A letter to Tom Vaught- April 7th 1968- Nov 3rd 2018

Dear Tom,

It has been one year since you made the journey to wherever you went beyond this earth. We should have had so many more years, as you said when brother Mike Vaught left the earth, “this was not the plan”. We evolved together, we could piss each other off, but more often we created some of the greatest moments of our lives.

       In our pre-teens we thought it was hysterical to raise our hands in Mr. Sergenian’s class and tell stories about our friend, “Bob Gina”.  We were of that age where anything close to vagina was simply hysterical to us.

     We would sneak out of HC Crittenden Middle School, through the bus yard, past the duck pond, hit the ground, as if we were behind enemy lines (it was a daring mission) and go have lunch at Pizza Land whilst those other poor schleps at school ate cafeteria food. When we got home we listened to The Doors and talked about music. We watched this new MTV thing, then we would often walk around the lake. You really liked Duran Duran and I recall you singing, Rio at the top of your lungs wearing your black leather jacket with your mohawk and earring as it echoed across Windmill Lake.

 As or our teens began, you got that Led Zeppelin 2 cassette. It was an English release or something. Side 2 started with Thank You and it strangely included, Your Time Is Gonna Come from Zep 1 on it. We listened to that cassette so often that I still incorrectly hear that tape as the official Zeppelin 2 order. Fridays we drove your BMW 2002 or my lousy 75 Mustang to Mt. Kisco to get beer. We thought the guy who worked there looked like Jimmy Page and then you would steal Boone’s Farm from The Shack. You always liked stealing things. When we got back to your house I would try to nap, you wanted to start drinking right away. You would crank Bowie’s, Sound And Vision full volume and shove a drink in my face as you sang the lyrics even louder than the stereo. “John, wake up!” you yelled in a frustrated and slightly annoyed growl. I would try to pretend not to hear you, but I secretly enjoyed the whole song and dance.

We eventually got jobs at the A&P and stole so much beer that we didn’t have to go to the distributor for a while. We used to enjoy kicking over the product displays at the end of the aisle that the other was stacking; ya know the kind where the coffee cans are piled up twenty high or so? We were spiraling out of control. They fortunately fired us just before we were going to put a piece of shit in cellophane and sell it as a piece of liver in the meat section…a disaster narrowly averted. I remember after we got fired, your mom cooked us city chicken and klops while we made her laugh and convince her we weren’t so bad. Ya see they arrested us the same day we got fired. We came back to the A&P parking lot to do evil things. We used Mike Deluca’s station wagon;  if you pin a shopping cart against a brick wall, and then hit the gas, it crushes it like an accordion. We did that to a few and each time, we laughed so hard that our stomach muscles hurt. So when your mom came to pick us up from work at the normal time (she didn’t know we had been fired yet), we were being put into a police car.  I can still hear you, “Ma, we’re not really that bad. We just like to have fun!” The charges were all dropped as well. So, it was all worth it. The only casualties were 3 to 5 shopping carts.

      On more innocent summer days, we would occasionally go over to Tim Halpern’s house and swim in the pool. We were always supposed to help with some chore in exchange for swimming privileges and we never lifted one single finger. One time Tim had laid out some gardening tools and was readying for the labor, he looked around and groaned, “Hey, where is Tom”? That’s when we heard the cannonball. I laughed and jumped in as well.

   In our twenties we got our apartment, The Grand Lounge, with the fellas. You and I named it after wandering around extremely high on that ball of kief at Radio City Music Hall whilst Bob Dylan gave a lackluster performance. There are several lounges with names all around Radio City. We sat at them through the night and held mini-talk shows with confused passers by. But as one exits the venue, it spills you into The Grand Lounge! Our apartment was on Grand Street ya see, but when we saw that name… you woulda thought we had just discovered a cure for, well, what you were gonna freaking die of at 50.

