Fallout Shelter on Friday July 26th

Hope to see you there. TIX

Blues night

I blame the media for any cognitive dissonance. 

I even wrote a song about them.

You never know

I was playing solo at a yacht club and someone asked me to play the Wilson Picket anthem “Mustang Sally” the other night.
Many musicians will lament the popular requests. It’s the “Freebird” scenario: the common request that’s too common for liking. Other offenders might include “Sweet Caroline, Jessies girl,” and maybe even “Don’t stop believing.”

I don’t play with cover bands so I don’t have to endure this sort of thing. Still…Mustang Sally…the song the everyone can sing. I sang it for her. After she told me that it was her Mothers favorite song and that she had just died.
So…you never know the story behind a song request.

Casual Celebrity Assassination

I was handed a book of an unknown author (to me) and told it was a good one, and then given the comment “they say he was an awful man.”

A fellow musician randomly tells me that “Jimmy Buffett’s music sucked.” He obviously knows that I spent time with Buffett but the insult appears completely out of context.

And I’m reminded of an Ocean’s 11 conversation:

Danny: And I always confuse Monet and Manet. Now which one married his mistress?

Tess: Monet.

Danny: Right, and then Manet had syphilis.

Tess: They also painted occasionally.

—–
I stand in the check out line and my eyes catch the colorful tabloids. Divorce! Money! Mistress! Lies!

Humans will always gossip, this is true… but Casual Celebrity Assassination “IS” mob mentality.

And we haven’t come up with a pill that will solve mob mentality.
Not yet.

 

July 4th

It ain’t the end of the world even if it looks that way sometimes….A big happy birthday to the U.S.

Zero plan

Got a call yesterday to fill in for a special guest in Salem MA at the Mercy tavern with the Sunday night Eric Reardon residency. I happened to be playing a special event at a club in Marblehead that afternoon so the timing couldn’t be better. I made the second gig.

One of the unsung benefits of living the musician life is the spontaneous call, walking into a performance setting with an unrehearsed band and with zero plan. And you just see how it goes.

You play with musicians you haven’t played with and you meet strangers with stories and you don’t know what will happen. And there’s a great magic and excitement in life when you go with that and engage it, while dismissing anxiety or high expectation.
Like a guest chef in a foreign kitchen you start opening cupboards to see what’s there and what you’ll cook everyone for dinner.
And you’ll do it without a plan because you find if you’re open to the adventure, you’ll never need one.

Politics

I’m proud that I’ve never posted a political comment on social media, ever.
I have opinions about it but it’s not my place to shout it from the digital rooftops.
And despite what media tells you about the American populace being divided, it’s always been that way, however I see a country that appears more and more united as we get closer to November.

I’m on Team Humanity.

Visions of a Dancer

Less is more

As it turns out…this can be the case.

Less noise.  Less calories.  Less stress.   What does less mean?

Less guitar strings?
(Visions of a Dancer was performed on a guitar with 3 strings).

When you’re wrong

For years when asked about it I’ve been saying my Gibson Super 400 jazz guitar (pictured below) is a 1970.  After some research with the Gibson people I now understand it’s a 1967.   Maybe not a big deal in the long run but I can’t help but think how did I come across that piece of (seemingly now) wrong information?

And why did it go unquestioned for so long?

When we think that what we know is accurate and then proves to be otherwise, how do we feel about it and what do we do next?

(The “Sauce” album)

Grocery Store lyrics

I heard some more garbage lyrics in a grocery store this morning and thought and it made me think of a recent conversation.
I was asked how do I write a song?
How do I actually do it.
I confessed that there is no one way of doing it but many ways, and if you’re doing it well, well then there’s a kind of magic to it that is beyond a method.
That being said, there are some prerequisites for lyric writing that help:

1) Have something worth communicating and be economic about it.
2) Decide that you’re going to put it into a form that can be understood.
3) Cook, distribute, watch and listen and then repeat. Many, many times.

4) (for my own, avoid cliches and well worn phrases, of course you might not be very popular but then again my goal was never to be played in grocery stores).

Supporting African writer Marc Alexandre Oho Bambe in NYC (post Covid era)

PS read a lot and hang out with great writers.

Si

4 Walls

Walk with me one more time
Under this cloudless night sky
Four walls can’t hold you tonight
If they say its wrong
I know that it’s right

Doctor say
He can’t see any other way
didn’t know how much I leaned on you
Until I heard you say
4 walls can’t hold me tonight
4 walls can’t hold me tonight

Don’t leave without saying goodbye
I’ll hold your hand until the end
You know you can leave your body and fly
4 walls won’t hold you tonight

Doctor say
He can’t see any other way
didn’t know how much I leaned on you
Until I heard you say
4 walls can’t hold me tonight
4 walls can’t hold me tonight

FLY turns 20 today


The Hamster Wheel

The Hamster wheel is easy to understand.
You channel all your resources, your time, $, towards reaching a goal.
Maybe it’s Instagram fame, or Spotify play numbers.

But you’re actually running in place.
And someone else is benefitting from the energy you put out.

The time you spend on the hamster wheel goes to them.
The advertisers, the tech overlords.

Now, here’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for.

Maybe you don’t know about the hamster wheel and jump on it.
And then you discover it, (most likely because you crash and burn in some ways).

And then you see that others around you know about it.
But no one talks about it.
Maybe you find yourself silent along with them.

Ask yourself why.

Catching up

Been going through my phone and email accounts emailing people I haven’t talked to since…forever.
Biggest question I get: Are you a bot?
Ha!
Then I have to answer a question or to which I always enjoy the challenge…
This is Frank Morey, haven’t seen him since I helped book him a few shows 10 years ago…we were playing on the same night at the The Town & The City Festival a few weekends past…
So…if you look through your email folders you might find an email from me, reaching out through the years, checking in, checking up…
Or just saying hi…from time to time.
Thanks to Amy Beauregard for the timely shot!

 

Renegades and Healers

I’ve never seen the conflict between the ruling class and the commoners (everyone else) be more transparent than it is right now.
There’s a worldwide running narrative of the people against their leaders, some of whom are obeying the real elite, the wealthiest international individuals who can’t be held accountable by any system that they manipulate or control.
Still, there’s hope…
In the bloody history of humankind we’ve always had the same sort of problem in the caste system (with individual greed being the real spiritual dilemma) but the renegades and the healers have always risen from anonymity to bring us forward.
When the time comes those leaders will emerge.

“We going to fly over everything that we see / when no one knows what happens next we’re going to be renegades and healers”

People will step forward. They always have.

I still believe in people.

Waking up in Barcelona

Waking up in Barcelona
There’s nothing to do but drink coffee slowly
And feel the sun
That comes through the window

These old walls laugh at us all
Bullet holes older than my soul

Down in the square
Before the internationals rise for the day
There’s only locals
I’m looking at them looking at me
Why don’t you come to Sunday dinner they ask
It’s not just the old world you’re eating

These old walls laugh at us all
Bullet holes older than my soul

Passing these eyes on the street
They wear their lives on their faces
And they know
There’s too many people here
from other places

Some hate but they take my money anyway

These old walls laugh at us all
Bullet holes older than my soul