adamhillrocks

Electric Guitar, Free Form Gospel and the death of Steve McNair

2009-07-06T17:11:00.000-07:00

Music wise I've been flirting with Leonard Cohen. I had borrowed 10 Songs years ago and always liked the smooth jazz twixt all nighter vibe he pulled out. It sounds so smooth and slick and then he comes in like the 4 Horsemen. It's a nice mix. I guess the Le's have it because Levon Helm's new record Electric Dirt sounds just as fabulous. I think Levon may be one of my favorite singers of all time. What a voice.

So I played guitar at church again. Rhythym as lead thing. I've decided I don't ever plan on buying effects. I toyed with it after the first session of church guitar but I find that if I do all my tricks of playing with the volume and the tone and the way I pluck, or strum, or hit, or caress or muffle the dang thang I can get enough out of it to pull off any mood. Perfect for any occasion. I learned something too this weekend. I guess worship band protocol. Don't bust out so called secular riffs. I call them so called because I don't think any music is not of God and not worth playing for God-it's putting God in a box and I think it's a big reason a-lot of worship music is redundant and bland. But that's a whole other issue and I'm a big fan of respect and doing the right thing so if it's a rule I'm on it. And no I don't think Norwegian Death Metal or Shoot Your Girl and do blow rap is of God either. So a harp player was laying down some blasting Little Walter kind of noise and I strummed some "Help Me" (which is Sonny Boy Williamson another Chess Harp Man) and got called out for it. Please no non worship music. This was during sound check ok. I didn't bust this out at 8:30 service. "Help Me" is also "Green Onions" by Booker T. and the MG's for those of you playing at home. Well I felt a George Harrison melt down worthy of the "Let it Be" sessions coming on "Well fine I just won't play anything then." But I decided that the little voice in my head saying "You Don't belong in church, your style doesn't belong in church, your music doesn't have a place here," was the devil on my shoulder. So I kept playing and asked the guy to clarify. In so many words, "You mean you don't want me to bust out "Cocaine" out of reverence but I can do what I do, even though what I do is bluesy and twangy and country". He gave me a resounding yes. I thought about leaving this story out but if I am going to be fair about blogging what I am learning and experiencing as I navigate taking my music then I have to lay this out there. I think it's got a good God story too. Whatever you are self concious about -me thinking I am nothing but a bar fly musician and not remotely capable of doing anything for church is just the devil tryin to bring ya down as Kayne West so eloquently borrowed it. So honesty is the best policy. Whoda thunk it. Had a great talk about life and my struggles with music and God later with the guy. So lesson learned and I may not 100% agree but I'm a team player if there ever was one. Just ask my boss.

My favorite part of worship this weekend was when we let the song fall apart and vamped on 2 chords and really as one guy put it "Caught waves with the holy spirit." Sounds hippie but that was it. That was it 100%. I felt something happen in my playing. Maybe some sort of blessing for making it through the struggle. My guitar started sounding like a horn as I plucked and muffled the chords and strangled the guitar neck and bent the bridge and tore up from under. I slide back from one chord to the other like a star chasing jazz man the sweat on my hands making me miss and nail the tone in some sort of sloppy perfection. I could feel the angels digging. Maybe. Maybe it blew big chunks and all the guitar guys in church were whispering to their wives "He's crap." Really it reminded me of Astral Weeks by Van the Man. Sounded a-lot like it.

So Steve McNair penned the ultimate Nashville country song. A girl a little too old for Jerry Lee and a pistol. What has really irked me is how many people at work and on blogs I've read say "Well that's what you get." Wow really, he got what he deserved? What if we all got what we deserved? I guess sin is really relative to a-lot of people. I guess these guys have never lusted in their heart like Jimmy Carter or lied to "save" someones feelings. I guess these girls have never hated someone or spoke bad of someone. I'm reminded of when I saw Tim Keller last year and he told the Prodigal Son story. He told the story from the point of view of the brother who stayed home and thought because he had done the right things he deserved his father's love and gold. He hated his brother when his father welcomed him home. Hated him because he was not getting "what he deserved."
But it's true. That is what you get. You go around chasing a girl when your married you are probably going to reap some sort of bad reward. Married men live longer than unmarried men. This true only for married men that act married. I think Woody Allen is the poster child for this kind of stuff. He married his nanny right? He did it and it was artsy. Steve did it and it was a scandal. Woody didn't get popped in the head because aesthete New Yorkers are afraid of guns. But Woody said "The heart wants what it wants." Granted I've made some of the biggest mistakes of my life not listening to my heart and doing what I thought was right but there is a standard of right that we have to still aspire to. I think it's hard for Christians in this era to make this work. How do you have accountability without sounding judgemental?

For some reason I thought about "Saving Private Ryan." In the end of the movie Ryan (played by Jason Bourne) asks his wife "Was I a good man?" He asks this because he knew that he was alive because a group of men, a band of brothers, risked their lives and lost some of their friends to save him. He knew there was a sacrifice made so he could live. On the heels of the 4th of July weekend it is good to note that we all owe the men and women who died to keep us free the honor of trying to live the best we can. Ryan knew he had an obligation and he made his best effort to be something those men who died would not look upon their wounds as in vain. I don't think Steve was there. Shame. I don't think Michael Jackson was either. I'm trying. I try everyday.

Jeff Fisher looking like Josh Brolin and laying it down like an Oscar Winner told a press conference yesterday in so many words Steve would say "I love you. I'm sorry. Forgive me." I guess that's all were left with really.

Yes I am still working on songs. I got derailed by a bathroom floor.

Florida Mix Tape-Vacation run down. Music Thoughts. My life on the D-list.

2009-06-28T12:18:00.000-07:00

I was away in Florida for a week. I thought about music a-lot. Made an i-pod mix to take with me. There wasn't much sitting and relaxing time so I spent time making meals spinning the tunes. This was the food for thought. "Little Shiva's Song" by Slim Dunlap. I really like Slim's guitar playing. So chordy and American sounding. It's like blues and jazz but has a great pop rock feel. This little tune is some sort of small local band anthem. Guys like Slim, local hero guys fall into that Volunteer Fireman of Rock idea I laid out in the last blog. I always liked the idea of a guy who had to pick up a few things from the grocer on the way home from band practice. "I'd Rather Give Out Than Give In" by Tim Carroll. Holy crap Tim's songs are so simple and so right on. This one does the country trick of taking a simple phrase and turning it over and over through a few simple verses. His guitar playing is nice too. I had some ZZ Top and some Skatalites. Some Slim Harpo. I guess I was thinking sunshine and party. Nothing says that like ZZ Top and The Skatalites. I am always amazed at how much I love the song "Miles Away" by The Silos. What a dynamite song. So full of longing made resonant by plain loping drums. "Black Balloon" by The Kills was there. "Nobody Told Me" by John Lennon. Again really simple lines mixed with great non-sequiters. "There's matches in the bathroom just below the stairs." "Summer in Siam" by The Pogues made me think songwriting is only for crazy drunks. What a beauty of a song. It just floats like the breeze. Like waves. Perfect evocation. "Tired of Wrapping" by Judd and Maggie, a local Nashville duo that I ran across due to my friend Rob seeing them at a church in Philly. "Snow Cone" by Phil Hummer another local Nashville artist kicked my butt with it's plaintive wistfulness. "You're a snow cone in June, is my guitar in tune?" Reminds me of why I like one line of meaning followed by a line of silliness. The juxtaposition over time lends more and more meaning to the second seemingly meaningless line. That's how it works for me anyway. "Gasoline and Matches" by Buddy and Julie Miller tore the i-pod up. That guitar solo ate it's Wheaties for breakfast. I finished off with "Ma Blonde Est Partie" a cajun folk tune by Amedee Breaux and "I Woke Up One Morning" by Didier Hebert. These are two of my favorite "folk" songs. Old songs from the 20's or 30's both arguably ugly and out of tune. Both wrapped full of something. Some feel. Certainly not famous songs or recordings that could have been completely lost to the dust bin but were recorded and kept dear by listeners who got it. Sure they wanted to make a buck and be whatever "making it" was back then but there is something great and sweet about those people that there are not photos and bios of, just shadows. Not sure why I picked these songs, they don't necessarily mirror what I want to make but I never thought you should listen to what you do. What's the point. I'd say though Tim, Slim and Phil are all kindred spirits on the music wagon. It inspired me. That's enough. Simple songs by local heroes.

I read a-lot from De Capo Press' 2008 Best Music Writing. One of the best articles I read was "Sex Drugs and Updating Your Blog."This was by Clive Thompson and about Jonathan Coulton the Brooklyn based songwriter who set the goal for himself to write a song a week for a year and then to post them on his blog. This turned into a pretty cool little career for Jonathan. Before I start trying to whittle out a tune a week I remind myself that this model is as likely to happen again as any model for music success. The gold here for me is that there are ways to put your music out there. I bemoaned the tour till you drop model for years. Looks like I've lived long enough to see a new reality emerge. Whether or not I can capitalize on this depends on a-lot. I know I have to make a finished product. The recurring theme of the De Capo book is how labels are dead as a door nail. How myspace and You Tube have changed everything. How there is the world of A-List stars and the world of B-List stars. The A-List folks have Coca Cola money. They are probably hot. They are probably 16. They are probably a girl. The B-list are the "van bands" and folks just hacking away. There is an article on a punk band whose members know that they aren't going to get rich or start a revolution. It gives them something to do. There is a great article on the march of indie "next big thing" bands. Bands who are known by roughly 60,000 people yet get adoring reviews and press for a month so a select few can feel like they buy music that matters. I don't mean to sound cynical or bitter. I think the article sort of left me feeling this. All these Pitchfork bands come and go like pop stars. It's sort of odd given that once upon a time the indie band was supposed to be the sort of modern day band of substance. It seems like they all come and go boom. Maybe it just seems that way because everything is faster. Some of the articles talk about the problems in white masculinity and in black masculinity. I guess masculinity in general but how most indie rock boys are hapless and hyper sensitive. I thought that was funny. I related. Some good stuff on how labels are dead and pretty much the "everything you know is wrong" kind of vibe. This was good. I thought a-lot about history and context, where I am and where I was. Rap is even dead it seems. Since no one is "making it" then it gets to the question of why are you "making it" as in making art. I read an article on Keisha Cole on the plane today. She is in the A-list. If your wondering, if you have to ask I am shooting for the C-List at this point.

I think I am the only kid on the planet who didn't buy "Thriller". I didn't like Michael Jackson for some reason. I had some parachute pants. I think I sort of liked "Billy Jean" but other than that I didn't get it. I think I was on The Beatles train at that point. Maybe Bryan Adams. Robert Johnson. I felt bad when I heard he died. I saw it on Facebook to tell you the truth and thought it was The Onion being posted. Then I saw a few post updates and went to CNN and there it was. I felt bad for him because he was a sad man. He raped his face. I thought the press coverage was so odd. It was like he was something other than a pop star who obviously had serious self image problems and incredibly creepy accusations floating around. Maybe they keep that stuff quiet for a few days when you die. I guess he was a giant as they say. I felt bad for him though and everyone who had to be around him and go through watching him be a "mega star". That had to have killed him. He must have been good at what he did but I never saw anything in him. Shows what I know. I was going to walk and get some pie from Archies up the street but had to wait because a rain storm rolled in. I sat on the back porch thinking about death and art. What you leave behind, all that.

I spent last week at the beach if you can't tell. Ft Pierce was where I stayed. It used to be a drug hub. It still is in some ways. Most of the time walking around there I hash fantasy noir dialogues in my head. Day 1 was a race to get the Rental Car returned. I sweat over rental cars for some reason. I got an Archie's Fish Sandwich for dinner though. I saw a guy with a Lojack on. He walked around. I saw him later leaving. Some story turned in my head. I walked to the beach. Seems like every third car is some chop shop hack job with a bad muffler and ghetto striping on it. Screeching away from stop signs and taking corners too fast. Rushing up and down the grid of streets that lay by the ocean. Searching for an inlet where the boat with the heaven comes in. Blondes too pretty to be up so early driving silver Nissans, following bad boys in old trucks. Cops careening their necks back and forth. AK-47 tattoos at the library. Everywhere you go some sad sack looking ex con sitting staring out the window. It's like Witness Protection Villa. Anyways it's where we vacation. I think for the most part nobody wants any trouble. It's probably something like primer school for Miami or drop out school from Miami. I cooked a-lot and ate at Archies a-lot.

I watched a Leonard Cohen Documentary. Live in 2005 or something. Jarvis Cocker did a song. Watching it I thought, he would have still wrote songs if he was starting out now, labels or no labels. The "making it" doesn't matter to guys like that. And had he come along now he probably would have a had a tough time "making it". Lenny would have been geeking out with his i-book and Casio, spinning lines and pimping out his myspace page. He's a heavy a writer. Being a writer is probably more about just that "writing" as opposed to "making it". I guess a-lot of guys around me playing rock n roll or whatever, they had a different target. Maybe I should have stuck with painting because my approach would have made more sense. I'm in this for the long haul. I'm in this to make art, even if it sounds like a pop song.

Why Do You Write Songs? Stuck in the Tower of Song with me. Lucky you.

2009-06-20T18:43:00.001-07:00

To quote Jay-Z, these are just my thoughts.
This was the question posed at last week's songwriter's meeting at church. I took a-lot of notes. I never offered up any of my reasons. I don't want to seem like I'm being contrary or whatever. But I am contrary. Maybe I am being passively contrary. I lack tact sometimes. I'm not good at conveying what I mean when it comes to song writing without being mean spirited. I am opinionated when it comes to writing. I like to let my songs do the talking. Maybe it's not something I could talk about to a crowd. But I could write you this note. I hate telephones. I don't like the immediacy, the on the spot shot down. I liked letters. I like e-mail. So here I'll tell you about song writing. This is a hard question to answer in Nashville where everyone is a songwriter. The whole place sort of smacks you in the face about it, all the time. It haunts me. I know every time I drive past Studio B Elvis spit somewhere on that street. Waiting, outside looking up at the moon.

