AHHHH!!!!!!
What a fun night! Y'all missed a pretty good time at Bobby's last night. My one-week layoff did me the world of good, as I was in fine fettle for the play. The only disappointment was the fact that my drum-proteg`e Lady Sheila elected to take an additional night off from the jam, leaving me to do the do solo. However, she did send me off with a "Tear something up GOOD for me tonight;" as things turned out I was able to do just that.
I got a warm welcome back from Ron C. and the Core lads - Dave, Stu, Brian, and good ol' Hank - as soon as I ambled in. I returned the greetings and lost no time in ordering up some chow. Dave wandered over and embarrassed the hell out of me when he told me he really enjoyed my writing; I had no idea he'd even read these silly ramblings here! Soon enough, it was suddenly Old Home week when a cat I hadn't seen for 25 years - one Mark Winkler - strolled in toting his bass. We did the "LONG time no see" bit and briefly caught each other up on this and that. See, Mark is one of perhaps two other high school classmates of mine that has kept his music going ever since, and he was impressed that I've been fighting the Good Fight just like he has all these years.
By now I was already in an excellent frame of mind for the play, and this is precisely when one Chris Odell appeared on the scene. We met at my initial SNJ a couple weeks back, hit it off instantly, and in the interim we cooked up some ideas to try out together, should we get the chance. Once the opener and the first Aggregation were done {and after the Cardinals finally lost to Pittsburgh, after nineteen innings!}, Chris and I got our chance. By mutual agreement, we kicked things off with - what else - "Hey Joe." Since Stu was with us on bass, I relaxed all the way and prepared to unleash a bit of "Classic Animal." Chris obviously felt the same way, 'cos he EXPLODED immediately after I made my entrance. It was all I could do to restrain myself from joining him in some early frenzy, but I had a firm plan in mind.
In essence, I applied my Clapton-inspired "build-up, climax, tag-out" formula to the tune, as the way to best complement Chris's fire and brimstone. He seemed a little puzzled that I wasn't wailing like he was at first, but he soon got the gist of what I was doing as we cooked merrily along. I carefully raised the temperature as we approached the first bridge; once we hit it, that's when I began to explode. As soon as Chris heard me start to go off, he really began to shred and I mean turning confetti into dust motes-type shredding. I egged him on as best I could, and stone me if he didn't hit me with a Smile just before dragging me headlong into a wicked counterpoint throwing-match.
Regular readers of my old MySpace blog in 2008 will recall the frequent times Buffalo Bob and I threw as much as we could at each other, just for the sheer fun of it. Wellsir, last night's "duel" with Chris easily eclipsed any throwing-match I've done in the last ten years, if not fifteen or twenty. Totally spur-of-the-moment improv, and highly contagious as it turned out. We toned things down somewhat for the last couple verses, but went straight back at it again for the second bridge. This time around I took to some increasingly outrageous cliff-dives, which set Chris off even more, if such a thing was possible. Right in the middle of a particularly insane cliff-dive, Stu caught my eye with a look that said "No way are you gonna be able to come back from that, Dude!" When I did though, there was nothing but admiration on his face; he even threw some shit at me a short time later, which I took as a sincere compliment.
Once Chris scratched his itch thoroughly, we finally wound Hey Joe down to a very nice reception. Before the clap could die out, we were off into Neil Young's "Cortez." I started off utilizing the same basic approach as HJ, with some heavy dynamics thrown in for good measure. I'd done this particular drum arrangement at my third or fourth Woodshed blow earlier this summer, but a few bars in Stu asked me to "crunch it up" a bit, which I obligingly did. The dynamics got switched out in favor of heavy stomp for the main body, but I did employ them as overlays on my accents and embellishments. Chris meanwhile was once again having a high old time displaying his abundant shredder-skills. Between the three of us, we concocted a pretty dramatic re-imagineering of the piece, and our combined efforts worked well enough to earn us our second warm reception, which is all that really matters in the end.
This concluded my first set of the evening; I happily ran the compliment-gauntlet on the way back to my table. After a few more Aggregations went up, I was startled to be called up to help close the set of the third one. This Aggregation was basically a whole band, save for the drums; Brian opened with them, and I closed. "Steve on Wheels" as they were called made me feel welcome straight away, and I quickly settled down so we could kick off The Doors' "Hands on the Wheel." Since it was basically a vocal vehicle for Steve himself, I saved the bombast for the instrumental breaks {going totally over the top with several of them}, and made a fine overall showing despite having not played the song in ages {my rust has cobwebs on it}.
The dudes were all Smiles and praise at the end, and the effort was decently clapped. Myself, I was just happy to be a small part of it all. Last night was Steve's birthday, and he's also making a slow musical comeback just like I am. His is the heavier slog though; some of the obstacles in his path are voice-related, meaning that his instrument can't be fixed or replaced as easily as a guitar or drum kit. I sympathize deeply with that scenario, and told Steve as much during our post-blow chat. Hopefully he'll rally quickly; I'd dearly love to have a proper full outing with him in the near future.
Although a bit pithy, last night's play for me was a pleasant bread-and-butter excursion, with more than a few extended passages of my usual mayhem. A fine sophomore effort, in other words. As the night wound down, Chris and I deepened our nascent bond some more as we talked about scratch-band possibilities. We both agree that our wonderful chemistry together needs to be thoroughly explored as soon as we can, so the next several weeks and months ought to be mighty interesting. On a final note I concluded my evening with yet another small burst of old-school Animal, when I sauntered up to the one and only Philmo Montgomery and said "Hey! You're Johnny Winter! I'm a huge fan of yours!"
Despite us being total strangers, Philmo didn't miss a beat before answering me with "Hey, I love Johnny Winter!!" and a bark of laughter. Ice thus broken, I introduced myself and we had a short but decent chat. Philmo's something of an SNJ legend, and his blow last night certainly convinced me. I quickly put forth a suggestion of us going up together at a future play, he agreed heartily, and that was that. The developments will be reported here as they happen, but between you and me I'd say it would be a safe bet that Bobby's Place hasn't seen the last shred-fest I'm drumming behind by a long shot.
Yeah, pretty good play. More is on the way, too. Although the daily grind is still relentlessly grinding along, I'm almost to the point of actually relaxing for more than a day or two at a time. The plays have been a huge help of course, and are getting better each time out. For now, All Is Well.
