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.