So why do I write songs?
Free beer. In other cities you get free beer when you play a show. We used to get paid in pitchers.
It's a high. When the drum machine is going and I have my palm punching down on the strings and I'm reading over some lyrics I wrote, twisting them and letting them fall, it's a high. When you find that hook that was laying there the way the words got plastered to the page. When the groove clicks. When you imagine it with a record pop at the start and then boom the song rolls. When you imagine playing it live for the first time. That's a high. This is still true.

Songs are my Morse Code. I always hate to tell anyone, anything. So I put it into songs. I used to ask for things in Morse Code as a kid. I kept doing it with songs. I had a crush on a girl. I'd tell her in a song. I was mad at someone for something they did. I'd tell them in a song. Every thing that was stuck in my throat and my chest dying to get off I put into a song. I never put it across clear either. I took bits and pieces and scrambled it all up. I hid it in boxes and cloaks. Songs were the only window. I was always too nervous to be straight forward. Then I started going to church and a whole new way of looking at it all came to me. Life changed. Around 33.

I couldn't help it. When I was in school I wrote songs acting like I was taking notes. When I had jobs I carried around a scrap piece of paper. When I worked retail I wrote on register tape. When I drove I wrote on my steering wheel on receipts. At UTK I'd walk half way to school and get an idea and sit down and write by the train tracks. I wrote on any thing I could get my hands on. I'd call my answering machine with a line. I wrote on the subway in NYC. All this stopped around 33.
I wrote songs to get girls. I wrote songs to get approval. To scream all the things I sat on.
I wrote songs because I grew up lower middle class and I wanted to be as rich as Donald Trump.
I wanted to be on TV in a suit and sunglasses.
Good songs are below the belt. A song has to have body and move.
Songs from just the head or the heart are crap. I don't care if the song came from a hard place and meant a-lot to you, if it's not good it's not good.

Songs are in the air, the guitar is like a radio antennae.
A line is good if it tastes good in your mouth, if it makes your jaw tingle. It tastes like copper from tears.
I remind myself that A.P. Carter had to be a salesman most of his life.
When I have a good song down I feel for one moment that I cheat death. That I nailed down the wind. That I put a name on some nameless emotion. That somehow I wrapped up a bunch of feathers into a pillow and lay my head to sleep. Then the pillow cuts open again and the feathers are everywhere and elusive like all those emotions between fear and love and hate. All those grey ones. Each feather a feeling.
I don't feel like me if I am not writing songs.
Writing is an obsessive compulsive habit. I used to keep a diary. I used to write poems. I still write songs. I used to write short stories. I blog. I Facebook Update. I am obsessed with writing about my experience in the world.

Writing I am tight as a glove, delivery wise I am throw it at the wall and see what sticks. I don't think you can have an exact idea of what you want. There is no point in that. I love to play guitar. I feel absolute joy playing rhythym electric guitar.
I come from mountains and moonshine. Fair or not I think this gives me some sort of edge. I think the mountains are a world of the blues. My eyes are even blue. I can't tell you anymore.
I started writing as a kid to kick everyone in the teeth that thought they were cooler than me. To kick the guy in the teeth that had the girl I wanted. I wrote to snub my nose at people. Revenge was a stone cold motivator for songwriting for years. I wanted to get rich writing songs and then go Howard Hughes. Tell the world to fly up. I wanted to be on the cover of a magazine smirking. Until about 33.

I have around 50 or so good songs. I don't consider myself an artist or a songwriter. I don't make money at it and I am not known as one. I'm a cubicle dwelling business man and I do a good job. This is who I am. This is not entirely true. Since 33 I have come to see I am a songwriter in spite of the world.
Songwriting feels like beating something. I write to be competitive. I want to write songs where everyone goes man the guy that went before him blew and that no one wants to go after me. That was a big motivator for me. I try not to feel this way anymore because it's not right or nice or realistic. But I still get itchy and feisty sometimes. I want to be the best. I realize now that there is no way to be the best. I think there can be standards of what excellence is but it is still ultimately opinion for songs. I'll take prayer. Might help. Remember this is song writing AA.

Since I turned down a record deal at 23 I will never have closure on what I could have done with my talent. I think I feel like Jeremy D on this.
Songwriting is rarely rewarding. It's like tylenol for a headache. It makes this longing go away for a moment. It's like hate. It's like feeding a wild animal. It's something you do to beat something else away. It's like a fight to the death. It's like disappearing and letting something else take your place. This has not changed.
I didn't grow up in church. I can't sing harmony. I don't read the Bible and think of songs. But I have believed since I can remember. Bring it like Rosetta Tharp or Washington Phillips or stay home. I like old Gospel. I like The Dixie Hummingbirds. But I have learned that it's about the experience and not the sound. So I find some joy now even in the pop. I always believed but never knew Jesus until I was about 33. Oddly the age he died. In my twenties I liked God because it was a good way to hate hippies. I didn't get Jesus until later. I guess I was sort of Old Testament Fire and Brimstone. I still have a tough time believing God really wants a relationship with us and cares about us but I feel it's true. Since realizing this I have climbed higher.

I went to a Baptist School. I got in trouble for singing "Centerfold" some J.Geils Band take on The Stones. I got in trouble for singing "I Love Rock n Roll" with a girl on the swings. I got in trouble for going "LALA LA LA" in music class. Looking back I can see where this was heading. I can't sing harmony. I don't know how to read music. I don't know anything about it. I was in trouble. Then I got sent to Public School and I was Public Nerd #1.
Country writing was put up on a pedastool by my family. Dolly. Hank. Cash. Patsy. The Grand Ole Opry was like a pantheon of saints. My Great Uncle sang Ernest Tubb.
Life is like a huge overwhelming noise twisting my heart until I can place it into boxes called songs.
I like choral music when I dream of Civil War Soldiers marching to their death. Otherwise it bores me. I like "Beautiful Dreamer" by The Robert Shaw Chorale.
Let's stop before I give too much away.

All that doesn't really matter now. A-lot of that isn't how I feel now.
Now I write to capture some moment, to distill my life. To work on this passion even though I have no time. I work a job, I'm a family man. I make ends meet. I want to try and make something that goes above what I've done. To connect. To dig deeper. To push away all the mean motivations and try to write not to be a rock star, or get paid but for the love of it. For once. For nothing but the love of it.

I have about 5 songs together for something new. I need to focus on writing more.

Singersongwriter. The Volunteer Fireman of Rock n Roll

2009-06-14T17:33:00.000-07:00

I remember when I had a band about 12 years ago and after we broke up and finally I started writing songs again, I thought that I'd call it "Volunteer Fireman of Rock'n'Roll." Because the whole notion of touring and hanging in bars all night and smelling like smoke wasn't something I wanted everyday but I still wanted to play rock n roll. I like a good beer buzz. I don't mind some cigarette smoke. I like drums. I like Disco Balls. I like Hatch Print Posters. I like velvet curtains. I like old furniture. I like waiting around and drinking beer and reading liberal rags. But more important I love turning on the drum machine and getting out the acoustic and going through the lines I wrote down on the backs of receipts. So I didn't want to live at the firehouse but I could be a volunteer fireman for rock n roll. Get it?

Lately I've been at a similar crossroads. About 3-4 years ago I stopped writing songs. I kind of stopped playing live about 2 years ago. But yet again I've been working on 4-5 tunes and planning a record. For some reason I got off on wondering what the first song on the record is going to sound like. Sort of a little early in the game but if I can figure out the start and the end I'm gold. I got 3 options. 1. Barn burner. Bluegrass Chuck Berry slam. I'd have to get real drums. Of all the things I do, I think this is a big part of my sound. At least it was since 1997. Something in G. But maybe this is something I'm done with. At least for now. I keep wishing I could lay down something like Tom Waits' "Big in Japan" or The Kills "No Wow" or The Eels "Fresh Blood." I listened to all 3 of those today and kept trying to find a way in. It dawned on me that I'm not there. I'm not living in that hotel. I maybe was when I was 25. Not now. Option 3 is a meditation. Something like "Miles Away" by The Silos. Something about this is counter to how I've always been. I always come out swinging. So maybe it's time to come out with a smile. Sounds hippie. Really though "Willingness" started with a mid tempo tune and then took a detour into bluegrass gothic hell. Maybe this time I'll keep the car on the road.

So I noticed that the next church writer's night will be about-
"We'll start our time together talking about, "Why Am I Writing Songs and What Do I Do With Them?". Even though the answers will be different for each person I know that it's important for us to dig into these kinds of questions.

Hoo-boy. Yeah no crap. I think part of wanting to write a new set of songs is that somehow I think it's going to crack the case on so many little things about me that bug me. How about another tangent? The new Donald Miller book is sort of about re-writing your life. It deals with him trying to make his book "Blue Like Jazz" and ostensibly his life into a movie. I think sonwriting is a-lot like that.

I'm not country. I tried to be for a long time. I like a-lot of country songwriters. I tried to do my thing where I appealed to the Steve Earle crowd or Alt Country or whatever and for a window back when The Old 97s were fresh and that scene was still rocking that worked but now I'm not country. I have a friend who says he's southern but not country. I think I only recently got this. I have friends that make music that are country. Sure I could get in a "Country" pissing contest with most people in Nashville who are from Ohio or California or Massachusetts or wherever. They come from everywhere. I remember when I first got to town I put up an ad for drummers and just scrawled on it "NO CARPET BAGGERS." No calls, imagine that. I grew up in East TN, my school had 200 people, I had moonshine in the fridge, my Dad grew up in the mountains in a cabin with a well, my Grandma was part Cherokee. But were not country. Not now. Both of my parents were school teachers. (This is something I have in common with Tom Waits). I started school as an art major. I took lit classes. I took film classes. I'm not country as much as I might want to be. I don't have a road house vibe. I used to love to go to Logan's Roadhouse and eat peanuts and listen to the piped in music back in 1997 when I worked at Pier 1. Back then country radio was kind of fun. It wasn't as bad as it is now. I'd listen and think how can I subvert that? But I was always too artsy to be Tim McGraw. I tried for years to write stuff with a Hank Jr. vibe. "Paint the Town With Lipstick" stuff like that. I'm southern. I'm RnB, Hot Jazz, Soul and Rock n Roll and Country all at once. Vaudeville and punk.

I was watching High Fidelity last night thinking Cusack is a bum. I worked at a record store but I was never cool enough to be a hipster. Maybe they could tell deep down I'm a Republican. Yeah. Boom. I said it. It boggles my mind that artist don't get it that Capitalism is their best friend. I made everyone mad one day when I didn't think we had a right to Unionize. Really, we deserve the right to schlep records? I kept my mouth shut every where I went. Felt like if I was ever found out I'd be outcast immediately. I got a chip on my shoulder about it. I kept quiet still. Maybe I wasn't cool enough. I don't wear tight V-neck t-shirts and have bracelets and tattoos. The record store was about the worst job I ever had. I was bored out of my mind. Half the people there were the laziest people I've ever seen in my life. I liked learning about new stuff. I liked listening and having access to a discount and I built my collection up. But I was bored. Really a-lot of the people were really cool and they weren't even like the music people in Hi-Fed. They were solid southern dudes and gals. Maybe I'm thinking of record stores as I got older. Tower in Nashville. Good grief. No service. Too cool for school. Maybe that's what I'm remembering. Most music the pitchfork kids like just sounds out of tune and like someone made something to sound boring. You like my new song? I made it to sound boring. Here ya' go. I wish I got it. I'd like to. I don't know, they just never clicked with me. Lot's of those kids were always from well off families. Westerberg had this theory that rich kids like all the avant garde stuff and poor kids make metal and pop rap and pop crap but middle class kids make the best music because it's subversive because they aren't desperate but they make it catchy because they want to have success. Maybe so. I really think I never fit in because of values. I always reeked like an undercover copy. Maybe that and punctuality.

One of my friends was a pretty decent songwriter. He had a mountain of Chris Isaak Roy O flavored songs he took to BMI or ASCAP or AFLAC or something. The guy behind the desk, no joke, bold faced told him he didn't think he'd be able to reach the artistry of Nashville Songwriting. Yeah, checking you girlfriend for ticks. How could I ever aspire to that. For some reason I thought I was going to beat the system.
So off and on I've been thinking about the publishers that stopped calling and the record we made that got erased. About getting to Nashville and still being in Knoxville ROCK N ROLL mode. I remember someone from a local paper told a friend of mine that I just don't know how to read a room and they told them "Adam doesn't give a sh** about reading a room." I remember playing a show where we were taking the drummers kit apart in the middle of a song. I remember asking if I can take a magazine on stage for a writers night. I remember cutting my hand and writing on my forehead. Wearing bow ties. Wear sport coats. Being a jerk. I know I was a jerk. I just didn't get Nashville. Really though I don't mind to be a jerk to Nashville. Nashville needs a jerk. I was still thinking rock n roll. I wasn't thinking business. Like everyone else.

Crap that's why I don't like booking shows here. I just went to get up with a drummer and a few guys and have some beer and try to have fun. Try to sit on the piano. Try to grab the chandalier. Try to stand on the table. Try to learn everyone in the places name and dedicate them a song (which is easy when I play). Get friends up to sing back up. Tape the set list to the mic stand and hide behind it. Sing into the wrong mic. Move around. Walk off stage. Try to play the other guys guitar while he's holding it. Try to hit the drummer with my hat. That's what I want to do. Seems like everyone wants to stand right in front of the mic and wear their guitar on their chest and do it all perfect. That just turns me off. Nashville clubs are like buying a house. What kind of credit do you have? How many people can you guarantee? And I can't blame them. I know it's their job. It's their life on the line. I wouldn't book me. How many people can I bring? You mean including the band? Maybe I played all my shows like that to hide something. Like if anyone was really looking...