More shortly.............
Monday, August 20, 2012
Monday, August 13, 2012
Interlude
Man alive, I'm about used up!!
It's been almost two months since my return home - but it feels like two years. Merciless heat, the usual nonstop chaos, l-o-n-g hours on the jay-oh-bee {always around cookers and ovens - we literally had to go outside in the 106-degree heat just to cool off}, and even my string of seven consecutive plays; all have taken a toll on me. It's time for a little break.
Not that I'm complaining, mind you. A job in today's economy is a Blessing indeed, no matter how physically taxing or "mundane" it may be. I'm grateful as hell to have it and I'll be off my probationary period first of next month, which translates into reasonable stability. As for the music, well, there's no real issue to speak of since I switched bivouacs from Back Street to Bobby's last week. I simply wanted one weekend off from everything to recharge a bit; the jamming progress I made last week will resume next weekend, rest assured.
Then again, this damn summer-long heatwave finally broke for us starting late Thursday night, so I also wanted some time to just bask in the cooler weather without having to swill a half-gallon of Gatorade every 30 minutes or so!! I know we'll probably have much more heat before the solstice, but I'll takes what I can gets now, 10-Q very much. I do believe it's called "carpe-diem," or some such nonsense.
Whatever the case, my forward progress is slowly assuming a steady gait at long last; a small respite ought to reinvigorate everything without stalling the momentum. Like I mentioned last post, I've acquired some great new friends from Bobby's SNJ {Sunday Night Jams}, and we'll be cooking up the chemistry again in several days' time, believe me. There might even be the possibility of me hitting the concert boards again in my own right before the year's out; more I will not say until all the I's are dotted and the T's are crossed {or guzzled, as the case may be - my fondness for Long Islands hasn't abated one whit}.
And that's the very latest, my good Friends. I'll be back at it with a vengeance tomorrow morning, and we'll see what happens. I know the Conventions are coming up in a couple weeks, but my usual zeal for politics right now is as burned-out as much of this year's corn crop is. Guess it needs a small break too, go figure. Ah well, I'm gonna lay back and just ride the groove for this next week; I heartily encourage all and sundry who frequent these silly pages to do likewise. I'll sing out as soon as there's news.
Ta fo' now, and pass that pitcher of LIT's over here, please; I'm dreadfully parched, and disgustingly sober...........
...................dig?
{BTW - I claim full intellectual-property ownership of "dreadfully parched, and disgustingly sober." Author's prerogative, don'tcha know!}
It's been almost two months since my return home - but it feels like two years. Merciless heat, the usual nonstop chaos, l-o-n-g hours on the jay-oh-bee {always around cookers and ovens - we literally had to go outside in the 106-degree heat just to cool off}, and even my string of seven consecutive plays; all have taken a toll on me. It's time for a little break.
Not that I'm complaining, mind you. A job in today's economy is a Blessing indeed, no matter how physically taxing or "mundane" it may be. I'm grateful as hell to have it and I'll be off my probationary period first of next month, which translates into reasonable stability. As for the music, well, there's no real issue to speak of since I switched bivouacs from Back Street to Bobby's last week. I simply wanted one weekend off from everything to recharge a bit; the jamming progress I made last week will resume next weekend, rest assured.
Then again, this damn summer-long heatwave finally broke for us starting late Thursday night, so I also wanted some time to just bask in the cooler weather without having to swill a half-gallon of Gatorade every 30 minutes or so!! I know we'll probably have much more heat before the solstice, but I'll takes what I can gets now, 10-Q very much. I do believe it's called "carpe-diem," or some such nonsense.
Whatever the case, my forward progress is slowly assuming a steady gait at long last; a small respite ought to reinvigorate everything without stalling the momentum. Like I mentioned last post, I've acquired some great new friends from Bobby's SNJ {Sunday Night Jams}, and we'll be cooking up the chemistry again in several days' time, believe me. There might even be the possibility of me hitting the concert boards again in my own right before the year's out; more I will not say until all the I's are dotted and the T's are crossed {or guzzled, as the case may be - my fondness for Long Islands hasn't abated one whit}.
And that's the very latest, my good Friends. I'll be back at it with a vengeance tomorrow morning, and we'll see what happens. I know the Conventions are coming up in a couple weeks, but my usual zeal for politics right now is as burned-out as much of this year's corn crop is. Guess it needs a small break too, go figure. Ah well, I'm gonna lay back and just ride the groove for this next week; I heartily encourage all and sundry who frequent these silly pages to do likewise. I'll sing out as soon as there's news.
Ta fo' now, and pass that pitcher of LIT's over here, please; I'm dreadfully parched, and disgustingly sober...........
...................dig?
{BTW - I claim full intellectual-property ownership of "dreadfully parched, and disgustingly sober." Author's prerogative, don'tcha know!}
Monday, August 6, 2012
Return of The Jam Rat
Sometimes, change really does do a body good.
Last week's less-than-stellar Woodshed play ultimately led to an acrimonious parting of the ways between Yours Truly and Buffalo Bob. Whilst I respect and admire our previous association, BB now becomes a part of my musical past as I continue to go forwards. However, I wasn't about to let a personal dispute upset the overall momentum in the music I've cobbled up in the last month and a half. After a quick query to my old Jam Rat colleague Doc Sweetwood, I made ready to join the ranks at Bobby's Place in Valley Park - without missing a beat.
With Sheila at my side, I was really up for the evening despite it being a brand-new situation. My chops are nice and crisp thanks to all the activity since late June; the only worry I had going in was how quick could I find my niche without stepping on anyone else's musical toes. Our evening started in my favorite way, with a good meal. Bobby's is a sportsbar and grill, so I happily re-created the Delmar and Motley's days with a black-and-blue burger, and a HUGE side of loaded fries. Almost got too full to play; "generous portions" is a bit of an understatement where Bobby's menu is concerned!!
After we chowed down it was time for me to start working the room. First stop was with Ron Coffman, who runs the jam. I introduced myself, and stone me if he didn't recognize me from the "Black Sheep Posse / Missouri Chapter" page on Facebook. He asked me what kind of music I was into or wanted to do, and I gave him my standard "pro-fusion blazz" resum`e. Ron laughed and said "That's great - it'll make it a lot easier to slot you in." He ran a few things down to me about how the play worked, and that was that. I was already feeling comfortable as we ended our chat.
