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.