The Metropolitan Museum of David Bowie

 

I went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art on Monday, January 11th.  The world awoke to the shocking news of the passing of David Bowie. I kinda lost it, cranked my essential Bowie and beyond, did some writing while occasionally checking the related scrolled news and posts. This loss was as universal as when John Lennon was murdered.

    My Facebook and Twitter feeds are everything Bowie, some beautiful, some cliche, but all heartfelt. I begin to feel inspiration from David Bowie and what he has meant to me through my life. The first thought was, "get off this computer and go do something that is alive and inspiring. So I got on the train and went to the Met.

    I looked around at the people on the subway. "Are they aware that he is gone?", "Does it matter to that guy?" "I'll bet that fourteen year old girl likes Kanye and vaguely knows Bowie as some old guy that dressed funky" "That woman is about my age, wearing black motorcycle boots with lots of silver, she knows, and I'll bet she's thinking about it right now" "Ok, that guy in the Mets hat and Knicks jacket, talking to his friend about The Nets defense, it's not on his radar ".

    I get off the subway and I realize I only have about 45 minutes to enjoy in The Met (yes, all that Bowie processing ate up time ). I give the gal 2 dollars (you can still pay what you wish at The Met) and went straight to the Impressionists.

    I stood in front of Van Gogh's "Wheat Field With Cypresses". I used to go look at these paintings not all that unoften.  Standing here and seeing the depth of the paint, I mean it's thick! It looks three dimensional. I start to feel like I am melting into the painting. "Oh right, I ate that THC lemon drop before I left the apartment, there was that". But, that hardly cheapens the experience. I dive into a few Monet's and Manet's. I am starved for seeing all of these paintings, kinda like when you eat a few peanuts and you realize you haven't eaten all day. 

    I often say to myself, "Go to a museum today". I have a musician schedule, so I can go on times when they are not crowded... This is when it dawns on me, "Shit, I haven't been here in years". I don't want an exact figure. "Did they have to give up? "They let people shamelessly take pictures of paintings?" "I think you could without a flash, but now that every schmo has a camera on their phone, they figure they might as well!!" So, I am absorbing myself in another painting, I also sense a tourist waiting for me to move out of the fucking way so he can snap a picture of his mortal mug in front of this masterpiece. I made a pact with myself right there. I will never take a picture of a painting in a museum. There are so many other works of unbelievable substance you can lose yourself in that don't come complete with a caravan of gadget goblins, but the celebrity paintings; they now have an amateur paparazzi to contend with for the duration of mankind.

     The camera thing aside. I walked out of the museum with a satiated sensation I have not felt in far too long. It's a special feeling I can't get out of a great song, book or movie. The Impressionists always inspire me. They were radicals in their time and their study of light and color stills feels cutting edge. I walked through Central Park in the dark ("people think I'm...craaazy"). I thought more about Bowie and went and met a friend at Joe's Shanghai to close the celebration.

     I wouldn't have gone to the museum today if it wasn't for David Bowie. His inspiration could apply to a few other actions in my life. There is something going on beyond notes in a scale when a musician inspires you to go to a museum.

      

   

David Bowie- Everything In Excess

Me: David, I just wanted you to know, that my youth would not have been the same without you.

David Bowie: Oh, well I am sorry about that Jack.

I had the pleasure of spending a day with David Bowie. It was for the filming of his cameo in Zoolander. I was hired as an extra. My friend called and said they wanted some rock n roll/fashion looking types for a catwalk scene.  I always loathed extra work and there was no talk of David Bowie being there. But, I needed the money to finish an album.

     I got there and Ben Stiller was giving all of us some completely insincere speech thanking all of us for being there and how he couldn't make this movie without us. It was immediately condescending and I damned myself for letting myself be talked into doing this bullshit.  They sent us back to the holding area and it was announced that David Bowie was going to be in the next shot.