So you can imagine based on all this another part of the Fireman dream was that touring never appealed to me. I had some friends go on a trip recently. They stayed at a hostel. They went to The Hampton Inn. And that's what I'm talking about. I have zip, nada, zilch desire to get in a car and go find some dive in some crap ass part of town and play for a sound guy. If I travel I want to stay at The Westin and eat some good food and go see some art. I'd have been fine with the rock star thing but the getting there I wanted no part of. I'd have been good being The Beatles. I love the writing. I like the recording. I like wearing suits and sunglasses. You know maybe it was that I read Beatles bio after Beatles bio as a kid and got it in my head that was it. Shoot I loved it when they got tired of touring and just started hanging out and making records. Maybe that made an impression. I wanted to jump to that part.

Sometimes I call my talent God's joke. Because so many aspects of what I love to do doesn't jive with the doing it. I am a terrible schmoozer. Terrible self promoter. Self depricater I am the bomb at. I hate the telephone. I don't work the phones. So why give a guy the absolute hunger to be a writer and make playing guitar one of the few times he really feels alive but make all the things that go with getting there no part of his personality? Probably a test.
I was always too Protestant to be a good rocker. I wanted a job. I show up early. I like well defined things. I like clearly marked parking places. I'm like Monk about parking spaces. I never wanted to be a dead beat rocker boyfriend mooching off my girl. I wanted to be a provider. I wanted to bring in some loot. I wanted to wear a suit. No holey t-shirts or whatever. My favorite part of most gigs was lugging the drummers stuff and helping him set up. I like work. I write songs better at 7am than I do at night. I know people that write at night. They light candles. They set a mood. I'm ready to listen to music in the evening. That or watch ESPN. So why did God make me a 9-5 structure guy but make me want to write songs and be an artist? I'd probably be better off playing coffee shops. Start early. No smoke. Pretty nice crowd. But they never seem to like it when you get up and bang on your acoustic. I'm not a limp wristed folkie. But that would have made sense. When I was in NYC I played maybe 2 times. Coffee shop writer's nights. Your not from around here are ya? I'm country in Manhattan. I'm Jed Clampett in Manhattan. Probably not. Just when I sing. If I strummed lightly and sang like I went to Juiliard I could have toured Border's Books instead I play music that goes over in places like The Rodeo Bar. Yeah I can see me going in there. Good one. So if I'm not a coffee shop guy or a traveling roadhouse troubador kind of guy but I love to write songs then why didn't I get the schlock talent? You know writing crap for Miranda Lambert or Carrie Underwood or Brad Paisley? You know writing gems about checking my girl for ticks. Maybe Gorillas are his biggest fan. Why did I get stuck being into The Faces? Why me God, as Kris Kristoferson said. I guess I'm lucky. I could think James Taylor wasn't a sophisticated torture device. I still think people are kidding when they say "Oh I love James Taylor". Right, good one.

When I was 23 I dressed like a pimp. I had a closet full Goodwill clothes. I remember being in the GW one day and heard someone say "They ain't tryin to help nobody out no more." I say that every time I pass a GW now. I had Vintage store get ups. I was in college because that was what you were supposed to do. That was safe. That was the right thing. I was all about that. I drank beer. I fell in love with every girl I passed or that served me food. My songwriting changed big time when I realized that a girl isn't your saviour but God is. Pop writing and Romantic Comedies all operate on the girl being the salvation. The guy is a loser deadbeat bozo until he gets the girl and then viola he is transfreakinformed. I remember being 10 and watching KC Jones the Celtic's coach sing "Your Nobody Until Somebody Loves You" and thinking that was the stone cold truth. When you live your life on this street corner the songs fall right out of the sky. I was listening to "I Am Shelby Lynne" this morning, a record that 10 years ago I thought was brilliant. This morning it cracked me up a-lot. It just seemed overwrought. Some of it was good, some great but some just sad. I put on The Stones doing "LIttle T&A". Boom boom.

So here I am with my drum machine and my acoustic. My lap top. My bass. My keyboard with bad 90's samples. I want my record to sound like it’s not a band. I get so tired of records that sound like a band. That Lightning 100 sound. I want it to sound like it’s made in a city without a band but with kudzu on it. I have a complex confluence. I want to make that adult record. I want to make the John Hiatt Bring the Fam. I want to reek of solo Paul Simon. I want to have a Tom Waits Island years vibe. I want to seem like Tunnel of Love. When I was a kid I dug those guy gets old grows up makes a record songs. I always planned to make a good record one day when I had a deal and had money. Neither one is gonna happen and I refuse to go broke for my pipe dream. I never spend any time on my demos. But really conversely by this time my sound is my demos not me going into a studio and coming out sounding like everyone else. I never spend time on my demos because I always figure I'll spend time on them when I get to do them in a real studio and round and round and round. You get it. I feel like Rick James on Chappell show saying "So why would I put my feet on his couch." Huh? Rewind. On top of that I got lazy as a writer. I can write honky tonk. I can write that all day long. How do I transcend my genre? How do I do the Yankee Hotel Foxtrot (Wilco). How do I do the Blacklisted Shuffle(Neko Case).

Did I ever tell you the time I went to visit the Pops in law and he said we can dig a ditch or go to the Bluegrass Festival. I was like give me a shovel. Bluegrass Festivals make my skin crawl. At some point your going to have to sit through the worst thing in the world. Children performers. You have to watch cloggers. You have to watch people show off on their instrument for interminable amounts of time. I like Charlie Poole records. I like Carter Family records. People at Festivals lack this terror and brevity that they had. They drink too much soda maybe. Though the idea of drinking a cream soda with Sara Carter does sound like fun. But yeah I'd rather dig a ditch. Writer's that tell the story of what the song is about or why they wrote it or what the song is called drive me crazy too. Makes me want to dig a hole in my leg. Makes my eyes roll out of my ears. I wish I was better at this stuff since it's part of being a writer. So I'm 35 and trying to write the married with children record. What's that crap o la song about sippy cups one of those stencil t-shirt country bands did? I'm too grouchy to do that. That's what happens to old men? No thanks. I still don't get CCM music. If I hear a G chord and your riding it and singing things like "Your the only one, you are my love." Then all I think about is chics. I see the video in my head and see chics. Gospel to me is "The Battle Hymn of the Republic." That's some God lyrics.

I get tired of always being so grouchy. I mean what the hell? But I'm always the odd guy. I'm the guy who plays like Keef not The Edge. I'm the guy who likes Hank Sr and not Dierks Bentley. Maybe I should live in Minneapolis or Philly? I love the 'ville even if it don't love me. It's been forever since I felt like I wasn't a stranger in a strange land for music.

Elmore James

2009-06-02T05:46:00.000-07:00

This originally appeared with Plugin Music. I used to write a bit for them. I continually toy with the idea of writing short stories about 1860-1930 era musicians that there is little info on. Basically because you can take a few notions and let your imagination run the show. Below is one I wrote on Elmore James. I thought I'd posted it here but guess not-

Elmore James had three heart attacks. Either he ate a-lot of cheeseburgers or the guitar riff he laid down on “Dust My Broom” took his ass out. But let’s “Begin the Beguine”. Elmore first hit the bottle in Richland, Mississippi though he probably just sucked on a rag being born into the dirt floor of dirt poor. As a young man Elmore played the juke joints hanging around none other than Robert Johnson, the King of Delta Blues. What fascination Mississippi held was not so strong that before WWII was over he took a trip with the US Navy to Guam but since he’s not know as Sergeant Elmore James I’ll have to guess this didn’t work out. A-fore long Elmore was back in Mississippi and eventually Chicago playing side course to main dishes like Howlin’ Wolf and Sonny Boy Williamson. Elmore cut his teeth, honed his chops, he marinated. Elmore had the day job blues too, he worked as a radio repairman, in his spare time he hotwired and pimped his amps to fuel them with the white hot heat of distortion. Not heavy metal distortion but the paid price distortion, the holes in the cones distortion, the handful of BBQ sauce distortion that makes the pulse in your wrist beat. It was with “Dust My Broom” that he took the raw materials Robert Johnson left, pulled them through his amp and welded them to the atomic age with a full throttle throw down of fury that made Elmore th’ man. Elmore’s slide playing is like a hand going up a skirt. The bottleneck shaking up along the strings toward the lipstick tube, pulling spark and flame out of the guitar, is like opening the oven door, even on my little boom box. That’s just how the man played. Elmore sings like the cops are at the door. Elmore sings like he’s going down. Elmore sings like he needs therapy, like he needs relaxers. Lucky for the man spinning wax he got neither. From “Look on Yonder Wall” to “12 Year Old Boy” the urgency he lays down is enough to make you book a transatlantic flight just to kiss someone goodbye. For all this cold hard blues Elmore was backed by The Broomdusters, a band that could deliver on piano, bass and drums with maximum volume. They had volume knobs for rings.
Enough about the passion let’s talk fatalism and paranoia, let’s talk unrequited love. In “Done Somebody Wrong” Elmore’s band pounds out the beat and then Elmore cuts in like a saw made of lightning. The sense of terror and paranoia in his voice is heart attack serious, the breaks on the slide guitar are a blood transfusion. “My momma told me the end would come, but I wanted to have some fun.” He doesn’t extol, he pleads. In “The Twelve Year Old Boy” He starts it off ”I feel bad I feel terrible.” Why say more? By the time the guitar solo beats the door down it’s so full of chaotic energy it’s like a barn full of bees. They say Dante wrote his romantic works based on seeing Beatrice on the street once. Elmore knows of what Dante speaks. Maybe they were kin over the swath of centuries. Elmore’s woman shakes hands with every man she meets, when he sees her out walking in the street. He saw her out late last Saturday night, he told his baby everything was alright. His baby ain’t buying it. Elmore and Dante sit watching the girl go by. Not watching “the girls go by” like Dino but “the girl” go by. The one. The heartbreaker, the one that stirred up his heart to three heart attacks. It’s that and life and Elmore died in 1963.

Charley Poole and 1 more word on the finals.

2009-05-31T17:50:00.000-07:00

I have spent a-lot of time lately in the mornings and the evenings listening to Charlie Poole. The Depression was coming. He was bangin on his banjo. Old Testament imagery. Blues dope. High whine. NC mountains. Some weird ace duets with piano too.

I found out that if LA wins then Phil "Dude Man" Jackson has more rings than Red Aurbach.

Come on Superman. Smack them out of the sky.

Magic.

2009-05-31T12:23:00.000-07:00

Lebron. Lebron. Lebron. Man I'm sorry. I remember saying to a friend earlier this year that ya'll could take to most any team but I was afraid you lacked that tougness. That meaness that KG has, that Kobe has. I was afraid that your sidekicks would hit that brick wall. But the playoffs rolled around and you kicked the crap out of round 1-2 and I was thinking you was it. Shame on me for not noticing The Magic were one of the best teams in the league this year. The Magic were a piece of crap team last I heard. I guess being a bottom floater gets you big draft picks like the Barbie Doll on 'roids that is Dwight Howard. I like Dwight. I do, he's a good kid. His physique is something to send Apollo to the gym. I wish Stan Van Gundy would lay off the cigarettes or whatever makes him wheeze. Maybe it's cheeseburgers. I wish he'd get the fabric for the ret of his sleeves. Maybe he likes that look. But Orlando? I think they beat Boston late in the season and Doc Rivers said the C's were just resting. I remember this made me nervous. I thought Orlando was like Chicago or something like Atlanta. I heard they could shoot the J but you can't win game after game shooting the J. You have to drive and Lebron drives like Bond's Aston Martin. But the Magic did win shooting the J. Shooting the long J. The Cavs duo of mediocre inside talent big V and big Z were stuffed with concrete against Dwight. Mo and Delonte both are too small without any sort of Iverson or Chris Paul speed to make up for it. Neither can shoot when the game is on the line. Both are chokers. If you ever wondered if the NBA was fixed you can probably put that to bed for now. Everyone I've talked to said "Who cares now." Nobody wants to see The Magic who remind me of The Spurs of the 90's. Big man in the center doing the methodical by the book post work and fast fundamental shooters. Boring. ZZZZZ. Wake me when it's over. I don't like ball that revolves around a center. But I know that all good teams have to have the man in the middle. Part of me wants to see this team of pretenders and jokers who beat my beloved C's and then beat my fan favorite Cavs get schooled up and down the court by The Lakers. I would pay good money to see someone smack the smile off Reefer Alson's face. I think if LA is awake they probably will. The Magic never handidly beat the Cavs except the last game. The rest of the games were 1-3 point spreads. The Cavs lost game 1 b/c Mo missed a difficult jumper and Lebron didn't just take it to the hole. The Cavs lost game 3 because Delonte didn't grab the rebound and then they put Ben Wallace on Lewis. Huh? But the Lakers have the Mamba Man. As much as I like Lebron and want him to do well if there was a game going down on Mars and the fate of earth was in the balance I'd send the Mamba Man to do this battle. Kobe is a killer. He doesn't miss free throws down the stretch. Maybe to me the Magic are guilty of being boring and not being part of the picture. Maybe for that I should cheer for them over the Big Glitz Lakers. That would make sense wouldn't it? It would play into my underdog thing. My hard work thing. But for some reason I want to see Pau Gasol and Kobe smack these kids around.

For the record I hope Lebron stays in Cleveland. That is part of what makes him cool. The kid from Akron. Maybe next year they'll drop all the Biblical imagery. That's gotta sit heavy on him. The King, Witness, etc. I bet it'll only get worse.

I plan to make a mix to take to FLA. I'll let you know what I'm listening to.
Writing is going good. Lyrics are under construction.

I need a Dr. Pepper.

Music and basketball. Making a record. Jay Bennett

2009-05-25T11:45:00.000-07:00

I am probably going to buy the album Emotional Rescue soon. I have a-lot of Stones albums and I try to leave a few around to buy as the years fly. I've always thought this one was pretty cool because of the namesake single. Disco, blues, drum machine and strut. That's The Stones. I sampled some of the rest of it and it doesn't sound unlike "Some Girls" and "Tattoo You" which are really big faves of mine. I've been thinking about the drum machine a-lot lately. We'll get back to that.