 We soon began following The Grateful Dead. Nitrous, LSD, Marijuana and Blatz Beer were all flowing freely. We really only traveled with the Dead for a few bigger runs in 1988 and 1989, peaking with the acclaimed, Alpine Valley shows.  When you and I got to our first Alpine show, The Dead were playing, Sugaree. It was a beautiful day with lush trees, rolling hills and smiling, dancing people all around. “Let’s grab a beer” one of us said. The Beer Garden was facing an area of tall trees. You and I looked out at them and suddenly you grabbed my arm, “John, Look at that guy”.  I turned and there was this fella looking so awestruck, that his jaw was convulsing. You could tell he was in deep and could not believe how fucking amazing this tree was. You and I laughed while we respectfully enjoyed his convergence with nature.  The next day it was getting to be pre-show party time. We were enjoying Blatz Beer with our friends, getting excited for the evening. You approached me with his devilish grin, “John, we have acid, are you ready?” “I don’t know if I wanna take LSD and come back to this half baked campsite in the dark, Tom”, I replied.  Well, eventually you convinced me and within an hour it began to take effect as we made our way into the concert. You and I were at the top of our powers making everyone on the line crack up “who needs a ticket to the future?” “I have 3 tickets to the past, I’ll trade for one front row future”. Someone put necklaces on us and gave us handmade Jerry shirts to wear.

We came over the hill and the Dead were playing, Tennessee Jed. It sounded so sonically satisfying and the acid was surging through our veins. “Let’s grab a beer”, one of us said. We went into the Beer Garden and the beer tasted soo refreshing. “Look at this, The Dead’s speakers are weaving through the woods and exploding right here by this sunset!” “Hey Tom, check out that tree, look at how all the branches have organically stretched to the sky, reaching for the sun”. You replied, “You can see the years of old that were once grinding in the soil”. We gazed silently for a while, completely engrossed. Suddenly you shouted, “Hey, we’re that guy from yesterday!” Yes! It turned out we were standing in the exact place “nature lover” had been just 24 hours earlier.

Around that time, I moved to Vermont and you mailed me a grilled cheese and tomato from Mexico Joe’s from the neighborhood. Yes, I did eat it.

 A few years later, I moved to Colorado and started, Steak. You joined us in Colorado after your time singing in Ropes of Sand was over. It was the first time in your life I ever saw you “off”. You were struggling. But you found love and by the time you left Colorado, you were whole again.  

  Twenty three years later you moved to Colorado again. You were searching for what was next. During that time we met in South Dakota for the eclipse. You were uncharacteristically candid about your confusion of which way to go in life.  You stole something from the store. You always liked stealing things.  We had some fun. But we both had perhaps grown weary of the song and dance routine we had developed over the years. We still did it for folks. But it felt like a band reunited, playing the hits they no longer identified with. When we parted in South Dakota, it felt strange. I remember staring at your car driving away wanting to cry for some reason. It was the last time we would see each other not being aware of the cancer that was going to kill you. We did get together in Colorado after the bad news had arrived. Our interactions were fresh again, beautiful and strong. We sadly knew we no longer needed to evolve our style for our elder days. But I know, that if you were still here, we would have found that new path and done so gloriously as we did for so many decades.

You made it clear that you preferred to depart from Colorado and found a special beauty and tranquility there.

My, what an exceptional human being you have been. I am so proud to call you my friend. I will do my best to carry on in the way we do. “You know how I like it”.

What A Way To Spend A Night Part 1- 2018- NY, PA, NC, RI, MA

Here is a song from Jack Grace Band's new unreleased album, What A Way To Spend A Night

Song: Bearded Man

https://soundcloud.com/jackgraceband/bearded-man/s-bFjnj


It's a heavy guitar number, I maneuvered them whilst the Cambridge, England band handled the rhythm section sounds, you can see them in the US in October (see info below)


. Bearded Man was written about 5 years ago. We were doing long 7 plus hour drives every day in Western Canada, back when Carolyn Mark and I would share shows (she refused to sing on the number for reasons that remain a mystery as of this writing) Anyways, after what seemed like a full childhood and 3/4 of the angry teenage years in one drive, we ran into, THE Bearded Man, by the side of the road. He was such the iconic, stereotypical, hero, outlaw, hobo type man with a beard, that the song came about involuntarily. I continued to work on it for years. It took a long time to break it down for me to find it's current mantra of simplicity. The song is rather popular with our Cambridge England audience.

