Fall and Ham Sandwiches
Time sure flies by. It's October 1st already, and the nights are getting cooler. Looking back at this past summer, the big thing I remember is that rained a whole bunch of times. Quite a lot of our outdoor gigs this summer got rained on. We actually got very efficient in breaking the stage down when the weather threatened to turn ugly on us.
We played a lot of parties and festivals, and had a lot of fun. Our CD has been sent all over the world through CD Baby and Garageband.com, and we are negotiating with a management company in Sweden for a possible tour next fall.
Janet got herself a nice new job as the Choral Director of EagleBrook Academy in South Deerfield, MA. They actually liked her so much that they created a position for her! All of us in the band wish her all the best.
Janet and I are also in preproduction for our next CD project. We are experimenting with different tones and tunes and plan on doing demo's this fall and winter, with an eye on doing the formal recordings in the spring, and we plan on having a summer 2004 CD release.
I suppose I ought to retitle this column, as the word Blog seems to indicate that daily postings are a prerequisite. I have been writing on line very sporadically since 2000. I have never felt the need nor had the desire to force myself to write something just so I can say that I wrote something every day. I prefer to work on my music at that pace. Writing in this space will continue to happen when the muse strikes me. I can't see the usefulness of writing just for writing's sense. I will write when I have something that I want to rant about.
And yes, I like my ham sandwiches with mustard, thank you.
Ramblings about music and more. An occasionally updated soapbox for reporting on my observations of the world around me.
Wednesday, October 01, 2003
Wednesday, July 23, 2003
25th anniversary
We had a gig this past weekend. Outside. The contract called for full PA and soundman. Way out on a farm in the hills of Western Mass. Sounds nice. The prospect of this gig pleased me no end, as it is so nice to get out of the smoky bars and out into the fresh air. After mapquesting the directions from the internet I loaded up the bus and head westward.
Internet maps leave a lot to be desired. The directions I downloaded, while technically accurate, were terrible. Left for 1.2 mi, then slight right for .32 mi, then right for 1.5 mi, etc, etc. It all sounds good until the reality comes up and bites you in the hindquarters. This particular bite in the butt came via a missing road sign: I missed my turn and was off on my merry way, in a completely wrong direction. Eventually, I put things together and arrived at the gig, with plenty of time to set up all of my gear. I am going to grab another regular map for the next trip, though.
Here's the turn, it's marked by a tiny cardboard sign with an arrow pointing into the woods. Cool. I'm on it, and soon I am driving by rows of campers and tents, until I see a bandstand set up by a lake. Yeah, this will do, I'm thinking to myself. I see families, people tossing frisbees. There were kids jumping off the raft in the center of the lake, and other kids were taking turns paddling a rowboat around the lake. Off to one side they had a BBQ pit with three porkers on spits browning up nicely.
They also had built a little tiki bar by the lake , and set up a well stocked bar inside. It was quite the place for a party. It turns out that they have been having a party every summer for the last twenty-five years!
Playing outside can be a lot of fun. Having the big PA system set up with all the instruments mic'ed up just added to the happy factor. I got things set up quickly, and I discovered two bad cables in the process.We had a ball playing for them, and were very happy to be a part of their twenty-fifth bash!
###
submitted by ®acy
We had a gig this past weekend. Outside. The contract called for full PA and soundman. Way out on a farm in the hills of Western Mass. Sounds nice. The prospect of this gig pleased me no end, as it is so nice to get out of the smoky bars and out into the fresh air. After mapquesting the directions from the internet I loaded up the bus and head westward.
Internet maps leave a lot to be desired. The directions I downloaded, while technically accurate, were terrible. Left for 1.2 mi, then slight right for .32 mi, then right for 1.5 mi, etc, etc. It all sounds good until the reality comes up and bites you in the hindquarters. This particular bite in the butt came via a missing road sign: I missed my turn and was off on my merry way, in a completely wrong direction. Eventually, I put things together and arrived at the gig, with plenty of time to set up all of my gear. I am going to grab another regular map for the next trip, though.