First. Basketball. So there I was watching feeling dejected as the floppy haired kid they kept showing in the stands. I felt like a sucker. I felt like a hype hugger. I felt like all my "James awaits" crap from a few posts back was a joke. I felt sad for basketball in a way because Lebron is good for the sport. He's a nice guy. He's funny. He laughs at himself. He's got it going on. Kobe is petulant. Kobe is a cold blooder killer. Black Mamba indeed. I don't like Kobe but I respect Kobe. I always will ever since he gunned down Spain in the Olympics. It was brutal. It was the coldest thing I've ever seen in my life. I'm surprised the place didn't become a hockey rink. But Lebron is class. Maybe Lebron is too nice to be great.
So there were the Cavs down 2 with 1 second left. 1 single, solitary, not long enough to do anything second. A lob probably would have floated too long and touched his hands too late. They were lucky the lob was not an option. I said when there were about 4 minutes left in the game, "This is it Lebron, you do it here or you spend a long summer. Don't pass the ball." With 1 second left I was thinking he was looking at a long summer. I was thinking Cleveland fizzles. Not rocks. I was thinking if everyone on the team put a Le in front of their name. Le Z. Le V. Le Delonte. Le Mo. They might hit some shots. But then the shot happened. The Lebron buzzer pummeling 3 that left his hand as the board went red. But as amazing as this was this win seemed frantic. The Magic unfortunately have the Cavs #. I loved the shot. I bet it was the talk of every b-ball court in the world the next morning. I know it was in Nashville. I could hear it. Last night the Magic outplayed The Cavs again. The Cavs can't chase them off the 3. The Cavs can't re-act when they drive. Who would have thought that Perk and Big Baby could shut down Dwight more than Big Z and Big V. Big Z and Big V look lame. Lebron misses free throws down the stretch. Lebron tries to hit 3's to get them back in the game. He misses. His 3 is not the steady rifle that Kobe's is. The Magic oddly, have snuck into the finals, certainly not considered an elite team but now in comparison to the 4 left they look the most like a team. They have this feel. I hate to feel the Cavs are out but I fear they are unless Lebron can learn to be in 5 places at once. MJ had a tough time learning to do this as well.

But drum machines.
Drums have haunted me my whole life as an artist. When I first started recording my songs it was with a 4 track and the drum patches on the Yamaha keyboard. I had a friend who was a drummer but he drummed like Keith Moon after too much Mountain Dew. I liked the drums on All Shook Down. I liked the drums on Maggie Mae. I liked the drums on Stones records. Tight and like a fist. No cymbal. I like the drums on Maybellene. My drum machine had this beat, this boom, pah, boom bom pah that made for great mid tempo Westerberg drenched pop rock country. I wrote tunes to this for a century. I like drums when it's in a band. I had a band and I liked how we sounded. I like bands. I like The Stones, I like The Mats, I like Tom Waits' band. I like Howlin' Wolf's band. I loved my band. I learned a long time ago I'll never have a band that sounds like that again. I've played with some guys and had a-lot of fun and we've made some good noise on stage but it's never made it to record. The few times I've recorded with drums it's ended up sounding like everything on Lightning 100. I don't dig that. I want my records to sound unique like Waits records. Not like his but accomplishing this unique sound. I like Westerberg's Grandpaboy records because they sound so greasy. His records with hired guns sound like records with hired guns. Grandpaboy records he plays it all. I like that. I want to play it all. I can't play the drums. PW can't either. His records sound crazy out of time. It mars a-lot of the best songs he's wrote in the last few years. But I'd rather him sound like him than be in perfect time. The songs stand up. I don't have the yen to record real drums. I don't have the dollars either. I think it goes beyond that, I don't want to. If I did I would have by now. It's too many mics and too much crap. The recorded drums I like now are Cake and White Hassle. I think it's easier to get to that with a machine than with real drummers. Real drummers take hours. I beg forgiveness to all real drummers. I love drums. I do, but it takes forever to set up. I have to rock on the fly. Right now I'd rather have a drummer that lived in South Korea and played to MP3's I sent them. That would be fly. So I've decided I am going to dig into the loops. I might start buying more loops. I might buy some hardware. I might buy some tools. Rocking Garage Band and digging it. I wish I could tell you I am a dirty south Beck. I wish I was making a The Streets meets Kid Rock album. Rapping hard on the mic. But I'm just writing southern songs (country and blues and rock n roll and jazz and gospel) and trying to wrap them up in sounds. Sounds built on beats. I did my honky tonk band, I did my goth folk thing, I did The Sunday Best rock n roll thing and now I'm out to prove I can write and make a songwriters record but not a precious little ditty songwriters record. I want something bitchy and beautiful. I feel determined to dig into this. To embrace my beloved drum machines that have backed my little songs for 20 years. Yes 20 years they have oomp ahhd behind my songs and I have placed them there flat and made excuses for them. I am determined to hold them up, my achilles heel to become my knock out punch. Motown drum samples and harmonica. I want all stars. I want guest stars. Something industrial like a warehouse with southern kudzu growing all over it. I'll keep you posted.

Jay Bennett. Watching I Am Trying to Break Your Heart about 2 years ago in FLA at my mother in law's house I saw this flic and thought Jeff Tweedy was a brat. I always thought Bennett seemed like a sort of nice guy who looked like Philip Seymour Hoffman. When I woke up today I read in the news that he died and I thought about all the bad funk that passed between him and Wilco and knew that this is a death from feeling cheated. He died from some sort of broken heart. Watching that years ago made me feel that icky feeling when I think about how bad bands can turn. How far they can get from some guys (and gals) just hanging out like a gang. How brutal they can become to each other. My fave Wilco album is probably AM which is really nothing more than Tweedy being Westerberg for 30 or so minutes but it's my fave. I like YHFT and ST about the same as each other. I like them both. What's that "Shot in the Arm" song? That one is really something. Anyways. Rest Jay.

Basketball: A bit about the love.

2009-05-21T14:54:00.000-07:00

Something about how the ball bounces on wood or asphalt. These are the two places it lives and breathes. Perhaps it has something to do with architecture. However if a grass field is pounded enough the earth becomes a hard cracked surface from it’s bounce and will work too. So dirt, properly pounded, asphalt and wood. These are your options. But about it bouncing, it bounces perfectly. Not too light like a beach ball not too heavy like well a bowling ball. It’s leather or bonded leather, or faux PU leather. It looks like a book, it smells like a shoe at least until sweat and dirt take it over. It perfectly goes down and comes back like a yo yo. This beat is hypnotic. Footballs are worthless if you are alone. You can’t go work out some inner angst alone with a football. I don’t want to know about it if you can. Soccer balls maybe ok but they do not bounce perfectly. They are not like books and do not smell like shoes. I suppose the drill I’ve seen of some athlete bouncing a ball from foot to foot is similar but still it’s not the same. Not the same as stepping onto the court, onto the action like you just stepped on a ship at sea. Switch the ball from hand to hand on your fingertips and feel the electricity begin and let the ball go from your hands and bam it hits the wood or the asphalt or the properly pounded grass and returns. Your legs move and your body moves as you follow the ball. You being to push the ball. Always in your mind and in your eye is the goal. You move toward it approaching it with anticipation of failure or success. The ball gains energy as you move. You fake a few turns and moves imagining defenders, imagining deft moves on your part. The ball bounces higher because you hit it harder and rides on the fingertips of your hand up into your shooters stance, up into your jump shot like a gun out of a holster. You fade away from the last imagined defender and stare down the rim, the back of the rim and you can hear the nylon being torn by the ball before you release it. This all happens as once.
I can still see the Harriaman Occupational High School Gym with its painted numbers along the sideline. I would measure my improvement as a shooter moving further and further out. My Dad worked for the school and after school I would ride the bus to the school and he would let me in the gym and give me a ball. I would buy a Coke or a Dr. Pepper and there from 3:30 to 5:30 I would best foes. It was always kind of dark. It was dusty. I remember when the 3 point line was painted on like some magical flower sprouted up in the yard. Suddenly it was there one day, this other mark of excellence. This line to dodge and parry around to imagine besting foes to count down by 2 with 5-4-3-2- 1 left in the game and let it go to hear the nylon ripped by the ball.
I remember building a backboard out of wood with my Dad and attaching it to the eave of the house. I pounded the grass along the house. I passed to myself off the house. I spent hours upon hours maybe even after leaving the High School shooting until dark. Shooting until I could only see from the kitchen light. Later we moved the goal to the field. The shot above is of the goal in the field. I pounded the grass in the field to a perfect pulp. Rob and some friends and I played HORSE there once. Bees were swarming. Rob told the guy whose turn near the nest was next "I would suggest prayer." I say this to myself often in dicey situations.
I lived in Queens. I shot in Queens on early Saturday mornings a Holdsclaw park. She played at UTK. I got off the plane from NY once when the Lady Vols did and my Mom walked right past me star struck. I got out before the locals. I shot ball with some guys from work up near Harlem one day. This on Hoyt Ave was the Queens court.

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When I got to Nashville I discovered a park with a great out door court. I pour sweat upon this court. I got a Y membership. I shoot ball at the Y. I love to play the sport with others but alone is good too.
I shoot all these places alone.
I invent games to play against myself. When no one is there and I hear the bounce of the ball and step onto the court it’s a time of intuition and reflection. I talk to myself. I talk to God. I talk to the ball. I talk to the rim. I throw the ball at the chain link fence. If you hit one of the posts the ball comes back if not it’s like throwing it at a mattress. I exhaust myself and sit and stare at the court. I pep talk myself to shoot longer. I still remember Magic Johnson going against McHale and then Parrish and then Bird and sending up that baby hook. It hurt me when I was a kid and it still hurts me every time I see it. At the other end of this memory is Isaiah Thomas’ lazy pass that Larry Bird grabs and aces to Dennis Johnson cutting for the glass who puts in a reverse lay up and the Celtics announcer sounds like he’s going to have a coronary. This was with 5 seconds to go down by 1. I remember seeing Allen Iverson play in Philly and thinking damn he’s fast. I saw Larry Bird play a pre season game once in Knoxville. My Dad always talked about Bill Russell. Bill looks like a jazz man. Bill oozes class. Bill oozes style. He was the player that had a ring for every finger on his hand. He started working on the other hand too. That’s big. He’s calm, cool and collected. If he talked trash it would be poetry don’t you think? Greg Dulli is a baller. I heard this once. I heard that Snoop stands around and shoots and his friends all stand there and say “Good shot Snoop.” I say that to myself when I shoot around. Good shot Snoop. My favorite spot is around 5 o’clock. If the court was a clock and the 3 point line were the numbers and the top of the key was 6 and the bleachers was 12. I like that right side of the top of the key. This is because before they painted the 3 point line I knew there was a 3 point line. The top of the key was definitely a 3. If I strayed to the right of it a bit then I knew it was a 3 as well. That straight on shot was never any fun. My Dad has this through the legs dribble into a hook shot. Great shot. I remember a coach at my school used to say “Larry Bird, slow, white…deceptive.” I say this to myself a-lot. Though my being slow is not deceptive.
I read a restaurant review once that said “Bad Mexican Food is better than no Mexican Food.” While this doesn’t totally translate to my feelings about basketball. These feelings are similar to this notion.

The Lovespies

2009-05-16T13:15:00.000-07:00

Rob and Julie make pretty music. Very pretty spaceship fairy music. I don't like pretty fairy space ship music but I always like something in Rob and Julie's songs. I mean this as a big compliment. I hope it makes sense. Really great melodies and Julie's voice live is a sound to be hold. They are chronicling the making of their record, I think they are making a record anyway, they are making something and cleaning house. Oh yeah the other thing, the man and the woman thing, I dig music with a male and female voice be it married, sibling, friends, or lovers. There is a drama there no matter how you shake it. So I added the link to their new blog at the side, it's there as the lovespies.

NBA FINALS-Songwriting

2009-05-10T11:32:00.000-07:00

I watched Lebron claim his MVP trophy. I heard him say "and next the ring." I think I have decided I want to see this. I want to see this come to pass. I watch Paul Pierce in his Louis Vitton Gilligan's Isle hat looking like he just inhaled a bowl telling reporters that they don't see the game he sees. I see Ray Allen. I see Perk. They look tired. They look up all night tired. Without KG they are like The X-Men without Wolverine. I think I want them to go home and sleep. Of course if they take this game against Orlando and they pass on I will pull for them but part of me thinks when they go down a bit of me will be relieved because then I will pull for Lebron to thwart Kobe at his Shaqless championship. With an asterik. Even a defeat of the C's comes with an asterik. They are without their Wolverine. The Nuggets Melo proved that it ain't over till the fat lady sings or the ref blows the whistle. As much as a bummer as it is for the Mavs you don't stop till you hear the trumpet blow. Yao has gone down. His Achilles foot did him in. The Rockets will be angry now and will fight but they will wither. The Mavs an already irresolute and weak team will wilt as well. The Nuggets are the sexy pick in the West. Kobe will pass to himself off the backboard and will be there for Lebron. Watching Lebron play the Hawks yesterday was incredible basketball. As great of a shooter and dunker and 3 point dagger thrower as he is I think his passing is the biggest thrill. Something is cool about that.

I went to Belmont Sognwriter's Guild again this past week. This is good. It's good to see we have a community of writers and to hang out. I'm honestly not really blown away by anything I'm hearing but it's good to be around the creative process. It's good to hear people think this stuff out. We had a country song this week. That was pretty good. He sounded kind of like Jimmy Martin. We had some choral orchestrated stuff. I got no clue about that stuff. It all sounds the same to me. It all sounds overwrought and overdone. My friend Julie played a song with a melody to tear the stars down with. My friend Jeremy has the skeleton of a good meditation on God. I think the knock out was this young chics love song. It was deep. It felt like it needed to open up somewhere and bloom but it stayed in this place of longing, which was good. It was something you could tell she had to sing, something she had to get off her hands. That makes a song good. Lot's of stuff has a progression and well written words but it might as well be nothing because there is no pull. There is no taste in the mouth when you sing it. The music sounds good, the words sound-crafted, that ugly word of mediocrity passed off as talent, it all sounds like it should be good and it's gone from your mind.

