk GOOD but also that the first research team were a bunch of racist pedophiles with no credibility.

but this isn't about that (Money),
this is about Milk

I imagined the eventual colonization of Earth by aliens.  The mother and father alien arguing at the morning table:

"Go wake that lazy boy of yours up, Glargamel.  He needs to milk the human!"

"Ah let him sleep, Glargamass.  He had a tough night..."

"You are too easy on him, he needs to learn that our girl is a LIVING CREATURE and that if you don't milk her at the same time every morning she gets real bitchy..."

Waiter

It was only four hours waiting for her

and it wasn't "bad"

(because there is no such thing as Bad or Good)

I drew some doodles and wrote some poems

(I tried to ignore the lingering Infinite Sadness)

I read Joseph Conrad's "Heart of Darkness"

and at one point he hits on Restraint

-specifically the restraint of the hungry cannibals,
the lack of restraint by Kurtz, etc-

and I thought about restraint in my own life

and came up with this very blog

in that my Worst stories are probably my Best stories
and that I restrain myself from posting them

if you asked me in public why I restrain from writing them here I would lie, right to your face, something like this:

-that the goal for this space is to emit Positive energy into the Universe, via words
-that this space should inspire my young students if they were to come across it

when the private reasons are a bit harsher:

-to not embarrass my family
-to create a revised autobiography

Conrad did the same thing. Shot himself the chest during a low point. His autobiography reads that the scar on his chest came from a wound suffered in a duel. How honorable! Much nicer than a suicide attempt. Don't believe everything you read. Especially here.

so I began compiling a list of the worst things I've ever done and was 6 or 7 deep when she texted that she was done and looking for me.

Some of the other women had come out quite shaken over the course of the four hours and I can admit it was entertaining to witness but not her... she had a quietly confident apathy about the whole ordeal that was downright inspiring. She is beautiful.

Pitchers & Catchers

Lou Merloni was in Florida yesterday and said on the radio

that Red Sox pitcher Alfredo Aceves was standing on the mound

in full uniform

with a bucket of balls

gunning them towards home plate

but there was no catcher
no one else on the field at all

just a grown man
by himself on the field
hucking balls at a fence

in uniform

and that's only Day 1
and that's only my SECOND favorite story so far

“Everything is fine,” Brentz said. “After the rookie program, I had an accident. Everything is fine, but I was cleaning my gun and it accidentally discharged on me and I sustained an injury. Nothing serious. That’s why I was out of big league camp, because at the time I’m not able to participate fully, but I am recovering very fast and should be OK for the season.

Mr. Brentz, 

missing Major League Camp

because you accidently shot yourself 

while cleaning a gun

is Something Serious. 

-Joe

I Don't Want To Join Your Band

I don't want to join your band.  It's nothing personal.  It's not you, it's me.

I'm down on the entire concept of a Band.  It's an antiquated idealism:
____________________________________________

1) Collaborative Art is Difficult

2) Quality Players are generally involved in Many Projects at a given time

I need a musician in my band who is so talented that I would question why he/she wouldn't rather be doing hir own thing.

3) The Show Must Go On

each Artist should have a Network of Interested Players.  what if there is a conflict with your Band Member and a Big Gig?  what if you have differing opinions on how Big this gig actually is?  (what do you mean you're skipping the Tonight Show for your sister's wedding?)

4) The Singer chooses the songs

doesn't really make sense any other way, right?

5) The Songwriter makes the money
____________________________________________

Hopefully that helps!

I want to learn your songs.  I'm going to learn them anyways.  because I love Songs.

If you ever need me for a gig, just give a ring.  I'll be ready.

Your Waiter is God: An Open Letter to Pastor Alois Bell

I give God 10% why do you get 18

Pastor Bell,

 God doesn't accept US dollars, nor pesos, or even euros.

 You have not given God any money. Ever.

 The 10% you refer to goes to your church.

 Would you like to know how someone gives money directly to God?

 By giving it to someone less fortunate than you.

 for instance,

 a waiter.

 I believe that I can understand organized religion because I understand making music

 by myself,

 with my wife,

 with a band,

 with a symphony,

 that the whole experience is magnified as more like-minded people are included

 and I can assume that also applies to prayer, meditation

 and the other things that happen at church.

 In summation, Pastor Bell you are a penny pinching bully that (for some reason) wants a service at no cost

 please don't blame God for that.

love
Joe

Muse

When I feel Happy, I listen to music.
When I feel Sad, I listen to music.

I listen to certain songs and I'm transported back to a specific moment from my Past.
I listen to certain songs and I imagine the limitless Future.

I hear the Byrds "Turn Turn Turn" and I think of Uncle Steve's brother's funeral.
I heard the news of my brother's baby and was so overcome with Joy that a fully composed lullabye fell out of my brain through my fingers and onto the page and piano.

in summation if you need me
i'll be learning a song
or writing a song
maybe just listening
jamming with a willing student on their favourite song
demanding a frustrated student replay their least favourite scale
or being a student and taking a lesson
seeing a good show and feeling that lousy feeling afterwards that means your alive and you want it bad
perhaps reading a book about a musician
watching a performance on film
conspiring
yearning
or desiring
(which is what I call listening to Bob Dylan's album Desire)

Fiction2: The SuperFan

The SuperFan

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

"Your name is not on the list" she said firmly. Then she sighed deeply and dramatically. 

"Is it grouped in with the other Salem State students?" he asked, frustrated. 