     Everyone got all excited in that hoo ha thespian way. I had been a theater major and was reminded why I went into music at this moment. They called us in and began putting everyone around the catwalk, all of the "actors" were fighting to get up front for the chance to get their close up; hey, this could be their chance to be the next Ernest Borgnine.  I thought, "to hell with this, where is Bowie standing between takes?".  I saw him standing stage right in the way back. I made my way and stood right next to him. He nodded and looked down.  Someone announced, "Ok folks, please remember where you are standing, this is where you will be for most of the day".

      David lights up a Marlboro red. I thought, "OK, don't start talking about your favorite albums, just hang out with the man."

Me: You still smoke?

David: Oh yeah.

Me: I'm curious, how much do you smoke a day?

David: (laughs) Oh, I do everything in excess. Hi, I'm David.

Me: Nice to meet you, I'm Jack.

 Just then a cute female PA walks up and offers David a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

He puts out the cigarette with his shoe and eats a cookie. He then grabs two more cookies and literally stuffs his face.

David: Oh my, I realize I didn't eat anything today (he says through a mouthful of cookies.)

The PA giggles nervously, she clearly did not expect this gluttonous display. But he was not showing off. He just immediately wanted 3 cookies in his gulliver...

He turns to me with a smile and one eyebrow raised, "Everything in excess, Jack!"

      The rest of the day we made jokes about what was right in front of us, the set, announcements made etc. There were no huge moments, we were just enjoying passing the time. It can get quite tedious on a film shoot.

When David's part was completed, someone announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, it is a wrap with David Bowie!" Everyone applauded and he walked down a corridor with a manager type. I decided to go and say goodbye. They were in a heavy discussion so I followed for a bit. We came outside to a beautiful sunset splashing against the Hudson River (a studio up in Yonkers). David turns and waves his arms to acknowledge the glow and colors in the sky, and notices I am behind him.

David: Oh, hi Jack!

Me: David, I just want to say... my youth would not have been the same without you.

David: Oh, well I am sorry about that Jack.

Me: It was a good way to pass the time today.

David: Oh yes, it was you Jack. Thanks Jack!

I was too busy trying to exit gracefully to realize immediately that he was being his witty self.

We parted ways in the most surreal orange blinding glow, the sun was swallowing us up in it's majesty. I was willing and ready.

I am floored to hear of the passing of David Bowie. It never dawned on me that he would die. His presence has been more like a moon or a star. He was just there, making art,  never preaching, just leading by example. Time to play Hunky Dory...loud.  

Lemmy Kilmister- Band Leader 101

Lemmy Kilmister wasn't just an artist. He was the art. He would also likely shun the term artist and say,  Rock n' Roller. The lifestyle of playing music as well as you can, running your own band with revolving members and living hard hits home to me. It truly is, live by the sword, die by the sword. It's not just a cliche, it is a certain lifestyle in Rock music, and some are just better at keeping it rolling than others. Lemmy didn't end up in a retirement home or spend his last decade going in and out of hospitals, arguing with Aetna, riding around in a Hoveround. He lived a complete life the way true Rock n' Rollers plan, with a tour schedule ahead and one right behind.

It can be possible to be a fan of just Lemmy the man. "The Ace of Spades" is the only song many out there are really aware of, yet they are feeling a genuine loss for someone special. Simplicity and clearness of message can be very encouraging for all of us. Lemmy was a walking definition of all of that, wrapped in wit and rolled in stories of life on his own terms. This was a man who loved Rock n' Roll and life and saw them as one. He preceded the terms Metal and Punk, and they both claimed his influence, wore his logo and shouted his praises in an era when you were allegedly supposed to take sides. He played his own music, no labels or analysis necessary. Everything you need to know about Lemmy is inside any Motorhead song, "We Are (The Road Crew)" "Overkill" or even his cover of, "Louie Louie". One song played from Motorhead and you can understand (if you are paying attention).

Lemmy's image comes through crystal clear. The Motorhead logo is arguably the best in Rock. The mutton chops 'stache combo, black attire and cowboy pirate hat. If you dress as Lemmy for Halloween, you don't have to explain your costume to anyone that knows anything about rock.