CONFIRMED DATES 2018
 
(there will likely be more shows added)



Oct 4 Sunny’s Brooklyn  NY 9:30
w/ George Rush- upright bass Andy Burns drums
Oct 11 Dogwood Beacon  NY 8pm 
Solo Jack Grace, served up with new songs all about all you and the dreams you keep having.



THEN, our Jack Grace Band, Cambridge, England players come to play in the US of HEY!? Starring: Fabian Bonner on bass and Ian Griffith on drums. Greet the boys and show them how we roll (and rock). They've got a Brexit that needs to be extinguished, we've got a horrific batch of old white men that need to go. Let's all use the power of rock n' roll to heal, fix, avoid, confront and change.



2018 US/UK CO-MISERY Tour
Oct 25 The Rooster’s Wife  Aberdeen NC 7:45
Oct 26 Garryowen Pub  Gettysburg PA 10pm
Oct 27 The Clydesdale  Port Chester NY 9pm
Oct 28 Superfine  Brooklyn. NY Noon to 3pm Brunch!
Oct 29 The Ear Inn  Manhattan, NY : Midnight to 3am


The boys return to England and THEN (it can get confusing here)

I join up with:
The Cambridge MASSACHUSETTS version of Jack Grace Band- Nate Logus Drums, Ken Lafler Bass
Oct 31 Norey’s  Newport RI 8:30
Nov 3 Toad Cambridge MA 10pm



THEN...
Jack Grace performs solo sets in Sayulita, Mexico 
Nov 5 to 14, sporadically at Sunset Turtle Bar (sunset)

 
That's right folks, it's that beautiful and that simple. Come by, handmade margaritas with tears of joy for salt. This is not some tropical set of cover songs; original Jack Grace sets, played sitting at the bar, at the beach, by the sea turtle sanctuary.

Dec 4 Bar Chord (solo) Brooklyn. NY 9pm
 Solo Jack Grace, served up with new songs all about all you and the food you don't want to eat but do anyway.



THEN.
..Steak returns! Jack Grace, Erik Lieblein, Stu Damm, Mike Jay.
 Since 1992 Steak has been serving you music you will hear nowhere else but here. It's well done and extremely rare all at once.



Dec 13 Jack Grace Holiday Extravaganza- Steak and many special guests Hank’s Saloon Brooklyn NY
Hank's is closing their doors at the end of 2018. So this is one of the LAST shows here at good ole 3rd and Atlantic. This location has been a bar for over 100 years.  Brooklyn Vegan article here
They will re-open at the Brooklyn Hill Country location on Adams St. A very different vibe, but it could be real cool.

THEN...
Well, damn, the year is just about over again.
Dec 27 Sunny’s  Brooklyn NY


Dec 28 Bar Chord Brooklyn NY

Dogs never run into debt.
But some run into lakes, oceans and other bodies of water.

Review: Neil Young and Promise Of The Real's Sept 26 2018

     