Next up was another Facebook buddy I'd yet to meet in person, my man Hank Williams Jr. We've had great fun stirring the pot together on Facebook {Buffalo Bob joining us on many occasions} the last couple years, so it was way cool to finally put a face with our respective names. We made with the jokes and crazy observations immediately, further enhancing my comfort-zone. After a good chat an plenty of laughs, I resumed working the room as Hank made ready for his set later in the evening. I bumped into a couple dudes from The Core who are the hosting band, introduced myself, and got a warm "Welcome aboard!" in response from each.
By now the opening set was completed, and the Aggregations started going up. Ron sought me out after the second one to let me know I was next, so I put on my gameface and answered the call when it came, totally at ease despite it being my debut. My basic unit had Rob Cruzen on guitar, and a chap called Jason {I believe - I'm still as terrible remembering names now as I was back during my original time as a Woodshed Regular} on bass. Rob ran the first tune down to me briefly, and we immediately went at it. I locked as tight as I could with Jason, and kept my ears and eyes on Rob. It was a little difficult for me to hear anything at first, but my ears thankfully started adjusting quickly as we romped along.
After we flourished out the kickoff tune to a nice hand from the crowd, Rob told me we'd be doing one of his originals next, and asked me for an up-tempo blues shuffle-groove. I was only too happy to oblige, and we cooked for a half-dozen minutes or so. I was well-pleased that my mess was exactly what Rob and Jason wanted, and I even tossed in a small amount of my usual mayhem, just to test the waters a bit. With the final coda came Smiles from both Rob and Jason - things were jelling very nicely between us by then, and the Smiles were their way to transmit that message silently to me.
Our final number was a nice stomping blues-rocker that I had great fun taking advantage of, albeit in a much more subdued and careful way. As the literal new kid on the block, I wanted to quietly establish myself on this outing, but still put forth a hint of my usual insanity where and when I could. This last tune allowed me to do just that; loads of fills on the turnarounds, carpet-bombing during the bridge, that sort of thing. Even managed a rather nice overall swing-groove that had enough jazz accents to make my man Ginger Baker smile broadly. The crowd gave us our third nice round of the clap, and I was a soggy, panting heap as I accepted {and returned} the praise from Rob and Jason before quitting the stage.
Making my way back to Sheila and our table, two dudes from The Core - guitarist Dave Bohannan, and drummer Brian Strawn - came perilously close to unleashing the Modesty Monster as they added their effusive praise about my mess. I reciprocated the compliments and soon after was able to collapse at the table with Sheila to catch my breath. In due course, Ron again sought me out to both praise my mess some more, and to let me know what and with whom my next bit would be. Two blows in the same evening? I'm down with that!! In the meantime, Sheila and I enjoyed the hell out of Jessie Womack's lovely acoustic guitar set.
Soon enough, my call came. This time around I was placed with my man Hank on guitar, longtime jam-Bud Stu Massey on bass, and Clayton Ptak on second axe. Hank said we'd kick off with a Credence tune, and we got right down to business. I had a blast laying down more than a few strafing runs, visiting Stu and Clayton, and in general just being my usual looney self as we cooked. The only glitch of the entire night came at the very end of the tune, when one of Hank's strings let go all of a sudden {shades of Doc Jim at Back Street a few weeks back}. Stu and Clayton gave him the business about "playing the song to death," and I stopped just short of suggesting that he make a proper job of it by smashing his guitar a-la Pete Townshend! Hank took it all good-naturedly, but the both of us were a bit bummed that his night was over early; the instant chemistry we achieved deserves to be built on, and hopefully will be in the near future.
Clayton, Stu, and I carried on, tearing into an up-tempo blues rocker. I gleefully went totally off the leash at last, but got a startling surprise about 3/4's of the way in - when I was spotlighted for a solo-bit. Before I could hesitate for a second, I put forth some ad-hoc slop that sounded halfway decent even to my hyper-critical ears. I even perfectly meshed the transition between my star-turn and Stu's which came right after mine. After putting loads of quiet ruff-bombing under Clayton's tasty guitar solo-finale, the unit flourished out the song in fine fashion. As with my previous set, clap and praise followed me off the stage and back to Sheila and the table once more. The balance of the evening was pleasant afterglow - the first time was out of the way with nary a hitch {save Hank's axe}; I made several new friends to broaden the network a bit more; Sheila got her next bit of field experience to digest and understand; and my latest musical chapter got off to a fairly roaring start, all things considered.
In short, a wonderful evening, chock-full of potential and ramifications. The next several weeks and months ought to be very interesting indeed. For now though, I'm just happy the transition from old to new jam-situation was so relatively seamless. Hopefully this last fact will be an omen for the future - as always, time will tell. Please stay tuned, Fellow Babies; the Next Generation Jam has begun.
More shortly.
{Editorial correction - "Jason" the bass player's proper name is Tom Hardy!! My bad...........}
Last week's less-than-stellar Woodshed play ultimately led to an acrimonious parting of the ways between Yours Truly and Buffalo Bob. Whilst I respect and admire our previous association, BB now becomes a part of my musical past as I continue to go forwards. However, I wasn't about to let a personal dispute upset the overall momentum in the music I've cobbled up in the last month and a half. After a quick query to my old Jam Rat colleague Doc Sweetwood, I made ready to join the ranks at Bobby's Place in Valley Park - without missing a beat.
With Sheila at my side, I was really up for the evening despite it being a brand-new situation. My chops are nice and crisp thanks to all the activity since late June; the only worry I had going in was how quick could I find my niche without stepping on anyone else's musical toes. Our evening started in my favorite way, with a good meal. Bobby's is a sportsbar and grill, so I happily re-created the Delmar and Motley's days with a black-and-blue burger, and a HUGE side of loaded fries. Almost got too full to play; "generous portions" is a bit of an understatement where Bobby's menu is concerned!!
After we chowed down it was time for me to start working the room. First stop was with Ron Coffman, who runs the jam. I introduced myself, and stone me if he didn't recognize me from the "Black Sheep Posse / Missouri Chapter" page on Facebook. He asked me what kind of music I was into or wanted to do, and I gave him my standard "pro-fusion blazz" resum`e. Ron laughed and said "That's great - it'll make it a lot easier to slot you in." He ran a few things down to me about how the play worked, and that was that. I was already feeling comfortable as we ended our chat.