It was easy to love him for just being Lemmy, his signature mounting of the microphone way up high, singing to the ceiling or sky. He said it was, "for personal comfort, that's all. It's also one way of avoiding seeing the audience. In the days when we only had ten people and a dog, it was a way of avoiding seeing that we only had ten people and a dog." Then there was his Nazi memorabilia collection, he made clear he just liked how it looked and has no affection for the Nazi party, "the bad guys always have the best uniforms".  In his leisure, he wore super short cut off jeans where you could almost see his equipment. He chose to live in a humble apartment off the Sunset Strip in LA and loved playing his favorite video game while drinking his Jack and Coke. It has always been many people's errand to swing by the Rainbow and see if Lemmy was holding court.

I am a bandleader by trade. I see Lemmy's life as a successful bandleader artistically, financially and spiritually. That is quite the trifecta.  If the band leader is not enjoying his or her life and music, chances are the musicians and crew are probably not either. I get the sense that the Motorhead family is in great pain but are also incredibly proud of the great ride in life that they all just took together. 

There should be a music class called bandleader 101.  Mission one?  Play consistently great music professionally, consistently and passionately until you drop. Mission two- Keep your band happy and inspired and the audience will continue to return. You could keep it simple and just have the course only be about Lemmy. Simplicity and clearness of message can be very encouraging for all of us. 

Rachelle Garniez Defeats January 1-0

      I went to see Rachelle Garniez play last night on a cold January Tuesday in Brooklyn at Richard Julian's new haunt, Bar LunAtico.
      Rachelle's voice was scratchy from whatever's been going around the winter air, keeping many in bed; it gave her vocal sound the appropriate effect. Her vocal rang defiantly in the face of a typical New York City, January, go suck it people, type cold front.
      I sat down and was joined by my friend and fellow musician, Andy Borger.  Rachelle's playing and singing has the ability to awe and drop a jaw or two. Andy and I were nudging each other with those, "did she really just do that?", kind of reactions. (The song I have posted here has one of those moments, where she vocally harmonizes with the accordion solo.)  Rachelle has songs that take you on journeys, some bring you back home, some leave you lost on a subway out to Rockaway Beach. This is no cookie cutter songwriting effort, some of it feels stream of conscious, but it ends up going to too interesting a place to be that random. I love the arrangements, you never know where they are going to land. It might be that she just decided to segue way into a different song, or that is just the turn the number takes. Predictability is not at a home at this show, save that for your Hot Pocket © at the gas station on Interstate 80.
I just had so much damn fun hearing Rachelle and Tim play.
      Yes, Tim Luntzel was on upright with Rachelle. Tim and I have been in Van Hayride together for quite a while and I love when he plays in the Jack Grace Band. I have seen Tim play with many people. Rachelle's music and playing are such a perfect showcase for Tim's sense of melody, time and humor. He compliments, takes risks, but never overpowers.  This is a power duo at it's best.
      I went over to Tim's place before the gig, he made me a delicious pork chop.
The End.

Not Every Song Wants To Be A Rock Star

                                          I like thinking about songs finding their home. 
      There are weeks that I honestly could churn out 20 songs or more. Sometimes the only thing that stops me from writing that many is an overwhelming feeling of what to do with all of them after they are birthed. It feels irresponsible, as if I was having kids all over the place with no plans to clothe them, feed them, or teach them much of anything worthwhile.
Every song deserves a chance. At what, I do not know...
      I've got a lot of different types of songs. Some get more attention than others (from the public or myself). I am pretty sure I have love for all of them; I gravitate to different numbers depending on varying circumstances. There are ones I interact with almost daily, and there are more distant pieces that frustrate me; as if they have potential, but they just don't apply themselves.
      Some songs feel like they could be the chosen one, with regular rotation in the show, maybe a video, recorded with great care for the latest album, perhaps even a fair shot at becoming the title track. Occasionally a song gets that level of hope and inspiration, but it fades; another fleeting weekend romance, that in the end you just had to be there to understand.
      Songs have varying ambitions after they are created. The older I get, the more affection I have for the quiet, unassuming song: the one that says, "I'll be here, I don't need the spotlight, I'm just happy to have been written..." It could grow up to take on any level of involvement, a rare song, or a daily one, but it comes into this world humble and with no agenda.
      There are the selections you can sing alone when you are feeling, oh, not right with the world; they are just for you and the muses. They can be performed in a personal moment, to a close someone who has passed on; or maybe to a select few late at a campfire when a moment possesses some spirituality.
      I like to think there is also a rare breed out there, not prepared for public consumption, not fit to be recorded or shared on devices; to make them readily available might cause them to lose their sacred ceremonial powers. Perhaps spirits prefer to be sung to in person, or in confidence... I do not know.
      So, some songs are loudmouths, some ambitious, others shy, some vapid, some super heavy. Whatever they are, I often wonder and hope that they find where they want to be. Not every song wants to be a rock star, and that, is a relief.