I saw Neil Young and The Promise of the Real last night at The Capitol Theater in Port Chester.  I have been kinda based around here for a bit. I was in fact, about a mile away when I saw posts on facebook of people saying they were at the Neil Young show. How did I miss this? I have been seeing Neil Young in concert since I was 18. I have probably seen him 25 times or so since...missing an intimate Neil theater experience practically on my stoop was just a pain I could not bear.
       I was in front of The Capitol by 8:30, there were people around with their pointer fingers up, the universal hippie signal for, "I need one bro". I did some texts to people I knew as I stood against the side of the theater listening to the start of the show. Someone opened the side door to empty the garbage. I could have most likely made it in right there, "Old school hmm,  that still works for me", yet at 50...if it was to go sour, it could be rather embarrassing, just then a text came through and I was in.
         I intentionally took no pictures or video, I just wanted to be completely present (remember when someone "bootlegging" was considered some kind of a pirate?).
      Ok, I got emotional when they played, Winterlong. It was such a beautiful rendition and this is a song for the deeper Neil fans to get excited about. One of the best things, The Promise Of The Real has done for Neil is they have convinced him to pick more diverse gems from one of the best songwriting catalogs out there. The songs that stuck out-
Motorcycle Mama from the  Comes A Time album, while not one of Neil's most significant songwriting efforts, is an amusing deep cut.(Words) Between The Lines Of Age, was so incredibly executed it made one who has heard this number numerous times before, re-examine how beautiful the intricate and long phrased guitar lines drag you seamlessly through the incredibly organic time changes.
 Tell Me Why, the opening song on, After The Gold Rush, with the full band was souful and played similar to the harmonized vocal version he briefly performed with CSNY, but with electric guitars. He picked up his white Gretsch guitar for,  Cortez The Killer. Neil did his ethereal lead notes that bring us through the intro when it became obvious that his E, B and G strings had gone pretty well out of tune. He paused, let Lukas Nelson cover the guitar work as he turned and very organically tuned his guitar like any mortal guitar player might. He then dug into that Gretsch and channeled that Buffalo Springfield version of himself. It transported the audience to a mystical place if you allowed him to do so; when Neil's vocal entered he was in that realm. He was neither 72 years old or the 20 something that wrote and recorded the number, he was an ageless soul in an ancient realm. Towards the end of the show he played a song from the  American Stars and Bars album, Roll Another Number, another lighter tune that was just the right stony place in the set. Neil has always liked his marijuana and I enjoyed sharing a bit with a few in the surrounding crowd.  Some of the younger fans were surprised to see a stranger extending his stash to someone they had never met, but to others this was just a tradition amongst concert goers steeped in golden rock concert renaissance practice. I hope we have many more years of Neil Young concerts. I find them necessary on so many levels. Long live our royalty of rock,  Neil Young.

Leonard Cohen 1934- 2016- Is This What You Wanted?

  

 

(John Cassavetes)

     There was a time in my late teens when I used to confuse Leonard Cohen and John Cassavetes . They both intrigued me and somewhat scared me. This was not Gilligan's Island or The Monkees anymore, it required another level of engagement. I sensed a danger I liked. Both were smart and made artistic choices that explored and celebrated life in a thought provoking way. They even have a similar physical look.  The two have a way in that,  if you let their vision of the world into your heart, you could see the beauty of celebration, disaster, love, despair, pain and joy and view it all through an artistic lens of your own.




   I just put on the 1977 album, "Death Of A Ladies Man". The horns, the strings, the seventies, the gluttony of it all, in the form (mostly) of loving a woman. He had comfortably evolved from his acoustic folk sound. The evolution began on the previous release, one of my all time favorite albums, 1974's, 

"New Skin For The Old Ceremony".  It opens with this:




You were the promise at dawn,

I was the morning after.

You were Jesus Christ my Lord,

I was the money lender.

You were the sensitive woman,

I was the very reverend Freud.

You were the manual orgasm,

I was the dirty little boy.

And is this what you wanted

to live in a house that is haunted

by the ghost of you and me?

Is this what you wanted ...

You were Marlon Brando,

I was Steve McQueen.

You were K.Y. Jelly,

I was Vaseline.

You were the father of modern medicine,

I was Mr. Clean.

You where the whore and the beast of Babylon,

I was Rin Tin Tin.

And is this what you wanted ...

And is this what you wanted ...

You got old and wrinkled,

I stayed seventeen.

You lusted after so many,

I lay here with one.

You defied your solitude,

I came through alone.

You said you could never love me,

I undid your gown.

And is this what you wanted ...

And is this what you wanted ...

I mean is this what you wanted ...

That's right, is this what you wanted ...