"The other students, from Bunker Hill, have been here for over an hour." This time she emphasized the name of the college, as well as the very last word. 

"I'm a transfer, from Salem to Bunker Hill, that must be the confusion... my name isn't grouped to Dr. Lorenza?"

"You mean Dr. Lorenz-o?" 

He frowned and looked at the ground. "Yes." 

She grinned a devilish grin at him and he couldn't believe it. "Rita will never stand for this shit kid, get your act together. Fifth floor, third door on the right."

"Rita...right.  Thanks again."

--------

He found the group of med students easily and tried to blend in but the doctor picked him right out. 

"Excuse me sir, what are you doing here?" 

"Doctor Lorenzo, I'm sorry I'm late..."

She interrupted him "What do you mean late, who are you? What are you doing here?" The group of students he had tried to blend into were talking, but had gone silent.

"I'm Daryl, the transfer student, we spoke last week..." he looked quickly into her eyes at first but mostly at the floor thereafter. He spoke nervously and rushed. 

"I don't have time for this shit, stay with the group, and we'll talk in my office after assignments" she barked at him, handing him a folder.  

As she handed the other students their folders he went quickly towards the back of the room. He could feel her looking for him. Then miraculously she was looking at her cell phone. "NO ONE do ANYTHING until I get back. FIVE MINUTES." she yelled as she jogged off down the hall.

The group chatter resumed and he slid into the back silently. Now he was confident and it was easy to overhear what he was hoping to overhear because they chattered like children. 

Eventually he caught the eyes of the girl with the thick black glasses, gestured his head, and drew her away from the group.

"Did you say you have a physical?" 

She looked at him with apprehension and nodded slightly, but silently.

"Ok, great. I'll trade you this frost bitten toe for your physical?" 

"Why would you do that?" Suddenly she was loud. "A frost bitten toe sounds amazing. I'm not going to suck your dick or anything in a stupid trade. I'm a lesbian." She emphasized the last word.

He stared at her blankly for a second and weighed the risks of telling her the truth. 

"The name on your folder, Charlie Belly, did you know he was a singer? Do you like country music?"

"What are you some sort of super fan? Gross. Yes give me that frozen fucking toe and take your stupid singer and you better not say anything about this to anyone. I'll never admit it." 

"Me either." 

He looked at the folder in his hand and found the room number and made sure the hall was empty when he opened the door, entered the room, shut the door behind him, and locked it.  

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

The front desk secretary cried when she realized that there were so many warning signs she should have noticed. Doctor Lorenzo could not be reached for comment and all correspondence is to be forwarded through her attorney. The doctors refusal to cooperate slowed the process, but the other med students were never really considered to have anything to do with it anyways, right? The girl with the thick black glasses was bumped to the head of the class after her fine work on the toe amputation and never told anyone about her folder trade. She eventually needed sleeping pills but still had horrible nightmares. 

The State of the Bandit Kings Part 2: Open Jam

A huge facet of the Bandit Kings
(that I neglected to mention in the last post)
is the Monday night OPEN JAM
at The Rhumb Line
in Gloucester, Massachusetts.

BKs have hosted for the past three years
Dan our guitarist planted the seeds many years ago
grew it into the institution it is today.
and although other Caretakers have managed it for brief spells,
we're basically inheriting decades of Dan's hard work.

we're honored to have his blessing,
as well as the blessing of the Owner and Staff
and the stakes are high. failure is not an option.

Things have gone well the past three years,
incredible people show up every week
and everyone has had fun
no one can deny Dan has done the lions share of the Work.
(Dan can play The Jam itself like an instrument,
setting up groups, leading at times, backing off at others,
always keeping the vibe swift yet fun)

Important to note here:

1) Nothing has been planned until now.

because we wanted to take in every moment before Dan heads west.
we accomplished that.

2) We can't just play without Dan starting now.

because we'll sound like the "Bandit Kings Without Dan" no one wants that.

The last post details why we cannot replace Dan with another guitarist.
So: we'll go into hiding
to train, prepare, rearrange, reconfigure, etc...

In the interim, Dennis & I will hold down the fort
and bring in some of your favorite guitarists for opening & closing sets.

THANKS to Mark Pelosi for a killer night last week
come on down to check out Joe Wilkins tonight
witness the madness of Inge Berge on January 21st (no children allowed)
mark your calendars: Bandit Kings return February 11th and 25th

we value your opinions & feedback so I'll probably setup an Open Jam FB page (sigh...)

hey... thanks again, man.

That Smell (is the television rotting your brain)

Recently there has been an advertisement on television for an air freshening company,

where blindfolded civilians are brought into a 'smelly' area,

for instance a dumpster, with trash littered about the place.

The interviewer asks the blindfolded civilian what they smell,

and because a BRANDED air freshener is plugged in nearby,

the civilian responds, "Oh wow, it smells Wonderful, like flowers and lavender..." etc.

then they remove their blindfold and are pleasantly stunned and amused.
-----

My personal issue is that our sense of smell is a defense mechanism

and I can think of many examples where I'd rather NOT smell lavender and flowers

(two quick examples off the top) 1 house is burning 2 a gas leak

------
The decision to cancel our cable entirely

is not directly linked to this particular advertisement

but it helped to cement the decision.

Public reaction to our plan has been divided into

Camp A: Really?

Camp B: We cancelled that shit SO long ago, where have you been?

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.

**********

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