Martin Luther King, may I mambo dogface on the banana patch?

WARNING: I recently read a report that said if you use a cellphone while eating heavy proteins, you could give yourself heart palpitations.
So please, if you are going to eat something like a bacon cheeseburger, keep the cell phone at least three feet from your head until your food is properly swallowed.

I just completely made that up.
Thanks to the interweb and even blogging; we can be misinformed by anyone and the more people we can reach, the worse off we all are.

Steve Martin once joked, “Wanna have some fun? Teach your kids to talk wrong! Imagine the teacher’s dismay on the first day of school, when a child raises their hand and asks, "May I mambo dogface on the banana patch?"

Misquoting Martin Luther King on the internet to make a point about the killing of Osama Bin Laden; are an extension of what Steve Martin was joking about (or most things said on FOX NEWS, but that is for another day).

The quote that went around was:
‎"I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that." Martin Luther King, Jr

It was a perfect quote for the moment for many thoughtful, sensitive Americans. I was torn between being a New Yorker; seeing personal friends lose their spouses, brothers and everything in between. I am glad he is dead, he asked for it. Yet, seeing anyone celebrate a killing in a "spike the football" fashion just feels kind of like an a%*hole move. Most of the quote is by King from "Strength to Love". That first sentence, though, is a complete fake.

There were retractions, but hey, when The NY Times screws up you hear about it.
Great things can come from sharing information. It's just too easy these days to pass around info for good or bad, that is just plainly inaccurate.
All these false quotes and my cellphone/heavy protein/heart palpitations info is out there on the internet to google and learn from ...forever.

So I ask YOU
May I mambo dogface on the banana patch?"

By the time we got to Woodstock... they fell asleep.

We somewhat re-located to the Woodstock area 3 1/2 years ago. We still have a crash pad in Brooklyn is what I mean by somewhat. I love coming back from a tour with the ability to drive the van in to my driveway and walk into my house and go to sleep. Sometimes the worst part of a tour is coming home to NYC exhausted, load in gear upstairs, and THEN go find parking, anyone that has done this will agree... it sucks!

I have looked for gigs to play in the Hudson Valley area to mixed results. My favorite was playing with Junior Brown @ The Bearsville Theater. He even came back to our house for a bit after the show. Many people would think that Woodstock would have great gigs to offer, occasionally but not often. It is a town of baby boomers, rock stars and wannabe rock stars that generally don't go out to shows unless it is a band connected to the 69 festival in some way (Even Jefferson Starship sans Grace Slick does well). There are also some pure music lovers and great people here, but they can be hard to find. Woodstock apparently is 65% second homes, so a lot of folks get up here and understandably just want to enjoy their home. The most popular (and only) regular show in town is Karaoke, where it can at least be about themselves for a while.

It is a beautiful place filled with far too many people wanting to tell you about the time they smoked pot with Jimi Hendrix (it'd be great if they were actual stories, more often... that is the WHOLE story). Yes, the local bar I drop into, they still refer to me (at 43) as the young guy.


Daria (me wife) and I were lucky enough to meet some of the best friends we could ever ask for right here in town. We met Jason Bowman, one of the Jack Grace Band drummers within the first few weeks of moving here. Jason's band, Five Points Band, a family band and all involved are those friends. Magic still happens up here. It just isn't floating all over as it had in say 1966. You have to find it hiding around corners and behind very quaint closed doors.