Next up was another Facebook buddy I'd yet to meet in person, my man Hank Williams Jr. We've had great fun stirring the pot together on Facebook {Buffalo Bob joining us on many occasions} the last couple years, so it was way cool to finally put a face with our respective names. We made with the jokes and crazy observations immediately, further enhancing my comfort-zone. After a good chat an plenty of laughs, I resumed working the room as Hank made ready for his set later in the evening. I bumped into a couple dudes from The Core who are the hosting band, introduced myself, and got a warm "Welcome aboard!" in response from each.
By now the opening set was completed, and the Aggregations started going up. Ron sought me out after the second one to let me know I was next, so I put on my gameface and answered the call when it came, totally at ease despite it being my debut. My basic unit had Rob Cruzen on guitar, and a chap called Jason {I believe - I'm still as terrible remembering names now as I was back during my original time as a Woodshed Regular} on bass. Rob ran the first tune down to me briefly, and we immediately went at it. I locked as tight as I could with Jason, and kept my ears and eyes on Rob. It was a little difficult for me to hear anything at first, but my ears thankfully started adjusting quickly as we romped along.
After we flourished out the kickoff tune to a nice hand from the crowd, Rob told me we'd be doing one of his originals next, and asked me for an up-tempo blues shuffle-groove. I was only too happy to oblige, and we cooked for a half-dozen minutes or so. I was well-pleased that my mess was exactly what Rob and Jason wanted, and I even tossed in a small amount of my usual mayhem, just to test the waters a bit. With the final coda came Smiles from both Rob and Jason - things were jelling very nicely between us by then, and the Smiles were their way to transmit that message silently to me.
Our final number was a nice stomping blues-rocker that I had great fun taking advantage of, albeit in a much more subdued and careful way. As the literal new kid on the block, I wanted to quietly establish myself on this outing, but still put forth a hint of my usual insanity where and when I could. This last tune allowed me to do just that; loads of fills on the turnarounds, carpet-bombing during the bridge, that sort of thing. Even managed a rather nice overall swing-groove that had enough jazz accents to make my man Ginger Baker smile broadly. The crowd gave us our third nice round of the clap, and I was a soggy, panting heap as I accepted {and returned} the praise from Rob and Jason before quitting the stage.
Making my way back to Sheila and our table, two dudes from The Core - guitarist Dave Bohannan, and drummer Brian Strawn - came perilously close to unleashing the Modesty Monster as they added their effusive praise about my mess. I reciprocated the compliments and soon after was able to collapse at the table with Sheila to catch my breath. In due course, Ron again sought me out to both praise my mess some more, and to let me know what and with whom my next bit would be. Two blows in the same evening? I'm down with that!! In the meantime, Sheila and I enjoyed the hell out of Jessie Womack's lovely acoustic guitar set.
Soon enough, my call came. This time around I was placed with my man Hank on guitar, longtime jam-Bud Stu Massey on bass, and Clayton Ptak on second axe. Hank said we'd kick off with a Credence tune, and we got right down to business. I had a blast laying down more than a few strafing runs, visiting Stu and Clayton, and in general just being my usual looney self as we cooked. The only glitch of the entire night came at the very end of the tune, when one of Hank's strings let go all of a sudden {shades of Doc Jim at Back Street a few weeks back}. Stu and Clayton gave him the business about "playing the song to death," and I stopped just short of suggesting that he make a proper job of it by smashing his guitar a-la Pete Townshend! Hank took it all good-naturedly, but the both of us were a bit bummed that his night was over early; the instant chemistry we achieved deserves to be built on, and hopefully will be in the near future.
Clayton, Stu, and I carried on, tearing into an up-tempo blues rocker. I gleefully went totally off the leash at last, but got a startling surprise about 3/4's of the way in - when I was spotlighted for a solo-bit. Before I could hesitate for a second, I put forth some ad-hoc slop that sounded halfway decent even to my hyper-critical ears. I even perfectly meshed the transition between my star-turn and Stu's which came right after mine. After putting loads of quiet ruff-bombing under Clayton's tasty guitar solo-finale, the unit flourished out the song in fine fashion. As with my previous set, clap and praise followed me off the stage and back to Sheila and the table once more. The balance of the evening was pleasant afterglow - the first time was out of the way with nary a hitch {save Hank's axe}; I made several new friends to broaden the network a bit more; Sheila got her next bit of field experience to digest and understand; and my latest musical chapter got off to a fairly roaring start, all things considered.
In short, a wonderful evening, chock-full of potential and ramifications. The next several weeks and months ought to be very interesting indeed. For now though, I'm just happy the transition from old to new jam-situation was so relatively seamless. Hopefully this last fact will be an omen for the future - as always, time will tell. Please stay tuned, Fellow Babies; the Next Generation Jam has begun.
More shortly.
{Editorial correction - "Jason" the bass player's proper name is Tom Hardy!! My bad...........}
Monday, July 30, 2012
Woodshed: The Bum's Rush
It's a good thing I don't have the proverbial fork in my hand right about now. If I did, rest assured it would get stuck in the most unexpected of places.
My sixth consecutive outing at Back Street last night will not be spoken of here in any great detail; let's just say last night's excursion was F.U.B.A.R {and no, I do not mean Bobby Fancher's fine club of the same name in Midtown}, and leave it at that. The only other comment I will make is this: my drum-proteg`e Sheila had a ringside seat for the entire evening, and got a lingering upclose-and-personal look at how things can go very wrong - for no good reason at all. The entire fiasco reminded me of Ellen Sander's famous quote about Led Zeppelin:
"If you walk inside the cages at the zoo, you get to see the animals close up, stroke the captive pelts, and mingle with the energy behind the mystique. You also get to smell the shit firsthand."
Nothing more needs to be said.
What will happen next is anybody's guess; I still have too much of a rotten taste in my mouth right now to speculate on the future. There will be more news here when the time is right. I still have many other irons in the fire {for once}, and I'm not about to get hung up about this particular bump in the road - but from now on I'm gonna make like a bloody STEAMROLLER, dig?
More shortly.