Apparently church music is intentionally boring. I always wondered. Really, they pick songs that are easy to sing. I could never figure out why none of the songs had a real cool melody or why the singer never dug into the song and got to the meat of it. Because they are doing it for the congregation or something like that. One guy said he's sick and tired of Namby Pamby little songs for Jesus. No joke man. Let's get some bang in here. Let's sing through megaphones like street preachers. That might be a little too much theatre. It'd rock tho'.

This is what blows my mind though. People actually like Billy Joel and Genesis and James Taylor. People really strive for this crap. I guess it makes sense. I don't know I guess I always thought all musicians wanted to be Little Walter. Shows what I know.

NBA FINALS. The art of rhythm guitar.

2009-05-02T09:36:00.000-07:00

James looms. James awaits. I go through March and I dig it. I dig the college ball. I appreciate it. The way I know I am supposed to like baseball that I cannot stand. Baseball is worthless unless you are there and the weather is perfect and you have beer. College ball I appreciate more than baseball but nonetheless I only appreciate it. Sometimes I do get wrapped up in it and shout at the television. I do come to my knees and throw fists at the air because after all it is basketball. It is the game I love. But this is March. I wait for after Easter when the NBA finals come down. 40 Days of ball. When the men in 3 piece suits roll into the arena with 70's size cans on their heads. When mirrored sunglasses and pin stripes come to the arena. When the men come to the arena to play. I know this year that James looms. James awaits. My beloved C's are wrapped in a battle. Every night the same buzz words. Adversity. We came out. We played aggressive. Adversity. Sure. I know. My beloved C's are wrapped in a battle with the lowly Bulls. I am so sick of the Bulls. I want to see Kevin Garnett throw Noah by his pony tail into the rafters of the Garden. Alas there is no KG. No Big Ticket. Only Big Baby. I am reminded of why I love the finals. For the ebb, for the flow. Miller at the line missing 2 and giving the C's the win. The next game he ices a 3 to sink the C's. I am so sick of seeing him. I'm so tired of The Bulls. Go home punks. Here they come again. This ebb, this flow. This Rondo elbow. This Hinrich elbow. This growing tension. This you take a game, I take a game. Too bad there's only 7 games. One of us is going to be short a game. I dig on the drama. I dig on the revenge. The frustration. The elbows. Maybe college is more like life. You get one chance. But here I face the same battles every day and it's all about match ups. One game I lose. One game I kill it. That's life. The college players don't get paid. They are trying to get paid. Don't kid yourself. In a 3 piece suit, Duane beat the Hawks last night all by his lonesome. He had 12 consecutive points. He shot the 3. He made the dunk. He had a 1 on 3. He dunked on 3. It was like a grown man playing with little boys. I heard this. But James looms. Whoever makes it here has to go through James. My KG'less C's? D-Wade? I doubt it. In the West Mister Melo. He is there too. All these Olympians. They picked up their D overseas. They brought it back. Howard, James and Wade all Olympians, all top D players this year. Melo's game got better too. Oh yeah and Kobe? He's not too bad this year either. How clutch is Paul Pierce at home. How clutch is Ray Allen anywhere he goes? Over time after over time. What if The Nuggets beat the Lakers? I'll watch for that. Mean time I watch the C's try to make it. I watch D-Wade try to beat it. I know James looms. I dig James. He rocks the 70's cans. He smacks weak shots away from the glass. He hits 3's. He drives the lane. Did he grow up wanting Olympic Gold or wanting an NBA Championship?

I played rhythm guitar with a few lead licks for The Marathon Worship Band. Blast as usual. It takes your breath away when the Kenyans go by. It makes you cry when the mass of humanity goes by. They aren't fast. They aren't having an easy time. They are struggling. These are the people we play for. They smile. They raise a hand. The Believers in the sea raise their hands and start singing. Sometimes they pick up their stride. This beauty is something to see. We're loud too. We had 3 guitars, 2 pianos, drums, perc, a choir, bass. All that. I dug in and tried to sit on the beat. I hit chords with the cymbals. I ride the bottom with the kick drum. I don't play for bars at a time. I play a chord on a word. I wait for silence. I let it build. I let a chord go. I don't strum. I hit. I don't pick. I punch. Chord here. Chord there. Sometimes I ride the Chuck Berry train and make the song move. I like to move. All this is the art of it. Listen to the drums. Listen to the singer. Listen to the words. I try to sound like a lap steel. I try to sound like T-Bone Walker. I try to pinch it like Robbie Robertson. I try to hit it like Keef. I try to ring it like Cropper.

Got a new song. It sounds like The Everly Brothers in a dance club. I gotta get the acoustic track just right. The drum track is just house music noise. I played it at my writer's group a week or so ago. They said to keep it.

Basketball: Game 9 Us 50 Them 51-The battle for last place.

2009-04-18T10:25:00.000-07:00

At the opening tip the ref said this is the battle for last place. Two things. We were missing our best guy. The scoreboard keeper messed up once and I think we lost a free throw. So we might have been looking at OT.

I went into the game wanting to play a great game. I knew we were missing our best guy so I hoped to help with the scoring. I clunked 3 -3 pointers in the first half. Every one just clanged on the rim. I did get down the baseline and hit a under the board lay up. I was up there. The rim was close. I hit a jump shot on the right side which all in all was my most consistent shot of the whole deal. I had a steal. I ran for it. I got tangled up and lost it. I'd stolen it before and held onto it. Guess I didn't learn. I tried to play good D. We did play good D. One of their guys stole it and got out on a break. I caught him and he lost the ball. We kept with them the whole game. We led at times but they always came back. We were down by 6 or so with about 8 left and two of our guys started nailing 3 pointers. They were wringing the neck of the net. But the other team kept hitting shots too. I tried to get in the lane and hit jumpers. I missed 1 or 2. We were down by 5 or so with about 2 minutes left. I got an offensive rebound and a put back at one point that pulled us within 3. I got another offensive rebound and put back that pulled us within 1 with about 11 seconds to go. Some of our guys took a trip to the line and we had a few free throws down the stretch too. I guess that was it. We just couldn't get the ball back there at the end. I wish I had drove more instead of shooting so dang many 3's at the start. That was dumb. I don't know how many games I watch where I shout at the player on tv to drive the ball and get in close. It was good to learn more about b-ball. Zone D is no longer a mystery.

Probably was the most fun game we played because it was so close. It wasn't a blow out. I like to play so much it's not a wash when it's a blow out but I like to be in the mix. This was my first organized basketball experience. I plan to do it again. It's a good reason to keep in shape. Sometimes I thought it was like the movie Dodgeball. Maybe next year.

So the NBA finals start just in time. I think it'll be the Cavs and the Lakers. My C's are missing KG. That's too much to overcome. I like Lebron a-lot. Kobe I've never liked but I've come to really respect. I wouldn't mind to see either one win at this point. If it comes down to it though I'll pull for the Cavs.

Somedays...

2009-04-12T18:09:00.000-07:00

I saw the cover for the new James Ellroy book today on line. Bloods a Rover.
I got a song in the bag. Now I just need to suffocate it. Tomorrow time calls. Monday, Monday so good to me.

Basketball: Game 8 Us 50? Them 70 or so.

2009-04-11T12:57:00.000-07:00

It must take a special kind of guys to take an emotional and physical beating every Saturday. I salute the guys I am playing with. We are gentlemen if nothing else. One of the guys said he was talking to his Dad about last weekends game and his dad said.

"Basketball brings out the best and the worst in people."

This can probably be said of a-lot of things but it seemed especially resonate. I know nobody is making us play. I know it's no teams fault that we aren't as good as they are but we keep trying. Apparently one team we played is one infraction away from being kicked out of the league for starting too many fights. Remember no one is going to cut down the nets when this is over. I wonder if boxing is the only sport where the combatants don't threaten to start a fight after the match. Maybe that's why boxing is compelling. It's the final word. I like to read about boxing. I don't like to watch it as much. The guys we played today were very nice. Got along fine with them. I argued with one of them about him fouling me. My feet were on the ground and my arms were straight up in the air. You fouled me. No I didn't. Yes you did. Then he just said I was weak. He's probably right. I thought I can either shut up or really push his buttons. I decided I had better things to do later today.

I got fouled once. I drove to the hoop and got sent to the floor. I missed both free throws. I don't get it. I can make 10 free throws in a row at the gym. I can make 3 free throws over and over in games of 36. For some reason when the game is on and my team needs the points I can't put the ball in at the line. I made 3-4 put backs. I made a 3 from my spot at the top right of the key. I made 2-3 jumpers from the right side. I kept getting left open. About mid way through the 2nd half I was going for a defensive rebound and knocked the ball back in for the other team. The roof fell in. The floor gave way. I missed every lay up and every jump shot after that I think. I scrapped after the ball and lost it every time. I cursed the ball. I damned the ball. I laid invective vitriolic language at the ball. I felt winded. I played both halfs all the way through again. I felt drained. I stole the ball once under the glass and turned seeking salvation and sweet revenge and missed a lay up. I had an open right side jumper and ka-tonk it came off the rim. I felt the wind just sink from me. I think I was tired and mad at myself. I argued with my foul at this point. I kept trying but nothing happened. Back to that weakness. Back to that sense of powerlessness. Most of us are not Lebron. Most of us are not Kobe. These guys that that beat us would lose just as badly against NBA players. I spent the last 3 minutes or so sucking wind and fighting the urge to say, "That dress makes you look fat." I made it to the end successfully. They had big guys and good ball handling guards. They passed well. They shot good from outside and their 2 big guys were decent in the post. I blocked one of them 2 times though. That was good.

I keep thinking about the baseball player who was killed in a hit and run accident on Thursday and what if on Sunday he was suddenly here again to his teammates? This is how the apostles would have felt right? That's what happened. Jesus, the Messiah was killed and then he rose up. Maybe men on the court fighting after a ball are an illustration of our dependence on Christ. Anger and peace that can change at any moment. What stops us from suddenly free falling in frustration and anger? Grace? We had a guy sprain his ankle the guy on the other team stomped on it next trip down the floor. Men are pretty rotten. Everyone has this inflated sense of self worth. We owe no one, everyone owes us. This is just a sport in Tennessee. Imagine men in war. The best and the worst of us.

I think losing every weekend and getting mad at myself or at an opponent is starting to wear me out. Maybe I need to learn to accept how bad I am? I think I know but maybe not enough? I don't know. We have 1 more game. I'm glad that it's almost to the end. I'm looking forward to summer ball at the park among friends.

I think next weekend I need to wear red socks.

Just me and my radio

2009-04-10T17:57:00.000-07:00

Fats Waller. Dig the drum break and the blues beat down.

Read a pretty brutal and probably right on assessment of Allen Iverson today at Fox Sports. The part at the start about him being a symbol of our foibles is probably why I always liked him. Reading this article and how he was supposed to be this great thing that never happened reminded me of the million or so articles about how Paul Westerberg is Bruce Springsteen in an alternate reality. Maybe AI is the punk rock equivalent of a basketball meltdown that I was ruminating on last week. Maybe Westy is the AI in the world of Music Row that I was also ruminating on last week too. I've heard talk lately of how you can make a sure bet in media. Somehow I doubt it.

Basketball: Game 7 Us-maybe 53 Them-122 or something; Music. Church band

2009-04-05T13:00:00.000-07:00

I said in last weeks blog that I don't mind playing people that I know are better than me. That it doesn't make me mad. This is not true. I don't like people that start playing condescending basketball either. I don't like a team that chides their teammates when someone on my team is able to score on them like "Biff what a loser you are to let someone like that score on you". I don't know what this team could have done to not blow us out so bad but I could have done without smacking the backboard when they hit a lay up. I really wanted to offer to smack one of them. I could have done without hitting a 3 every time down and the discussion of it being more like it was a game for them to hit more of them for the fun of it. Really keep this to yourself. Like "Oh has Bobby hit a three yet? Pass it to him, he needs one." I could have done without the lacadasical throwing the ball around like they were the Harlem Globetrotters. One of them had that sheepish frat daddy look like Jay Cutler has. I like Jay but you gotta admit he's got the quintessential look. Maybe it's the hair. Maybe they were like the Prep School Globe Trotters. Harlem would eat them for lunch. One guy stole the inbounds pass from me and laid it in. I really wanted to punch him. He seemed like a nice kid though. Yeah so all the acrobatics made me want to start pirouetting down the court like a blotto ballerina just to mock them. It got to a point where I felt like if your going to be so condescending then why should I take this seriously? Because as soon as I start acting like an idiot then you just look like an over zealous weekend warrior. I know what to do when a rock n roll show is going bad. At least from a punk rock stance. You drink more. You pick someone out in the audience that is obviously not enjoying the show and talk directly to them. You turn your back to the crowd. You throw something. You sit on your drummer's kick drum. I don't know what the rock n roll equivalent for basketball is to say "I'm not going to take your crap and lack of respect by giving you anything good." Maybe there isn't one. Sports is you got it or you don't. Art is subjective. The thing I love about sports is that it's cut and dried. I hate that about it too. All there was to do was keep going and keep playing. There would be no punk rock moment.