Is This What You Wanted- Leonard Cohen

     I love this era in his career. "Skin" is the beginning of moving away from the lonely acoustic guitar, but it doesn't make you miss it; when the creative drum part with accompanying horns roll gently in on,"Is this What You Wanted", Cohen shows he can do whatever the hell he wants and still succeed artistically. This just happened to be the Leonard Cohen era I stumbled upon. Fortunately, when it comes to his discography, you don't have to mine for the more inspired work. It is all inspired.




     By 1992, Leonard is using drum machines, synths and what have you. But 1992's, "The Future" holds up on substance and pure intent. He continued to use whatever sounds he wanted. It wasn't about the latest trends, it was just the stone he had walked by, picked up, examined and used in his latest sculpture.




     I found out about the passing of Leonard Cohen from a childhood friend this morning.  He said," On the occasion of the passing of Leonard Cohen, which has made me very sad, I sat up on the deck and drank copiously while working my way through his catalog.  Eventually, I came to "The Future," which always seemed borderline too dark (as I think you and I have discussed), but which now, in the post-Trump world, seems just plain prescient."







     Leonard Cohen passed away on Nov 7th, it was not announced until Nov 10th, after the US election of Donald Trump.  We do not know what lies ahead in a world without Leonard Cohen... along with these recent developments.  I'll do my best to see it all through that artistic lens, find beauty, use it and try to make something more of it.

   

Mourn For The Ones Killed Before Camera Phones

     Guns in the news everywhere. Innocent black men killed by police officers that are absolutely horrible at their jobs. Police officers killed by angry people with guns achieving the opposite of making their point, that the violence must stop. An eye for an eye just makes for more dead people and more paranoia.
     Let's try to see a bright side in these tragedies. The ongoing unacceptable 'mishaps" are finally being exposed. The black human beings we have seen killed by police are hardly a new trend. This has been going on through the entire history of the United States. The only new development is the video cameras everyone has in their phones (and body cameras etc.) to document these injustices.

     Let us take a minute to consider and mourn all of the innocent black people killed for hundreds of years by law enforcement without the benefit of someone documenting their death on video.
There are also police that are quite capable at their position. Men and women that could never possibly shoot someone over a broken tail light and a wrong assumption. But now, we are witnessing evidence of officers capable of doing just that and the police department's "wall of silence" only exacerbates the situation. Yes, police need to trust other police and have each other's back. But the public would feel better and safer if more police distinguished themselves from the murdering police that put their own work at greater risk.

      Let's just hope that as hard as it is to witness these videos and process this information, we begin to understand that we are finally bringing an ugly truth about America to the surface. There are of course many other down sides to a world of people staring at their phones so often. But hopefully, we can use this opportunity of near perpetual video exposure to make the country we live in a safer place for all colors of police and civilians.  Americans existing with less fear of death by ignorance or misunderstanding would be a solid development for the 21st century.

Naked At The Gym in January

     