My sixth consecutive outing at Back Street last night will not be spoken of here in any great detail; let's just say last night's excursion was F.U.B.A.R {and no, I do not mean Bobby Fancher's fine club of the same name in Midtown}, and leave it at that. The only other comment I will make is this: my drum-proteg`e Sheila had a ringside seat for the entire evening, and got a lingering upclose-and-personal look at how things can go very wrong - for no good reason at all. The entire fiasco reminded me of Ellen Sander's famous quote about Led Zeppelin:
"If you walk inside the cages at the zoo, you get to see the animals close up, stroke the captive pelts, and mingle with the energy behind the mystique. You also get to smell the shit firsthand."
Nothing more needs to be said.
What will happen next is anybody's guess; I still have too much of a rotten taste in my mouth right now to speculate on the future. There will be more news here when the time is right. I still have many other irons in the fire {for once}, and I'm not about to get hung up about this particular bump in the road - but from now on I'm gonna make like a bloody STEAMROLLER, dig?
More shortly.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Woodshed: BLITZKREIG!!!!
Sometimes if you want something done right, you have to bloody well do it yourself.
That's precisely what happened at Back Street last night. My return to semi-active duty these last four weeks has been anything but an easy chore off the boards; on the boards, the results have been rather spotty, to say the least. With two of the four plays I've made so far being lackluster at best, there was absolutely NO way I was going to let play #5 fall into the same category. Things have changed significantly for me the last month or two, and one of those changes was with me last night, as she was during last week's outing.
For quite some time now various people close to me have been saying "Chris, why don't you try your hand at teaching the drums as a way to branch out a bit during your down-time?" Per usual, Uncle Buffalo was the one who bandied the notion about most frequently. Wellsir, three weeks ago I finally gave in, and took on my first-ever drum pupil. Sheila and I actually discovered each other through a different set of circumstances I won't go into now, but once she told me she was an aspiring drummer I just went "Hmmmm............ Okay, what the hell, she'll be my first!!" In short order, we met and got acquainted, then Sheila showed me what she could do on the skins. For having only played the last two years, she displayed an excellent grasp of the basics; more than enough of a good strong foundation to build on.
When she was done, Sheila gave me a huge Smile for not laughing hysterically at her modest {but wonderfully sincere and sharp} efforts, then handed me her sticks and said "Your turn!" What she didn't know was that her modest {but wonderfully sincere and sharp} efforts had given me the itch, and I promptly let loose a five-minute artillery barrage well worthy of the salad days, totally without any accompaniment. The look on Sheila's face when I finished was instantly seared into my permanent memory. After a minute of dead silence, with my new pupil slack-jawed, she said in a husky voice "You have GOT to teach me everything you know!!!" Me being me, I slammed her with "Well, that'll take about five minutes or so," and our deal was struck.
Last week's play was Sheila's "feet-wetting" exercise; I figured BB's Sunday rituals would be the most logical place to start gently corrupting, er, I mean educating a novice. Since it was her first time, I kept things pretty low-key, and as was reported last week my own blow that night was barely up to par. On the heels of that, I subconsciously decided that the next one would be a right proper Woodshed Patrol, and went about my business all last week. Sheila was eager as all get-out as our next outing loomed, but I kept her focused on her first assignments right up to the moment we walked into Back Street last night. I made the rounds with Sheila, and she's already being recognized as a potential Regular, so one basic task was well accomplished as we settled into the social part of the evening.
In due course, BB kicked things off with Joe, Josh, and Jumpin' Jimmy sitting in for Darryl. Josh and I are slowly going beyond Drum-Buds into the Drum-Brother status I have with Tim Heidemann, so his work is becoming complementary to my own, which makes things much more enjoyable. As happened last week, BB and the Lads laid down a tasty benchmark for the evening, which gave both Sheila and me the itch. However, my itch was very nearly extinguished when the first Aggregation went up and knocked out a blistering "Hey Joe," and a few other equally strong tunes. The featured player was "Kid" Hayden, a fifteen-year-old guitar wizard. I was instantly transported back to my original stint as a Regular, when I frequently went up with another young genius, "Little / Much Bigger" Stevie.
Something snapped inside of me then, and when Hayden was done I pounced on him for a preliminary chat, which turned out to be as fruitful as I'd hoped. One Aggregation later, BB called me up with Hayden and Legal Mitch on bass, never once suspecting what was just about to erupt in his face. The chat I had with Hayden was to determine a good setlist, and we wasted no time whatsoever before jumping straight in with both feet. We started off with a ferocious Jimi-style "Johnny B. Goode" which Unka Chuckleberry hisself would have loved to death. From the outset I went straight for the jugular, clamped down hard, and took off to the races in a huge way. Hayden did his job magnificently, but I deliberately pushed him as hard as I could; I was after "epic," and both Hayden and Mitch responded accordingly to my histrionics and played their asses off.
The next tune was Cream's version of "Crossroads," and by now I was in full roar, and the rest of the unit had quickly become the latest incarnation of my musical 219th Artillery Brigade {The HellHounds}. We laid on the super-heavy impasto, and once again I strained HARD against the leash, this time trying to blow the whole damned audience right out of the building at once. Hayden and Mitch stayed tightly welded to my sides beginning to end, and we cooked for nearly nine solid minutes before flourishing out. Hayden glanced at and Smiled me almost constantly during this tear, so I locked my best determined-but-happy game face on for his benefit, and went about my increasingly wild mayhem. Mitch and I knew exactly what each other was doing and where we were going, so our direct interaction was several brief bits of eye contact and Smile-flashes.
Our units' final number was Jimi's "Voodoo Child {Slight Return}," and this time I went all-out like Hank Aaron coming up to bat with the bases loaded, bottom of the ninth, Game Seven of the World Series. Did my main man James Marshall up damn proud, we did. Hayden shredded like a whole civilization's worth of lives was depending on each note and lick he cranked out, and Mitch gave me some fabulous improv-counterpoint as I boiled and bombed along. This final strafing run also stretched beyond the eight-minute mark, and like the two previous sorties was met with a very rousing round of the clap at the conclusion. BB didn't have to milk the crowd for anything as Hayden quit the stage, but he did manage to surprise me by picking up his axe and starting off a reprise of "Crossroads," before I could get up off the throne.