My game sort of deteriorated into mumbling stuff under my breath. I must have kept it under my breath because I wasn't in a fight and I still have all my teeth. I was being sarcastic and uncharitable. Eventually I started cheering them on "Come on you can do it. Get that rebound. Oh I knew you could make it." I couldn't decide if I was being serious or if I was being a smart ass. I don't think they could either. I was further irked off because the guy I was guarding looked like he would be as fast as a glacier. What made me mad is that he was fast and he could shoot and I couldn't keep up with him. For some delusional reason when I started guarding him I was thinking well this is going to be funny. Keep up with me Jackie Moon I thought. Jackie kept up with me. Jackie scored on me. Jackie nailed a-lot of shots when I should have had a hand up. I was 5 kinds of livid. If I had a chair and a sweater I would have thrown it like Bobby Knight. I kind of wanted to kick the ball. I think eventually I was too tired to misbehave. I think the big lesson for me was to never have an impression. Never judge someone until you really see what they can do. Because as soon as they start to perform outside of your judgement then they have you. Jackie Moon was a million times better basketball player than I am. Funny thing is I'm ready to play again. Get back on the horse. Again, for the love of it because there is nothing else I get out of it. Well I get a workout. I wrestled with writing about this weeks game because in part it deals with the sin of judgment. Judgement is an ugly thing and it turns on you. I think from playing rock n roll image has always been a key to me. If a band shows up in flip flops and t-shirts I'm probably not going to like them. If they are dressed like they hit the pimp section at Goodwill then I'm already ready to buy the CD.

Oddly I did play a better game than I have yet. I hit 3 3's. I hit 4-5 jump shots. I hit a few put backs. I went on a stretch where I scored 3-4 straight times down the floor. If I can get a step away and move I'll hit a good number of jump shots. This team was sick good though. They shot like 80% from 3 point range. They passed great. They handled the ball great. They shot great. They moved the ball great. It was just ugly. They seemed nice enough after the game but they were so crappy during it I don't really feel any different about them. I made a point to congratulate the guy I was guarding just to seem classy. I'm sure they went home and watched "Hoosiers" together.

I came across this. Th' Legendary Shack Shaker's frontman JD has a new band called The Dirt Daubers. I bet this has something to do with the next LSS album is called Agridustrial and promises to have some bluegrass elements. Maybe also to hang out with his wife who is in the band. Maybe he's trying to save his ears a little from the LSS onslaught. Lastly maybe it's a chance to take the music he mines for the LSS and revisit it. These are guesses only but I have talked to him before about old time music and making it into new things. So I'd like to see this band play if they come to town. His blues thing with Juke Joint Monday years ago at The Slowbar and then Mercy Lounge along with Mark Robertson was one of the greatest displays of American music I've ever laid eyes on. Anytime something like this comes along it starts up all those questions about doing old music but making it new. You have to be aware of the musical past and it often shocks me how many musicians play currently without any idea bout music prior to 1980 or so. I recently read Nick Tosches said-

"I’ve been sitting here watching the remains of this short-lived country go down the drain, and there is no better soundtrack to this than People Take Warning, a grand and beautiful set—in every sense, from the remastered recordings to the notes to the extraordinary design work—that gives perspective both to these days and those of the past. This is white-hot history, a danse macabre, and, above all, a wealth of great old and timeless music."

People Take Warning is a new collection probably not unlike the Anthology of American Folk Music. It's tunes from the Old Weird America as Greil Marcus termed it. I go on jags where I listen to a-lot of this. Once you go down this road you get to being what is labeled as Purveyor Music. Oddly, lately I've been trying to find a way to assimilate to the modern after years of taking inspiration from the past. I'm wondering if there are similar ways to traverse this. Reading Nick's quote though and thinking of The Daubers makes me think back to what appeals to me about Dock Boggs. After 9/11 I was listening to a-lot of Depression Era blues and country with it's white knuckle panic and intensity. I was working on a song called "I Got the New Depression Too." Which now this song title sort of takes on a different meaning. I know down the road I want to start playing Gospel live and part of me thinks I should just go ahead and jump on the train now in these days of panic and uncertainity. The band I want though would be hard to find. I need a very eclectic drummer and a very eclectic guitar player and an upright bass player. I need Tom Wait's back up band.

My long range goal is something older like a gospel band but mid range is something new. I want a cycle of folk songs about family and love. Sounds kind of hokey. I read where Dan Zanes decided to start doing old timey music instead of "continuing my career writing songs about my ex-girlfriends." This is where I am, although I am trying to figure out how. Something about this quote really cracks me up and puts my options in my face. Once I get done I want to do a digital only release and then look at playing house parties or webcasts. The live band would play stuff from the folk pop record and a few from my past bag and Gospel covers. Things like "Working on a Building" and "I'll Fly Away." I want to get more bang out of playing live. Houyse parties would be good because you could really set the stage and control the vibe. If you taped it and posted it you could use it past the filming. Booking a bar and playing to the sound guy is a waste of time.

So I played at church again. I had to go straight from the b-ball to church. I stubbed my finger big time during the game so I ran home and showered, swallowed Ibuprofen and made an ice pack and kept my hand elevated as I drove to church. I was thinking Bourne Identity guitar player. The church band was pretty dang awesome. The drummer was mad good. He used to play for Allison Moorer. I thought this was cool. During sound check I played the song we were warming up to kind of Stonesy.
We had a drum line and a big band. Piano and drums and bass and perc. 2 BGVs. It was awesome. I joked that we should do "Hosannah" to the tune of "Rosannah". No go. For some reason over playing three sets over a Sat night and Sunday morning I got on the subject of Music Row writing twice. Both times I was like, I have respect for people that are successful in that arena but I don't have a-lot of respect for the writing. I think it's artless and bland and filled with what passes for realism that is nothing but awkward. I play a different sport. I hunt a different animal. I'm glad though that I've found a way to play my guitar the way I do to these CCM pop songs and fit in. I broke a string on the Michael W. Smith song in the 3rd set. There is something liberating about playing worship stuff. Even if it may not be my favorite music that just makes it one more way it's not about me. It gets reduced to enjoying just playing music with others and rejoicing in the face of the worshipers. It's really rewarding. It's kind of like the basketball, it's about the fun of the game, not about winning for yourself. I'm really excited to be playing the Marathon Worship Band this year at church. I did this 2 years ago and it was like being on a mountain top.

You have got to go to The Twilight Singer's myspace and lsiten to Greg Dulli do Doug Sahm's "You Was For Real." Dulli always blows me away and hearing him do country furthers the proof he is one of the greatest artists making music alive. He makes it his own. Unreal. I also recently heard the 77's. Too cool rock n roll gospel. Where were they hiding?

It's Holy Week. Happy Passover. Happy Easter. Looking at it all and learning to do it for love be it playing guitar, writing songs or shooting hoops. Jesus did it all for love so it's gotta be a good goal.

Basketball: Game 6 Us 40 something Them 50 something

2009-03-29T05:38:00.000-07:00

When you think you are going to win a game it's really frustrating to watch the win slip away. We had watched the team we went up against this weekend a few weeks ago. They looked irresolute. They looked weak. They made 0 shots. They looked flumoxed. We went into this game thinking it was going to be fun. I was anticipating a game where I could finally move around and put some moves on some sad excuses. I always imagine this though before the game. My pre-game and my real game reality are so different. In my mind when we are down by 10 with 5 minutes left I steal the ball and throw a spot on outlet pass that gets us 2. I yank down the rebound on the next play like UNC's Psycho T. I come down, get open and drive hitting a reverse lay up and getting fouled. I ice the free throw. Etc. In reality none of this happens. I spent most of the game being mad. I don't get so mad against people I know that are better than me. It's sort of funny to watch them out do me. I still try and chase them around but a team that I expected to beat, to get scored on makes me want to punch them in the stomach. Powerlessness is not much fun. I guess most players feel like this on the court. Few people are Lebron James or Dwayne Wade. Most just run up and down the court and try to get the rebound and fail and try to make the shot and fail. Back and forth. I could turn basketball into a an existential delima I guess.

I also had a cold this week. I felt like I was over it by Saturday morning but before we'd gone down the court once I was already feeling drained. I felt like I was made of concrete. I felt like I had chains on my legs. I felt like I was wearing a back pack with a car battery in it. As of midweek we only had 5 guys committed to show up so sick or not I was in,

I had also always heard about the 3 second rule. I thought it had to do with the lane. I thought it had to do with guarding somebody and or having the ball. No. It's just on offense. You can't be in the lane more than 3 seconds. I got called for this. I bet the people I play with are like "Are you sure you like basketball?" Yes, I do. It's just somehow I have floated through life loving a-lot of things and not having a clue about them. I play music and can't read it. I don't know theory. I'm a Christian and I've never read the Bible all the way through. I can't name the books in chronological order. I love US History, I couldn't tell you who was president in 1876. I just picked a date. I love the Civil War. I don't know every stinking General's name. It's just my MO. So I got called for this. Funny now but at the time it just further pissed me off. Yeah sure this ref guy can watch all of us and in his spare time can count to 3. I know he can and he did now but at the time it just furthered my funk.

I really wanted to lay down on the floor I felt so crappy. I asked for a sub. I sat down on the floor and not 1 play later one of our guys gets hit in the face. He's down. He looks a little woozy. I have to get back up. I am not entirely sure I am going to make it the rest of the game. I am hunched over leaning on my knees saying "Dig Deep," over and over and over. The guy I was guarding scored on me once and I really just wanted to run right into him on the next play. I did end up blocking him and keeping him at bay the rest of the time. He did score again though. I blocked a few shots of the driving and dicing guards but they made a-lot of crazy lay ups too. Sounds funny to say but we would have won if they hadn't shot so well. It was like the goal was the size of a dumpster for them. The game was a 4-7 deficit most of the way and every stinking time we'd get close they'd nail another 3 out of nowhere. We got so close so many times. With about 5 minutes left our best guy got hit above the eye on a collision and started bleeding. He bled a-lot. He was out.

I did get a-lot of put backs. I was pleased with this. I think 8 points worth. I did hit a 3. I also got the ball and dribbled through some traffic and hit a fade away J. I faded so much I tripped and landed on my butt and went sliding, my legs went over my head and I just rolled with it and flipped over. I got blocked once. Made me want to chew nails. Made me want to break a beer bottle. I got a good amount of rebounds. This one guy rebounded the ball and I hassled him. "He said aww come on Ref" and I said "Aw come on give me the ball back." I don't like to give up. I always think I'm going to steal it. I waste time doing this. I need to stop. These guys we played were really cool. They were fun to play and they were very concerned about our guys who got injured. After the game they were really cordial. I'd like a rematch.

Blogging about basketball seems kind of pansy but I try to go back to the spiritual theme. I'm never going to be a great player. I'll probably never even be good. I think of Zelda Fitzgerald deciding to be a ballerina in her late 20's. It was too late. At 35 I am way past my basketball prime. Sure a 70 year old played at Roane State this last year but I'm not looking for anything like that. I love the game. It's more fun than running and it gives me a reason to exercise. After that it gets back to learning to work at something for nothing more than the love of the practice. After 15 or so years of doing music to get rich and famous having to step back and learn to write songs just for me is hard to do. So this basketball thing, resonates.

Basketball: Game 5-Us 40 something, Them 30 something. Christian Art.

2009-03-21T11:35:00.000-07:00

We had a bye week last weekend. We must have rested up. Our guard got back from a Mission Trip to Brazil this morning and drove from the airport to the game. We were never behind. They should have beat us. I think after a while they were just mad we were winning. They pulled within 4 with about 5 minutes left. They left me open. I nailed a 3. Next time down we got another 3, next time our guy drove the lane and put it in. Then it got down to foul shots. I missed 2, made 1. I got fouled a-lot toward the end because I kept coming up with the rebound. This was the first team we'd played where I was actually the tallest guy on the floor. The zone d was magic for us. We got mad rebounds. We got steals. I got blocks. At some point I had a put back. I had a good high arc jumper on the side. I got 8 points total. I felt a little frustrated at one point when I got called for a foul and then got mauled and it was called a jump ball. I'm taking it personally thinking what the hell do I have to do? I slapped myself around and got back into learning mode. To be fair they only had 1 big guy. The rest of them were short and fast. They drove around and did dynamic air borne moves displaying athleticism and speed. Fortunately for us at the tail end of this they missed a-lot. I even won the opening tip. I guess it was our day. I still feel like a deer in traffic. Totally wobbly and about to lose the ball. In the post I faked my guy and got him to jump but got blocked from behind as I went up. Scoring inside is not happening for me. The only other notable is I played the full 40 minutes. We only had 1 sub. I was pretty thirsty.

Did a Church songwriter thing this week. Sort of a group meeting. There was a discussion on if lyrics or melody is more important. Give me a break. "It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing" you know? Well crafted lyrics are only as good as the body they move in. So much music is all lyric and no body. I guess really it's like when people discuss the soul and the spirit, the spirit is how the soul feels but the soul is the body of the spirit. Something like that. Depending on who you ask. I think the lyric and the melody are one ideally. Think of how much gas David Byrne gets out of the word "Hey" in "And She Was" and tell me melody doesn't matter.
The other thing I've ran into this week is the "God gave me this song" line. Well maybe you should give it back. Christian artists seem to think if their little song came to them then it must be from God and thus they have carte blanche to spew the most cliche addled trite I've ever heard in my life. Secular writer's do this too but they say it came from their heart. So what. If it's not good I don't care if it came from your Grandma's diary. Your Grandma wasn't a writer. Speaking of Grandma's though, we had one Grandma in our group that laid a Gospel Opera with piano like Liberace on us. That was wild. It was like Howard Finster folk Gospel, Opera. I think someone might need to make a documentary.

My new set of songs is becoming a little Chinese Democracy isn't it? It occurred to me today that maybe it's time to just write and record. I've wanted to try and re-approach my sound and use my drum machine more effectively and make my sound more folk pop but in the end I just want to write some new songs. In the end I've never been very good at recording, I've never been one to labor over putting a song on tape. I guess I've got to think, do I want 30 more demos of songs sitting around or do I want something that shows growth?

I got to play live last night. Our friend Julie had her 40th Birthday. Pretty much The Lovespies band played House Band and put on live band Karaoke. They were cool enough to let me play rhythym guitar and sing a few during the free for all segment of the night. I played-
Wild Thing
Hey Good Lookin
Just What I Needed
You Got Me Doin What You Want
We also kicked around Pink Floyd, Rush, The Police, Venus Hum, Rocky Top, Amazing Grace, some Elvis but the highlight for me was my wife owning "Walking on Sunshine."

Basketball: Games 3-4 and Music. Reviews and Musings.