       Ah... January. Going to the gym and starting the year off right. If you haven't been in years like myself, the first return visit can be the hardest. You may not know your way around, which outs you as one of those January "yeah, sure they'll keep coming" kinda people.
      Returning to the Park Slope YMCA men's locker room after many years got me thinking two main things. One, I have never been in the women's locker room and I'm pretty sure whatever bender gets me in there, will not end well. Two, "There is a great difference between getting naked while changing, and parading one's self naked around the locker room".  I thought about this occasionally whilst not going to the gym and even gave it as one of the reason's I didn't go. Now I have returned, and there it is again. I have come to a basic conclusion.  I'd just rather not be naked or stand next to naked men in a locker room.  I categorize this as unfun nudity. You really need to simply do your business, shower, dry and apply your delicates. But, brushing your hair in the mirror naked and walking around shooting the breeze with your undercarriage on display... well, perhaps you could save that for an audience you know will appreciate such a thing. I am all for the good kind of nudity; nudist colonies, streaking, sex, art, parading around your house or enjoying the wilderness naked for weeks. Hey, it's only natural.
       A girlfriend and I once went and tried out a mud bath in Calistoga, Ca. Now I am sure these mud bath experiences vary from place to place... We got naked and slipped into these two mud tubs planted next to each other. They were too hot for me and quite claustrophobic. I was not digging it. Eventually, in what felt like the duration of the dark ages, some lady came in,  time was finally up. I was relieved and yet, it got worse. She had the both of us stand naked against some cement wall and hosed us down.  It had a Holocaust kinda vibe to it. When it was over,  I said, "Wow and we gotta pay for that experience?" "It would have been more enjoyable to have been arrested in Mexico." It was supposed to be therapeutic and all, but it just turned out to be another fine example of unfun nudity.
       Unfun nudity can be walking out of your apartment or hotel room naked and accidentally locking yourself out. Never mind how it happened, a dare, grabbing the paper, checking the weather, a mission from god, point is after it happens, what do you do? Ok, now that is sounding like an amusing challenge, at least from an outsider's point of view.
         For many of us the first encounter with it is in that dream; the dreaded going to school with no clothes on scenario.  I don't think many people have this dream later in life (at least not as often). It seems contained primarily to pre-pubescents. "They" say nudity symbolizes a number of things depending on what's going on in your real life . Freaking out and realizing that you are naked in public, "reflects your vulnerability or feelings of shamefulness. You could be hiding something and are afraid that others can see right through you". But then again, if you are destined to be a nudist. This could simply be the beginning of your calling.
        Of course there is the good old physical examination. My regular doctor is a friend. We have been social outside of the office. He had me disrobe. He put on a glove and it was time for him to put his finger up my (insert vulgar or clinical term here). Yes, he had to make some sort of a joke to ease the situation. I was actually surprised. I thought that would be my department and he would make some, "Now now, I do this all the time" sort of statement. We were both glad when that edition of unfun nudity was over. As for the ladies, I'll assume that going to the gynecologist isn't as fun as getting ice cream and riding the Cyclone on a hot summer day.
         Everyone confronts some form of unfun nudity at some point in life. I am relieved that as of this writing, I have not endured the prison /incarceration brand. The strip search can't be all that life affirming (at the airport or elsewhere) either. I have however experienced a great loss at strip poker (fortunately, it was rather enjoyable).
         I look forward to more skinny dipping, streaking, parading, dancing and getting loose. Nudity can be fun for the whole fam... no, that is just not right.

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.

Junior Brown Thinks Yer Dead...

"Jack you gotta really be careful about putting this kinda stuff out there, I mean folks will expect you to live it"
Junior Brown on viewing "Drinking Song For Lovers" CD.


OK, It's gotten to the point where if I don't feel like drinking and I go out in public, there are folks dissapointed in me, calling me a fraud even. I felt like I was doing something different for a while. Now it feels like a drunken trajectory of mayhem sending me into a tailspin of predictable "not as fun as they used to be" scenarios. I wanted to be a person enjoying the pitfalls of life with a martini in my hand. I have enjoyed that.

I have begun working on the new CD. The subject matters are far more varied then in past releases.

Maybe I will finally take Junior Brown's advise and put something else out there:
"Cuz yer wanted by the po-lice and my wife thinks yer dead."
Hmm was it just me, I always thought that was a song about a bender Junior...
He wrote the song using second person narrative though, hmmm that's one way...

When one flies the coop...

http://gawker.com/5800433/berserk-naked-racist-wig+out-marks-another-day-on-the-nyc-subways

OK so seeing this tells me a few things.
1) It's funny how no one seems threatened by the guy at all.
2) That cop is not the cop you want around if and when you are in trouble.
3) With all the pressure that a city can put on you, I'm surprised not see this more often.
4) He doesn't seem to be any good at being a racist. Is he just being shocking? We could ask a lot of questions there....
5) When I finally do this, what will I yell about? I bet it will be about food.
6) When he grabs the ladies bag, that's where he begins not to know what to do next.
7) Drugs, mental imbalance, a combo, or did some guy just finally have enough and wanted to get naked and be a racist?
8) I have awoken with a few hangovers cringing about a few things I have said. This puts those moments in perspective (At least I think so).