This time around, we did a much slower and somewhat calmer arrangement, quite like the version Cream themselves did during their 2005 / 6 reunion shows. Although I slowed the tempo and employed lots of dynamics throughout, I still kept up the fire and bombast as a sort of heavy undertow that leads to a Titanic-swallowing whirlpool. Stone me if our silliness didn't result in one more fine round of the clap, before I finally got off the boards, for once well-pleased with what went down. Sheila was all smiles as I plopped down at our table to cool off, and I mechanically responded to the several enthusiastic compliments about my overall mess once more, too damn tired to even bother with the Modesty Monster.
The upshot of it all is that last night's play, while one of the better ones, was also a fine bit of hands-on field research work for my star drum pupil. The total eruption I triggered last night was a textbook example of how I draw all my inspiration from my band or Aggregation-mates. Hayden and Mitch were both on their A-game, and whatever merit my own playing had was 100% due to them; a fact that was easier for me to demonstrate to Sheila, rather than merely explaining it. Yes, it was great fun also, but my focus was mainly on opening Sheila's eyes as opposed to pleasing the crowd, hammering BB to death, etc, etc. In the end, I did exactly what I set out to do, and then some. For me personally, last night's patrol was the return to form I was after; for Sheila, it was the next step along her budding drum-path. And most of the signs from last night seem to be pointing towards a brightness in the distance, albeit still a long and possibly treacherous ways off.
Whatever the case, I've still got a pupil to nurture for the immediate future, which is a new {but pleasant, and sincere, and sharp} one on me. I'm still taking everything else one day at a time too, so please sit tight as things unfold themselves organically; no way in hell am I going to push things too hard at this early stage. Y'all will be apprised regularly, so relax a bit and be ready for the next news when it comes.
Which ought to be shortly, dig?
That's precisely what happened at Back Street last night. My return to semi-active duty these last four weeks has been anything but an easy chore off the boards; on the boards, the results have been rather spotty, to say the least. With two of the four plays I've made so far being lackluster at best, there was absolutely NO way I was going to let play #5 fall into the same category. Things have changed significantly for me the last month or two, and one of those changes was with me last night, as she was during last week's outing.
For quite some time now various people close to me have been saying "Chris, why don't you try your hand at teaching the drums as a way to branch out a bit during your down-time?" Per usual, Uncle Buffalo was the one who bandied the notion about most frequently. Wellsir, three weeks ago I finally gave in, and took on my first-ever drum pupil. Sheila and I actually discovered each other through a different set of circumstances I won't go into now, but once she told me she was an aspiring drummer I just went "Hmmmm............ Okay, what the hell, she'll be my first!!" In short order, we met and got acquainted, then Sheila showed me what she could do on the skins. For having only played the last two years, she displayed an excellent grasp of the basics; more than enough of a good strong foundation to build on.
When she was done, Sheila gave me a huge Smile for not laughing hysterically at her modest {but wonderfully sincere and sharp} efforts, then handed me her sticks and said "Your turn!" What she didn't know was that her modest {but wonderfully sincere and sharp} efforts had given me the itch, and I promptly let loose a five-minute artillery barrage well worthy of the salad days, totally without any accompaniment. The look on Sheila's face when I finished was instantly seared into my permanent memory. After a minute of dead silence, with my new pupil slack-jawed, she said in a husky voice "You have GOT to teach me everything you know!!!" Me being me, I slammed her with "Well, that'll take about five minutes or so," and our deal was struck.
Last week's play was Sheila's "feet-wetting" exercise; I figured BB's Sunday rituals would be the most logical place to start gently corrupting, er, I mean educating a novice. Since it was her first time, I kept things pretty low-key, and as was reported last week my own blow that night was barely up to par. On the heels of that, I subconsciously decided that the next one would be a right proper Woodshed Patrol, and went about my business all last week. Sheila was eager as all get-out as our next outing loomed, but I kept her focused on her first assignments right up to the moment we walked into Back Street last night. I made the rounds with Sheila, and she's already being recognized as a potential Regular, so one basic task was well accomplished as we settled into the social part of the evening.
In due course, BB kicked things off with Joe, Josh, and Jumpin' Jimmy sitting in for Darryl. Josh and I are slowly going beyond Drum-Buds into the Drum-Brother status I have with Tim Heidemann, so his work is becoming complementary to my own, which makes things much more enjoyable. As happened last week, BB and the Lads laid down a tasty benchmark for the evening, which gave both Sheila and me the itch. However, my itch was very nearly extinguished when the first Aggregation went up and knocked out a blistering "Hey Joe," and a few other equally strong tunes. The featured player was "Kid" Hayden, a fifteen-year-old guitar wizard. I was instantly transported back to my original stint as a Regular, when I frequently went up with another young genius, "Little / Much Bigger" Stevie.
Something snapped inside of me then, and when Hayden was done I pounced on him for a preliminary chat, which turned out to be as fruitful as I'd hoped. One Aggregation later, BB called me up with Hayden and Legal Mitch on bass, never once suspecting what was just about to erupt in his face. The chat I had with Hayden was to determine a good setlist, and we wasted no time whatsoever before jumping straight in with both feet. We started off with a ferocious Jimi-style "Johnny B. Goode" which Unka Chuckleberry hisself would have loved to death. From the outset I went straight for the jugular, clamped down hard, and took off to the races in a huge way. Hayden did his job magnificently, but I deliberately pushed him as hard as I could; I was after "epic," and both Hayden and Mitch responded accordingly to my histrionics and played their asses off.
The next tune was Cream's version of "Crossroads," and by now I was in full roar, and the rest of the unit had quickly become the latest incarnation of my musical 219th Artillery Brigade {The HellHounds}. We laid on the super-heavy impasto, and once again I strained HARD against the leash, this time trying to blow the whole damned audience right out of the building at once. Hayden and Mitch stayed tightly welded to my sides beginning to end, and we cooked for nearly nine solid minutes before flourishing out. Hayden glanced at and Smiled me almost constantly during this tear, so I locked my best determined-but-happy game face on for his benefit, and went about my increasingly wild mayhem. Mitch and I knew exactly what each other was doing and where we were going, so our direct interaction was several brief bits of eye contact and Smile-flashes.