2009-03-08T15:35:00.000-07:00

We played 2 games this weekend to make up for a missed game earlier in the season.
Game #1 we were up against a team with a former college basketball player. Early on I was still sort of washing the foul taste of last week out of my mouth and fighting the sense of powerlessness. Just sort of not feeling like I can do anything and just watching and laughing about how good the other team is. Part of this was made enjoyable because the guys on this team were cool. They were funny and laid back. Good grief the last two teams you'd have thought someone was going to cut the net down when it was over and the lights were going to get low and rings were going to be handed out. The one guy on this team that played college was awesome. He had such a great attitude too and it feels odd to say but an infectious smile. We prayed before this game and asked for God's hand on the game and to let us just have fun. I think it definitely put the Spirit in the game. The other funny thing is this team had a real good looking dude and three girls came to watch him play. They were like the set of The Girls Next Door. Three little blonde cheerleaders. They would go "Oh" and put their hands to their mouths every time he got hit. This was funny.

I got a reverse lay up that I'm sure no one expected, let alone me. I got 2 field goals coming out of traffic, I got caught and shot around the right side of the foul shot line which is my favorite spot. After that I missed 2 panicky jump shots on the side. We kept it close for a while but I think that was just lack of effort on their part. I started to feel pretty good though. At some point and this is key, someone uttered the words I have dreaded through all my pick up games. "Zone Defense." This gets back to so many fundamentals in my make up. I love making music. I can't read music, I can't sing, I can't play the guitar solo to "Crazy Train". I don't know anything about music. I know how to write songs and in doing that chords might as well be pick axes and shovels. It's just a tool. So I love basketball and I watch games all the time and the commentary guys will say,"They've switched from man to man to zone," and I watch and I try to follow what's going on. I looked it up about a year ago on wikipedia. Written down it doesn't make a-lot of sense. So the game suddenly seemed like it was going 200 miles an hour and I had no idea what to do. I remembered that part in Dave Hickey's Glass Bottom Cadillac when he is writing as Hank Williams and he said something like I had no idea how to bait a hook. I had to look out of the corner of my eye. The next break I told my guys "I have no idea how to do this, you've got to give me a crash course." My friend Randy said "He's an NBA guy what do you expect?" No doubt. I listened up and think I got the hang of it. It seemed to work for us. We got more rebounds and more steals and we kept it close. I think it was 70 something to 30 something because they started busting 3's at the end. We hung in there though for a while. I got elbowed in the throat when my guy got the inbound pass and swung around with the ball not expecting me to be there. I thought for a second that I was going to be hurt but it passed. I said "I can breath, I'm good."
Game #2 was an hour later. We sat around the gym trying to stay loose but not waste any energy. We kept this game really close. I again started out feeling overwhelmed. They had a big athletic guy. I was like "Great another hour of being outsized." I got an offensive rebound and a put back and it sort of clicked for me. The zone thing did too. I packed the shot of their big guy and got all ball. I contested a-lot more after that. I nailed a 3 at the start of the game and got the put back after that I just out up panicky shots without really getting good looks. So I guess I scored 5 in this game. The big news is we watched a team play that we think we can beat. Maybe we won't be The Clippers of the league. Hope, is a big motivator.

I was b-balled out but I did watch the last 2 minutes of UNC and Duke. Go Heels. I'm sure Rob is on another plane right now.

I played the crap out of 2 records this week at Spinner. The new Buddy and Julie Miller and the new Neko Case. I sampled some Justin Earl and I further contemplated songwriting. Songwriting is different than being good at music. You can be a guitar mad man and not be much of a songwriter. You can not really sing and be a great songwriter and I don't just mean Bob Dylan or Leonard Cohen. I mention this to tie into the fact that I love basketball and didn't understand zone defense going into the game. This mirrors my music relationship to the fundamentals of music, i.e. singing and theory. I'm trying to think about writing like this but I don't think it's the same. Your either a good writer or your not. Workshops and classes and all that will only delay the inevitable. I know I used to could not help but write. I wrote on the steering wheel at red lights for years. Now I don't have that and it makes me question if I am a writer. But I also know that at some point you can't burn on the fuel of youth and heartbreak. It becomes a discipline. Steve Earle writes a haiku every day. Leonard Cohen works at a typewriter from 8-5. It's work.

When I first heard the new Neko Case "Middle Cyclone" I didn't like it. What I felt could be summed up by one song. "I'm An Animal". It's got a great 4 on the floor, floor tom riding the beat bass and a little strut. She drops the line.

Pick up that rock and throw it at the lake.
I've done my best but I made some mistakes.

and in that line the music is slamming. The turn around is slamming. The melody, her voice, the frustration, the feel all hit a home run. It sounds sort of like "Sweet Jane" as it comes out of it but in that second she reminded me of Westerberg. I was ready to love this song and that moment never came again. I wanted that the be the chorus. I wanted 4 more cool lines and then bam again-this drop dead chorus. I wanted it to be how the song faded out with a ripping Keith Richards guitar line. None of this happened. I listened to it again and again just waiting for that split second of bliss. I played the record a few more times and it grew on me. The first song "This Tornado Loves You" is brilliant. I love the double time of the "I'll leave them motherless, fatherless" at the end. The song compares her love to a tornado bearing down on her love interest. I like any song that does like Frida Khalo paintings and makes the feeling of love or sadness into a physical entity. A destructive force of nature is even better. When I think of Neko it reminds me of the band I was in having a contract from Bloodshot and it makes me wonder of how we would have sounded now if we'd have remained. Her voice reminds me of my old band mates voice but I like my friend's voice better. I also think of the day a bunch of Chicago music types came to town to hang with my friend H and how one of them talked about Neko in a French Maid outfit cleaning her apartment while we were drinking at Tootsies. Which reminds me if you told me the album cover was Neko in a skirt with a sword on the hood of a hot rod car I think I would have imagined something much different than the final product. I'll probably buy this record soon.
I also sampled Buddy and Julie Miller's new album Chalk Lines. I dig Robert Plant here much more than I did on "Rising Sand". I didn't get that record. It didn't have a punch. It smelled like "good music" you know? One of those records that really should be good, everyone on it's amazing and everyone plays good and sounds good but there just isn't a core. That record felt that way to me. Someone has been listening to Tom Waits too. The drums sound like a garage. I like the song "Gasoline and Matches" and think the guitar solo might be the best one I've heard since The Kills album from last year on "Tape Song". I liked some lines on this one "taking pictures in the dark" was a line that had a nice meloromantic feel to it. Some of the rest just felt too ordinary to me. I wonder though if that is a earmark of making great songs. I know with my writing I have felt into the you need Cliff's Notes to get this song trap. I am attending a songwriting group at church and one of the goals of the group is to teach us to be better communicators. I wonder do you go with a "You made me cry" over "I need the river to hide these tears" line from time to time? The ballads on the album didn't grab me as much but I think that might be lack of patience on my part. I'd highly recommend this one but I'll probably i-tunes just a handful of them and call it an EP.

I might go see Justin Earle Friday night because Joshua Black Wilkins is opening for him. I've heard some really great things about his band and the new stuff he is working on. He's got great, moody, earthy photography going for him already so he'll be on his way if he gets the rock n roll moving. Justin sounds a little like Tampa Red on one song a little like Westerberg on another (even covers a PW song) and a little country on the rest. Good plan.

I've worked on my song, which the working title is "Baby-sung like Where Did Our Love Go?" and I think I have all the parts I just need to arrange them better. A chord here a chord there. I also need one more line. I've not gotten the line that tastes like blood in your mouth. The line that seals it. Maybe if I worked on songs more than for fleeting moments I'd nail it down but if nothing else this blog may be about being a Dad first and a worker second and a songwriter third. After listening to Buddy and Julie it made me think that my desire to really re-vamp my style may fall aside. I may just go back to country and just work at getting better at that. Work at shifting the gears there. In my mind I'm going to drop my Brit Folk Pop/ Pulp album. In reality I probably won't go that far.
Currently loving-
Millionaire-Kelis and Andre 3000
Deep Water-Portishead
The Obvious Child-Paul Simon
On the Water-The Walkmen-yeah this is really sounding right.
Lay and Love-Bonnie Prince Billy-either I am getting older or he is getting better. His warbling has gone and he's got this man voice to slay dragons with. He's gotten folk country like Neil Young, which I never like as much as I like other people doing it (Wilco for example). He's killing me on this one with the electro drums.
Man in Love-Charlie Feathers. This has been on my i-pod and it keeps popping up. Perfect.

Around the house I play my song I am working on and Hank Williams "I Can't Help It If I'm Still in Love With You" because I cannot believe the economy of E-B and A on this song. I also play a honky tonk version of "I Wanna Be Sedated" with a Ray Price shuffle. It entertains the kid.

Basketball: Game #2 50 something (them) 20 something (us). The Symphony and music musings.

2009-03-01T12:09:00.001-08:00

Anything I do I think I'm going to be great at. I was asked to bartend a family member's party a few weeks ago. The image of Tom Cruise in Cocktail flashed through my mind. I spilled a drink on the table in the first 5 minutes. I cook and I think Bobby Flay. Sometimes I cook and it's good other times it's cardboard. I am probably this way from being an only child and being named Adam. If you get the name Adam you are prone to grandios thoughts, all things to all people, the man etc. Psychologist say this, not me. On the other hand, I also very often quote Andre 3000 in the movie "Be Cool" when he says "Don't give me a gun." I know it's a crap movie but for some reason that scene really cracked me up. I think I've seen it a-lot in my life. It's sort of a Barney Fife moment. He grabs a gun it goes off he throws it away embarassed.
So playing basketball in a league has been a humbling experience, not unlike a few weeks ago when I played music at my church. I guess this is the year for finding out I am kind of crappy at a-lot of things I always thought I was good at.
So I stink at defense. I can have some guy shorter than me within arms length and it's like I am stuck in concrete. I am 6' 4" and I don't block shots. I maybe blocked 1 yesterday. Usually I get scored on by the fast players. I got posted up 2 times by this teams big guys. One of them, I'll call him Harangody because he might as well have been as big as the guy that plays for Notre Dame right now. He posted. I kept him from scoring but I fouled him. The other guy, probably had 30 pounds on me he posted me and flat out missed. I know this sounds like I didn't stink at defense. But I did. I think I got 3 rebounds, all mostly from being in the right place at the right time. The rest of the time I just got pushed around. Harangody was so big his elbow lived on my shoulder. He pushed me over and over and over. Just shoved me out of the way. I felt like a Hobbit fighting Orcs. I felt like Paul Newman in "Cool Hand Luke". I felt like Indian Jones fighting the big bald Nazi dude by the airplane. Every team we play I get stuck guarding the guy the size of a house. I felt obligated to stay on him on defense otherwise they probably would just throw it to him and let him lay it in. So I spent defense doing this. Rebounds would be nice but I was shoved so far away from the action they were way out of reach. I felt like I was a gnat. I gnat with no hands. Also this time we played on a regulation court which was a little longer than the other court. I think this was dragging at me. My guy seemed to have trouble getting down the court but he'd get a nice full steam and run right into me. I felt like I did zip on D and was just sucking air on offense. Like my boss at Pier 1 used to say "I just need a pulse at the register."
On offense I got 6 points again. I had jump shot from the side. I had a put back off one our guys miss (which is one of my favorite ways to score) and I had the ball in the lane almost got it stolen got it back and did a turn around fade away J. It rolled in. I also got my shot blocked. The guy guarding me on the play-I thought there is no way in hell he can jump as high as I can. He looked like a baseball player. I was wrong. I must have given him a phone call, an e-mail and a telegraph because I put no fake no nothing into the shot and bam he blocked me. I really wanted to repay the favor but I got no chance. After that I was gun shy. I shot 2 more times and put way too much arc on it. I ended up getting free on the side and getting the ball and just dribbling around and kicking it back out. I was thinking I really like playing 36 (the game where you are on your own, if you miss, you miss, not your team) b/c if it was 36 I would have kept taking shots. The last few minutes these guys would act like every time they got fouled that it might be a fight if that foul was any harder. Rolling their eyes, saying "Thank you" to the whistle blowing, if they had collars I think they would have been popping them. One of them joked about maybe having to have a meltdown. I spent the last 10 minutes fighting the urge to be a smart alec over the gloating and the threat of violence over getting fouled. I spent my time thinking be the Ghandi of the court.

I got to take the wife to the Symphony. Actually her Aunt unloaded some sweet tickets on us. It was Mozart and some modern piece and Serge Rachmaninoff. The Mozart was fine. The modern piece (Lukas Foss) was like a pretentious art film. If everyone wasn't telling you this is high art and you just don't understand it you'd be laughing your tuckus off. I'll never understand why people work so hard to make something sound bad just to prove some point about how horrible life is. I guess I should think about that with my own art but it still is hard to take. I'm glad there is stuff like that and I am glad to see it and to be reminded of the range with which we can express, I kept thinking this is like hard bop jazz or some Tom Waits at his most experimental. I don't enjoy it but I get it. I think I see humor in it often and I feel like I can't laugh because everyone else is looking at it so seriously. I wonder if really there is humor there and the crowd is being too serious. Not that I'd sit around and listen for kicks but there is a craziness to it that I feel like I can't acknowledge. We had an intermission and it was back for Serge. I really could have gone with going over to Lower Broad and seeing some Honky Tonk but we were tired and dressed for the stuffy crowd so we stuck it out. We went to McD's afterwards. I think of classical music people as music people that are math nerds. The conductor told some sort of story and made fun of Andrew Lloyd Weber which I guess is what all conductors do just to prove they are above it all. They all chortled in that knowing disdain of common culture. I kept saying to my wife, "Nobody handles Handel the way you hanle Handel, " and wondering if the harpist hands people his leg when he says "hi". The people in the seats around us were not near as much fun as the people I sat by at The Titans games this season. All in all though the Schermerhorn is beautiful and we had some wine. The classical folks are a little I know something you don't but I was that way when I answered all the tour guides questions at Sun Records. Every crowds got 'em. The elusive real that we all search for.