A "Sailing" Accident

Sometimes the most interesting times with guests are the morning caffeination sessions after a spirited evening. There are stories to recount with a reasonably refreshed brain, and often a creative spirit easy enough to grab out the air. This Saturday morning seemed to have that right Autumnal morning feel. The night before, with my wife Daria on bass, Walter on trombone and Jason on drums, we played a Jack Grace Band show to college kids until some ungodly hour. Walter's spirited sister in law, Ariel, had come along for the show as well and on the ride home, Christopher Cross's song, "Sailing", had peeked it's head into some drunken debate on schmaltz.

Walter and Ariel stayed over, so whilst folks were in the kitchen the next morning, I thought I would find the song on youtube and crank it up on the stereo. This inspired my thespian roots to clear an area and perform an interpretive dance to the number, expressing what I believed to be Cross's and the song's producers innermost feelings via high kicks, twists and swirls.

A few minutes of this seemed plenty, but when I stopped, I was encouraged to continue, although a bit winded, I launched into part two, complete with a dance with the couch. I lifted my leg onto the couch in full throttle expression and felt something shoot through my left calf.

I wanted to keep the amusing vibe but it became clear that I had injured myself. So I stopped and we began planning a trip to pick up Walter's wife, Leslie across the Hudson from Bearsville. I realized that I now had a limp and could not really walk right. Daria, Walter and Ariel realized that I had officially injured myself dancing to Christopher Cross, and this seemed to at least triple everyone's amusement at the situation.

We picked up Leslie at the train and headed to a few gatherings in Tivoli, NY. Folks asked me why I was limping, my wife suggested I tell them it was a "Sailing" accident. This worked except it became clear that the full real story would come out each time because we all laughed when the "Sailing" accident was mentioned. Ariel and Walter took pity and found me a stick to use for a cane. I named it Michael and we had a few drinks and headed back to the house with Michael Cane.

We invited The Bowmans over to join us for a bonfire, Jason (on drums from last night) his wife Acacia and son Mackie. They saw my limp, and when told the story, (being true rock n roll purists ) replied, "it serves you right". Now, Jason hates Billy Joel more than anything, Ole BJ is truly his kryptonite. So I occasionally will start a Billy Joel song on the bandstand without him knowing what I am doing, just to piss him off, his annoyance makes me laugh. But it is a real anger that if pushed too far, would definitely lead to Jason walking off stage. Let's just say Jason finds this Yacht Rock justice at its best.

Fortunately for me, two days later I seem to be back to walking reasonably well. I've learned my lesson.
...I will stretch next time.

Blog- could it be a lame word?

(a picture I drew of my wife getting angry, when we first met)

The blog... A notebook feels creative where I write songs, stories, poems, a computer feels like a place I promote my shows and book the clubs I somehow got involved in. Well, I have a nice stack of say forty notebooks, the others my dad threw out when "cleaning" the basement.

Perhaps it's just the word blog that has kept me away.
I think I have been mis- marketed to. Also you can't spill steak sauce or coffee on a blog and that is something I have always done to mark my creative territory.

As of now, I don't really read any blogs regularly, perhaps writing one could change that.
The pitfalls of rhyming blog:
Now I started my own blog,
May the thoughts flow free and never clog,
Is it a Prince or just a frog,
I'd hate to get stuck in this bog,
or get killed by a balrog,
I fear I'm lost out in the fog,

Clearly the word does not have upbeat friends in the rhyming dept. Dog technically rhymes, but is more a dawg sounding word.

OK I think I have properly worn out all I my thoughts on this dang word, just my Brady Bunch style of making things straight before I start, when Alice left for an episode and the new housekeeper Kay came in, the kids would say things like , "Alice used to play basketball with us", she would reply, "that was Alice, I'm Kay".