Our units' final number was Jimi's "Voodoo Child {Slight Return}," and this time I went all-out like Hank Aaron coming up to bat with the bases loaded, bottom of the ninth, Game Seven of the World Series. Did my main man James Marshall up damn proud, we did. Hayden shredded like a whole civilization's worth of lives was depending on each note and lick he cranked out, and Mitch gave me some fabulous improv-counterpoint as I boiled and bombed along. This final strafing run also stretched beyond the eight-minute mark, and like the two previous sorties was met with a very rousing round of the clap at the conclusion. BB didn't have to milk the crowd for anything as Hayden quit the stage, but he did manage to surprise me by picking up his axe and starting off a reprise of "Crossroads," before I could get up off the throne.
This time around, we did a much slower and somewhat calmer arrangement, quite like the version Cream themselves did during their 2005 / 6 reunion shows. Although I slowed the tempo and employed lots of dynamics throughout, I still kept up the fire and bombast as a sort of heavy undertow that leads to a Titanic-swallowing whirlpool. Stone me if our silliness didn't result in one more fine round of the clap, before I finally got off the boards, for once well-pleased with what went down. Sheila was all smiles as I plopped down at our table to cool off, and I mechanically responded to the several enthusiastic compliments about my overall mess once more, too damn tired to even bother with the Modesty Monster.
The upshot of it all is that last night's play, while one of the better ones, was also a fine bit of hands-on field research work for my star drum pupil. The total eruption I triggered last night was a textbook example of how I draw all my inspiration from my band or Aggregation-mates. Hayden and Mitch were both on their A-game, and whatever merit my own playing had was 100% due to them; a fact that was easier for me to demonstrate to Sheila, rather than merely explaining it. Yes, it was great fun also, but my focus was mainly on opening Sheila's eyes as opposed to pleasing the crowd, hammering BB to death, etc, etc. In the end, I did exactly what I set out to do, and then some. For me personally, last night's patrol was the return to form I was after; for Sheila, it was the next step along her budding drum-path. And most of the signs from last night seem to be pointing towards a brightness in the distance, albeit still a long and possibly treacherous ways off.
Whatever the case, I've still got a pupil to nurture for the immediate future, which is a new {but pleasant, and sincere, and sharp} one on me. I'm still taking everything else one day at a time too, so please sit tight as things unfold themselves organically; no way in hell am I going to push things too hard at this early stage. Y'all will be apprised regularly, so relax a bit and be ready for the next news when it comes.
Which ought to be shortly, dig?
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Quickie Bash
All right Fellow Babies; just a quickie to note that this Humble Blog is now a year old {as of 9 July}!!
Where the hell did all that time go? And have I really been blogging in general for nearly seven years running? That's an awful lot of whimsical musings and whatnot, innit?
It's had its' ups and downs just like everything else in my life, but blogging remains an essential creative outlet for me. I still get a kick out of it for the most part, and will continue these silly ramblings indefinitely.
So to paraphrase the late great Tom Snyder, fire up a colortini and watch the pretty words as they fly through the air...........
More shortly.
Where the hell did all that time go? And have I really been blogging in general for nearly seven years running? That's an awful lot of whimsical musings and whatnot, innit?
It's had its' ups and downs just like everything else in my life, but blogging remains an essential creative outlet for me. I still get a kick out of it for the most part, and will continue these silly ramblings indefinitely.
So to paraphrase the late great Tom Snyder, fire up a colortini and watch the pretty words as they fly through the air...........
More shortly.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Woodshed: Slop Them Hogs
Four consecutive plays.
Hard for me to believe, but just about a full month has passed since my unexpected return home. And I have punctuated each week since with a visit to Uncle Buffalo's Woodshed, just as if the last three and one-half years hadn't happened at all. It's hardly the same atmosphere as it was back then, but precious few things in life ever remain exactly the same indefinitely. My playing surely hasn't; it's currently in yet another transition, as I strive to resume exploring different avenues of expression.
I can't escape the Hellhounds from the last three years though, and last night they once again let their presence be known. Out of all the Woodshed Regulars, I'm one of perhaps a small handful of others foolish enough to have dabbled in the Deep Blues on a regular basis, back in the day. As such, I have a strong compulsion to try and make my instrument "cry," or "wail," or "moan" as often as I can, as a way to express my emotions and pains. It's not the easiest of things to do when the instrument in question is a drum kit, but this is the path I chose to follow as a youth, and the constant challenge is what keeps me going to this day, musically speaking.
Last night's play unfortunately turned into one of the more unpleasant varieties of challenges I've faced, although I fought like hell to keep my Aggregation from going all Hindenburg-at-Lakehurst. The night started off with many of the old familiar routines and faces, but this time out there was a healthy injection of new faces to complement the stalwarts, and I initially looked forward to whatever might crop up. Drum-bud Josh was glad to see me, and got a kick out of my reaction when he handed me a pair of the drumsticks he routinely gives out to his drum students. I hadn't seen such HUGE sticks since my high school marching-band days. Josh reminded me that the "logs" in question were meant to strengthen the wrists, and I conjured up memories of youth and countless hours of exercise with similar trees of my own.
I made a sly quip to Josh about his kids winding up with "wrists like Popeye," which got a decent laugh out of him as he agreed with me. As BB and the Lads got up to kick things off, I wound up with a small but persistent John Bonham-vibe in the back of my head, thanks to seeing those sticks. Said vibe was quickly escalated by the rather high benchmark BB & Co. set early on. In short order, I was contemplating a Zeppelin-esque strafing run, once my turn came. Fate and those damned Hellhounds had other ideas, though. Once the opening and the first Aggregation's short set were done, BB threw me up with the familiar faces of Hungry Chuck on vocals and harp; my man Jimmy on bass; Legal Mitch on guitar; and good old Vaughan on sax, whom I hadn't seen since the Delmar Lounge blows four summers ago. Our unit was rounded out by newbies Don on keys, Mike on guitar, and Zack on trumpet.
Counting voice as another instrument, that's eight individual rhythm platforms I had available to work with / bounce off of. A situation tailor-made for me, until we got into the first number. For some reason, my Aggregation couldn't quite nail down "Caledonia" properly, despite Chuck's fabulous barrelhouse vocals, and blazing harp-action. I did the best I could to try and pick up as much of the slack as possible, but the groove remained rather rubbery at best throughout the whole tune. When the same thing started to happen with our next number, I gave up any notions of a Zepp-run and pulled some heavy side-swing out of my bag of tricks and threw it into the mix. Now, when I say "side-swing," I mean it in the same context as "front-swing" {riding just ahead of the beat}, or "back-swing" {lagging just slightly behind the beat}.