I think I heard Pylon in highschool because my friend Jason had a tape. I never remembered much of it. My friend Rob blogged about them this week because their guitarist died. I spent most of the weekend singing this song. Wow. Can't believe I never heard that. Nice to hear something so cool.

Of course there is a God lesson in the basketball. Learning to keep trying. Learning to fail. Learning to do things for fun and for love even if you know that the outcome may not favor you. Nothing hippie like we are all winners but something about strength.

Basketball: Game #1 Score Them-54 Us-37

2009-02-21T11:31:00.000-08:00

I debated if I was going to blog about the League Play tourny I am playing in. I decided I would after the first game today. I'm a talker I guess. I blog about stuff to shift through it. I always wanted to play ball in school. I always loved basketball. So I wonder am I a scorer? Do I make my free throws? Do I foul a-lot? What kind of playa am I? So far I think not bad, not good. Just sort of there. I guess you can kind of get lost when there are 5 guys out there. I'm going to try and be fair. I'm going to be vague too. No names, no team names, nothing like that just my take on the festivities.

I show up. A couple of our guys are there. I see some of the other team. All black guys are not good basketball players. However, ones that seek out a game probably are. This team has 2 brothers hanging out and a bunch of stout looking white dudes with that sort of Danny Ainge look to them. I figured we'd do what we can.

I'm a tall guy. This leaves me in games to play the post, which depending on the team we are playing can be good or bad. If it's a bunch of shorter guys I am Tim Duncan. If it's guys that are big but slow I can move around them. If they are stout and with it I am worthless. I am probably 187 sopping wet. My height is pointless against anyone with some meat on them. These guys were big. Strong too. Made of iron. Probably they had been working out since 8th grade. On offense I tried to get low in the post. I got swallowed by the guy guarding me and 2 other guys. Our guards looked like they were getting hacked and hounded the entire game. None of us were getting good looks. None of us were even open for a second. Apparently our guards were also getting a-lot of jawing from the Danny Ainges. My guy, one of the brothers was pretty calm. I don't think I registered as a threat to try to get into the head of. On defense I tried to keep with him and keep him busy. He hung out away from the basket a-lot. This probably kept me from getting rebounds. I think I got 1 or 2. He didn't score a-lot he passed a-lot. Later he'd take off to the goal and do some crazy move. The Ainge's were driving and pile driving and making their shots. As the game went on I tried to get under the basket more. I just got completely shoved around. I fouled my guy and he made his shot. I blocked another sort of. I tipped one sort of. I really felt like I was a ball in a pinball machine. I ran a-lot. Later I tried to move around a-lot on offense and try to get open. It was like I was in a valley made of trees with their branches swaying all around me. As the jawing went on I was finally made aware of it as it got kind of heated. One of our guys, one of their guys. I forget how riled up I can get. I can get really smart ass and pissy. I was also kind of glad that I'm so old now that I just figured "Eh whatever." I figured we have 10 or so more games to go, I don't want to be the guy on the losing team making it worse. Of course no one was jawing at me so that helped. We all really struggled. If we could have got some shots to fall I think it would have been better. We just got out rebounded too. Maybe my fault but I felt swallowed in the sea by these guys. Like posting up a brick wall.
I made 2 lay ups, one was because I got down the court and laid it in the other was a nice down the baseline and up under the goal reverse lay up. I made 1 field goal around the free throw line with a nice high arc. I also got my shot BLOCKED by my guy. He can really jump high. I really thought I had him. I was wrong. I should tried to hook it. Maybe next time. I missed another field goal on the side. 3 out of 5 ain't bad. I never really got in a groove. I'm sure if I'd gotten in a groove my guy would have slapped me silly. I think he fouled the crap out of me once too but it was ruled a jump ball.

Funny thing is I felt like playing more after it was over. I wasn't really winded. So that's good.

Anyways. Game 1. Still in one piece.
Offensive Goal-Get open more. If I'm going to get boxed out for rebounds and put backs then try to spread the floor by hanging out away from the goal and moving around a-lot. Try to get open. I can knock down shots.
Defensive Goal-I just stayed on my guy and he didn't do much. I need to gamble more and help the others try to block shots and get steals. Same idea if I'm going to get boxed out on rebounds.

I love basketball sometimes because I'm not great but I still love it. That's a lesson.

Music-thinking back.

2009-02-21T07:26:00.001-08:00

I also made a note on Facebook-

I did this note the other day and picked some cool stuff that I dug in my early 20's etc. I read others entries and realized the target for this was more formative years, nascent, visceral in nature. I also attended a writer's group at church this week. Through most of it I felt sort of like I play a different sport than the others. My influences and motivations are from other places. Maybe it's because I'm Appalachian. This won't be a list of records necessarily but of music that hit me like a wall. Made me comb my hair different. Spit different. All that.

1. Readers Digest Songbooks--My Mom had a pile of these. Mom dug piano roll blues. She couldn't play it by ear so she'd go through these books and play "Hard Hearted Hannah" and "Blues in the Night" and then "Amazing Grace" and onto standards. My Mom had the biggest sad sap my heart is broken record collection in the world. Connie Francis, Brenda Lee all that stuff. I grew up on sad 50's pop ballads.
2. Tapestry-Carole King. My mom also played this record into the ground. There is a picture of me at 2 or so reaching into the record player. It was one of those big pieces of furniture record players. I loved records.
3. Dolly Parton. My Dad played the heck out of some Dolly. He told me I'd never be able to play bluegrass if I kept messing with rock n roll. I think that was motivation. He dogged everything I listened to because it all sucked compared to Dolly. Sort of how I am now with my music taste.
4. WIVK-I grew up within earshot of The Frog. I grew up on "Elvira" and "Queen of Hearts" and "Baby's Got Her Blue Jeans On" and "Somebody's Knockin" if you don't know these songs then we ain't got a basis. This was ground zero.
5. Bryan Adams-Reckless. I got a bunch of tapes from one of those tape clubs. I got Madonna. I got Duran Duran. The Pointer Sisters. A bunch of stuff. I got this Bryan Adams record. I didn't grow up on Kiss like a-lot of my friends. My cousins liked Kiss and they scared the crap out of me. This was the first rock music I bought.
6. The Georgia Satellites-And then I heard this. I said "Dad what is that sound?" He said "That's a guitar." I got one for my birthday that year. I took guitar lessons. He taught me to do the Chuck Berry beat. That's really all I needed.
7. The Last Picture Show-For some reason I decided to add to the angst ridden pool of misery that was high school by watching movies like this. I don't know why or how. I guess the video store had it. Anyway, it had a-lot of 1950's country in the soundtrack. Seeing young desolate teenage boys pine to Hank hit me hard. I got Hank Williams. That was my key to country. My Great Uncle used to sing "Walking the Floor" by Ernest Tubb a-lot so I probably never had a chance. My family was moonshiners too so I got it in spades.
8. The Rolling Stones-Hot Rock, Big Hits, Fazed Cookies. I got this one before the one with all the big hits. I was starting to listen to WIMZ a-lot and going through all the classic rock. My parents had some friends with some cool old records. I got a tape copy of this. I wore it out.
9. The Beatles-20 Greatest. I got this record in early middle school. I got into The Beatles because I was into art. In 1987 it was the 20th anniversary of the Summer of Love. I saw the Sgt Pepper album cover and it looked cool to me. I got mad into The Beatles while the other kids dunk Hank Jr. and Metallica. This made me a nerd in 1987. Any kid that gets The Beatles and Stones at this time soon buys a copy of Rolling Stones Greatest Records of All Time and just starts buying every 5 star album in there. I did. I had Zep that I loved and The Who. I was record crazy.
10. The movie Crossroads. I was also into the blues as a middle school kid. My parent's had rented the movie and were watching it with some friends. I could hear these sounds in my bedroom and I still remember that night it was like 1,000 degrees and the bass and the pulse and the bang of the blues was in the other room. I was glued to my door with my ear on the floor. I got Robert Johnson on tape. This led me after Howlin' Wolf and Muddy and onto Clapton and Page and all that one way and back to Son House and Charley Patton the other way. Chicago Blues is my favorite music to this day.
11. The Replacements--I dug The Who because they seemed to sum up my lonely angst filled youth, identity and depression for the 14 year old set. I was still drawing and painting at this point primarily in middle school and early highschool. I was 16 and I got The Mats. I'll always be glad I was 16 listening to "16 Blue". If The Who gave me something to identify with The Mats gave me a voice. I was suddenly like I want to write songs. I want to do this. This is how I am going to say what I feel. The way the dressed, the way they played shows all of it hit me. I never wanted to get on stage and it seemed re-hearsed and planned. I wanted it to feel like we just wrote this and it's burning a hole in my heart. Play drunk, play wild. Scream your head off and then have a drop dead line. I was hooked on songs after this.
12. Viloent Femmes-But really it was this band that I don't even own a record by now that really made me feel like I can do this. They were a little country and that helped. It sounded simple and easy.
13. The movie WIld At Heart. Gene Vincent and Elvis. I got hip to finding old rock a billy. I got hip to 1950's underbelly. Screamin Jay, Wanda Jackson, Santo and Johnny, The Cramps even later. The crooners like Dino. Any romantic or psychotic 1950's wax was gold to me.

I'm done.

Music: Blossom Dearie, the song, NBA. Life.

2009-02-15T08:22:00.000-08:00

Blossom Dearie died a week or so ago. She lived a long time. She must have steered clear of the smack. I had the albume "Ohh La La" and always really liked it. A more girly Anita O'Day, Blossom had a great crisp, clipped jazz bop style. Something about a blonde chic wearing glasses and singing about romance always seemed cool. There is a sunnyness in her music, at least this record. Check her out.

I found out that I can do a digital only release through CD Baby. When I finish my new record I'll probably be going that route. I am still working on the 1st song for the record. Not sure if it'll be the actual first song on the record but it's the first one I'm doing. I'm stumped on some lyrics. I guess I'm doing all I can being a Dad, a husband and working a full time job. I want to have a set of songs again one day. Something new. Maybe I'll throw together a band from church and hit a few bars. I need drums, bass, piano and back up singing chics. Really church today had me wanting to make a gospel record. I'm not sure what that would mean to me right now. Maybe loud oomph pa drums and screaming with bits of Eziekiel.

I've been re-reading The Glass Bottom Cadillac by Dave Hickey from his book Air Guitar. I meaningfully underlined so many passages from this story when I was 23. I need to try to pull now from the other side of this. I am on the other side of being 23 and un-higned. I'm 35 and strumming.

Watched the Dunk Contest and the 3 Point Shoot Out. I love NBA ball. I don't know if it was because I watched when I was a kid but that's the best theory I've heard.

I'm ready for Spring.

Three Brothers is on TV. Love that movie.

Music: Songwriting.

2009-02-07T09:12:00.001-08:00

I feel like this sometimes.

I thought I was done with the first new song I've written in maybe going on a year now. I've played it at least once a day for a week or so. I finally decided that the 2nd verse doesn't really jive with the narrative of the 1st verse. I think before I would have just went with it and cut the song. I'm trying to go somewhere else now so I'm going to push a little longer. I'm hoping that once the first song is in the can the rest will flow a little bit. As is though I feel if both verses don't work together it deflates the push of the song. It has to be tight as a fist to be a knockout.

I'm trying to find a way to put my songs across. I don't think I've ever done that. I was thinking about it like when I was 23 I had this incredible environment. I played in Knoxville and had a good band where everyone played their part and we had charisma. But that is never enough. The local bookie loved what we did. The owner of BnH loved what we did. The owner of Gryphon's loved what we did. To him we sold a-lot of beer because people in Knoxville in 1997 loved themselves some alt country rock n roll, mainly because Scott Miller and the Viceroys had worked darn hard to make that sound part of the scene. The local paper music writer dug Paul Westerberg and got what I did, conversely when he booked a show in Nashville he didn't sell enough tickets to warrant coming here. That should have told me my appeal was an up hill climb here. I don't have anything like what I had in Knoxville in 97 here now in Nashville. I do/did stuff that no one here is interested in. That's a big part of it. When I was young I had the luxury of never having to think about my audience or tailoring things or trying to make something appealing. What I did-to my own pleasure was appealing and I don't meant to "sell out" and that now I'm going to change what I do to please others but there is a measure of how do people percieve this and effort that goes with that to make it work and make it connect. It's a conversation. I know too that I don't feel like I have any more Honky Tonk Rock N Roll songs in me. I know too that with age my world view has changed. I feel much more like a Christian first and an Appalachian 2nd now. In 97 the world was very small. It seems the world has shrank so much in the last decade. I don't sit around listening to Hank Williams all the time now, I listen to Julie Andrews. Which doesn't allude much to the shrinking world but does illustrate my shift.

It's like this, I played at Mercy once and my friend Mark was like "How about a handshake?" I had started my set with a minor chord ballad about a girl drowning in a flood. It was years later I realized that I need to learn that in so many aspects of my life and music too. I never put a hand shake with my music and the rest of me while I'm at it.

When it's all done it might just be more Honky Tonk Rock n Roll but I hope not. The world needs that like it needs a hole in the head and I guess I'm out to prove I'm not a one trick pony. I am songwriter. So the plan is to record it all at home in Garage Band. If it warrants it I'll add some real drums and other instruments. If it passes after that I'll get it mastered. After that I'll look at snocap and itunes etc. I'll make a PDF to buy with it. I might make a cheap video for YouTube. I might play some gigs. Goal #1 is to connect with people and to make something that friends want to listen to and pass along. Friends that don't write songs. With that the goal is to make something that I feel is me, now as a man, not a drunk kid chasing dreams. Something that doesn't depend on being fast and rock n rolling. Some stuff that demands a little patience. Maybe it'll suck. Other than that, right now I make a little bit of money for 10 seconds of one of my songs on an MTV show. I figure if I can move up to a minute somewhere then I'll make a little more. Maybe pay for some groceries. Wouldn't that be cool.