That actually has nothing to do with me and Blog, but hey I'm trying my best.

Leave you alone ? But why? It's free to bug the shit out of you.

A shot of Jack Grace Band member Bruce Martin ironically on a computer, he is a practicing luddite sans cellphone and can be tough to find at times and he likes it that way.


OK, the time has come for all of this over information to back off for us all. It really is an epidemic.
For example: Let's say a friend has their first show, they post it on their website, myspace, facebook, twitter. Then, some folks like to send as many as 3 reminders about this event to your email, maybe they have more than one email for you so to be safe they send it to all three emails they have for you. So you hear about this 15 times!

I'm 41 and have been playing live shows for twenty years. In those early days you sent out a mailer. The mailer was sent after someone signed your mailing list or you knew them well enough so that you knew their address and each person you sent this mailer to required another stamp and another postcard mailer. So, you would NOT just send these folks 15 different notices about your quaint little show if you planned to make a profit. They would get the mailer and if they cared, they would put it on the fridge to remember, if they didn't they would glance at it and toss it in the trash. My old band Steak also had a hotline (voicemail) so if YOU wanted to know when we were playing you could call and find out.

My point is, it used to take time and even money to notify folks. I sure don't miss making those handbills and putting stamps on all of them (or paying for it!), but we all get over informed about events- even ones we have no intention of attending.
Maybe you never want to see my band, I don't want you there if you don't want to be. It is important to me as a human that you then don't get tons of web nagging by me.

I used to send an email to my list at least once a week (a list that folks signed to be on). Back in a time when I was less busy, I used to spend A LOT of time making those emails creative and fun to read so that folks would open them even if they couldn't make my show. I decided this was my chance to communicate with my entire fanbase at once so I might as well make it count.
After a while, there were some people who signed my mailing list who had never seen my band or heard my music, rather been forwarded my emails and just liked getting them.

In the past ten years after that initial email strategy, we have all been basically become subject to too many goddamn notices about anything and everything- web nagging!

So I hope to start this blog as a way to continue without pestering.
I still have to promote my shows, releases etc. But I have backed off on the frequency of notices. I figure if you want to come see me or know what is going on, you can always check my websites, blog or hell just google me.

Perhaps our backlash can come in the form of sending emails to everyone about things we don't care about or want to see over and over, oh wait that already kinda happens anyway... hmmm.

Dogs find blogs odorless and unappealing.
Jack Grace

Things To Be Happy About

From the Archives: October 19, 2001

Hey, this isn't the greatest of times, but there are still things to be happy about:

1. They are not making new episodes of "Who's The Boss".
2. Willie Nelson.
3. Bacon.
4. The sun is still fully operational.
5. There is plenty of gum to go around.
6. Paul McCartney, Mick Jagger and David Bowie are at the Garden tomorrow.
7. Martinis still taste good.
8. You are not required by law to see Nicholas Cage in Capt. Corelli's Mandolin.
9. Your email still works (apparently).

If things get worse, we can always build a big spaceship, have William Shatner return to his post as Capt. Kirk and travel on a five year mission (where no man has gone before).

See YOU at the racetrack,


Jack Grace

Advice For All Ages

From the Archives: January 21, 2000

A special note to fans in their thirties: Some of you are starting to act like old people. Stop it now while you have the chance. Go out tonight, misbehave and don't worry about it. Everything will still be fine. If you are wondering if this is directed at you, that probably means it is. If you are in your thirties, and you know this is not directed at you, then maybe you should take it easy a bit.

A special note to fans in their twenties: Go to the show tonight (like everybody else). Don't wear baseball hats backwards and listen to Dave Matthews even if everybody is doing it.

To fans in their teens: Get a good fake I.D. and come to the show. All your friends are.

To fans forty and above: You know better than to listen to me.

And to the ones not quite in their teens: We didn't forget about you. But how did you get on this list? Do your parents know that you associate with strange people like ourselves?

Thank You for Your Support,

Jack Grace