Thus, side-swing is my personal terminology for riding around the beat, instead of ahead or behind it. It was the only thing I could do to keep things cohesive, but even that didn't work 100% properly. I really began to feel burned and highly frustrated as Mike led us into our last number; the resulting tune featured star-turns by everyone in the outfit, save Yours Truly. I flatly refused my turn when Mike tried to hand me the baton, and carried on with the quite sullen patterns I had sunk down into by this time. Despite all the work trying to shore up the set as a whole, I was only too glad to split the stage in record time at the end. This would have been a much easier task if Chuck, Mitch, Mike, and Jimmy hadn't stopped me to praise my mess before I could even sit down. True, I did hold things together and in good tempo beginning to end, but the rubberiness overall pretty much destroyed the positives for me. Too much slop - and it showed - in other words.
I kept my onstage Buster Keaton deadpan expression going after I quit the boards as a defensive reaction. Going 1 for 3 during this initial month of plays wasn't setting well with me at all as the night wound down. The coup-de-grace was the fact that all of the other jammers got called back up for another go, save you-know-who. Due to a couple of brand-new considerations which I'll clarify in a future blog, I had to lick my now salt-drenched wounds in deep privacy. As such, the next couple weeks will likely see much re-assessment and re-evaluation, as I ponder my course from here. Maybe it's really true that you can't go home again, or at least shouldn't bother trying to.
Downer-ending, I know - but then again this is the blues, remember. Just like high opera, blues happy endings are few and far between. Kiwll da wabbit, kiwll da wabbit, kiwll da wa-bbit, dig?
Stay tuned.
Hard for me to believe, but just about a full month has passed since my unexpected return home. And I have punctuated each week since with a visit to Uncle Buffalo's Woodshed, just as if the last three and one-half years hadn't happened at all. It's hardly the same atmosphere as it was back then, but precious few things in life ever remain exactly the same indefinitely. My playing surely hasn't; it's currently in yet another transition, as I strive to resume exploring different avenues of expression.
I can't escape the Hellhounds from the last three years though, and last night they once again let their presence be known. Out of all the Woodshed Regulars, I'm one of perhaps a small handful of others foolish enough to have dabbled in the Deep Blues on a regular basis, back in the day. As such, I have a strong compulsion to try and make my instrument "cry," or "wail," or "moan" as often as I can, as a way to express my emotions and pains. It's not the easiest of things to do when the instrument in question is a drum kit, but this is the path I chose to follow as a youth, and the constant challenge is what keeps me going to this day, musically speaking.
Last night's play unfortunately turned into one of the more unpleasant varieties of challenges I've faced, although I fought like hell to keep my Aggregation from going all Hindenburg-at-Lakehurst. The night started off with many of the old familiar routines and faces, but this time out there was a healthy injection of new faces to complement the stalwarts, and I initially looked forward to whatever might crop up. Drum-bud Josh was glad to see me, and got a kick out of my reaction when he handed me a pair of the drumsticks he routinely gives out to his drum students. I hadn't seen such HUGE sticks since my high school marching-band days. Josh reminded me that the "logs" in question were meant to strengthen the wrists, and I conjured up memories of youth and countless hours of exercise with similar trees of my own.
I made a sly quip to Josh about his kids winding up with "wrists like Popeye," which got a decent laugh out of him as he agreed with me. As BB and the Lads got up to kick things off, I wound up with a small but persistent John Bonham-vibe in the back of my head, thanks to seeing those sticks. Said vibe was quickly escalated by the rather high benchmark BB & Co. set early on. In short order, I was contemplating a Zeppelin-esque strafing run, once my turn came. Fate and those damned Hellhounds had other ideas, though. Once the opening and the first Aggregation's short set were done, BB threw me up with the familiar faces of Hungry Chuck on vocals and harp; my man Jimmy on bass; Legal Mitch on guitar; and good old Vaughan on sax, whom I hadn't seen since the Delmar Lounge blows four summers ago. Our unit was rounded out by newbies Don on keys, Mike on guitar, and Zack on trumpet.
Counting voice as another instrument, that's eight individual rhythm platforms I had available to work with / bounce off of. A situation tailor-made for me, until we got into the first number. For some reason, my Aggregation couldn't quite nail down "Caledonia" properly, despite Chuck's fabulous barrelhouse vocals, and blazing harp-action. I did the best I could to try and pick up as much of the slack as possible, but the groove remained rather rubbery at best throughout the whole tune. When the same thing started to happen with our next number, I gave up any notions of a Zepp-run and pulled some heavy side-swing out of my bag of tricks and threw it into the mix. Now, when I say "side-swing," I mean it in the same context as "front-swing" {riding just ahead of the beat}, or "back-swing" {lagging just slightly behind the beat}.
Thus, side-swing is my personal terminology for riding around the beat, instead of ahead or behind it. It was the only thing I could do to keep things cohesive, but even that didn't work 100% properly. I really began to feel burned and highly frustrated as Mike led us into our last number; the resulting tune featured star-turns by everyone in the outfit, save Yours Truly. I flatly refused my turn when Mike tried to hand me the baton, and carried on with the quite sullen patterns I had sunk down into by this time. Despite all the work trying to shore up the set as a whole, I was only too glad to split the stage in record time at the end. This would have been a much easier task if Chuck, Mitch, Mike, and Jimmy hadn't stopped me to praise my mess before I could even sit down. True, I did hold things together and in good tempo beginning to end, but the rubberiness overall pretty much destroyed the positives for me. Too much slop - and it showed - in other words.
I kept my onstage Buster Keaton deadpan expression going after I quit the boards as a defensive reaction. Going 1 for 3 during this initial month of plays wasn't setting well with me at all as the night wound down. The coup-de-grace was the fact that all of the other jammers got called back up for another go, save you-know-who. Due to a couple of brand-new considerations which I'll clarify in a future blog, I had to lick my now salt-drenched wounds in deep privacy. As such, the next couple weeks will likely see much re-assessment and re-evaluation, as I ponder my course from here. Maybe it's really true that you can't go home again, or at least shouldn't bother trying to.
Downer-ending, I know - but then again this is the blues, remember. Just like high opera, blues happy endings are few and far between. Kiwll da wabbit, kiwll da wabbit, kiwll da wa-bbit, dig?
Stay tuned.
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