Here's the turn, it's marked by a tiny cardboard sign with an arrow pointing into the woods. Cool. I'm on it, and soon I am driving by rows of campers and tents, until I see a bandstand set up by a lake. Yeah, this will do, I'm thinking to myself. I see families, people tossing frisbees. There were kids jumping off the raft in the center of the lake, and other kids were taking turns paddling a rowboat around the lake. Off to one side they had a BBQ pit with three porkers on spits browning up nicely.
They also had built a little tiki bar by the lake , and set up a well stocked bar inside. It was quite the place for a party. It turns out that they have been having a party every summer for the last twenty-five years!
Playing outside can be a lot of fun. Having the big PA system set up with all the instruments mic'ed up just added to the happy factor. I got things set up quickly, and I discovered two bad cables in the process.We had a ball playing for them, and were very happy to be a part of their twenty-fifth bash!
###
submitted by ®acy
Friday, July 11, 2003
When Everything falls into place.
As a performing musician, I live for those special moments when everyone in the band is in that special space, a place where the individual band members are feeling the magic, and the band becomes much more than the sum of its parts.
Performing live can be such a magical experience: the rhythm section locks together, and the soloists fly, dragging the perceptive audience members along for a wonderful roller coaster ride. For me, very few things in life can approach the high of those moments, and I live for them.
That magic feeling is an elusive thing, too. It doesn't automatically happen everytime I perform, yet it's always lurking around the next corner, ready to put in an appearance on its own terms. It cares not of the particular venue I happen to be in that night, nor who might be in the audience. It stands defiantly, needing no one. Catch it if you can: there is no map to follow, voodoo doesn't help, and you can't buy it nor bottle it when it finally puts in an appearance. You can only ride it, in a fashion similar to that person with the surf board catching the ultimate wave and riding it all the way home.
The variables of live performance can be daunting: Creating music is a collaborative effort, and every person in the band has a huge influence on the outcome. If a bandmember has had a less than stellar day, that can affect the music in a negative way. On the other hand, if one has a great day, the music can fly high and free. There are, of course, exceptions to every rule, yet I have observed the highest highs when my day has gone well, and vice-versa.
So get out there and support live music. Take a chance on a band that you aren't familiar with. When they ask you for the five dollars or whatever at the door, just pay it and invest some time. Usually the musicians will perform with everything they have, and you will be a happy camper. If they moved you, buy one of their CDs in a show of support. Your efforts will not go unnoticed. If the sun and stars happen to line up on that day you might be a participant on the best roller coaster ride of all time.
And if they didn't move you that night, you will still have the satisfaction of knowing that you did something to support your music scene. If you don't, that "scene" might someday sound like the junk that you hear on your car radio...
Posted by ®acy
As a performing musician, I live for those special moments when everyone in the band is in that special space, a place where the individual band members are feeling the magic, and the band becomes much more than the sum of its parts.
Performing live can be such a magical experience: the rhythm section locks together, and the soloists fly, dragging the perceptive audience members along for a wonderful roller coaster ride. For me, very few things in life can approach the high of those moments, and I live for them.
That magic feeling is an elusive thing, too. It doesn't automatically happen everytime I perform, yet it's always lurking around the next corner, ready to put in an appearance on its own terms. It cares not of the particular venue I happen to be in that night, nor who might be in the audience. It stands defiantly, needing no one. Catch it if you can: there is no map to follow, voodoo doesn't help, and you can't buy it nor bottle it when it finally puts in an appearance. You can only ride it, in a fashion similar to that person with the surf board catching the ultimate wave and riding it all the way home.
The variables of live performance can be daunting: Creating music is a collaborative effort, and every person in the band has a huge influence on the outcome. If a bandmember has had a less than stellar day, that can affect the music in a negative way. On the other hand, if one has a great day, the music can fly high and free. There are, of course, exceptions to every rule, yet I have observed the highest highs when my day has gone well, and vice-versa.
So get out there and support live music. Take a chance on a band that you aren't familiar with. When they ask you for the five dollars or whatever at the door, just pay it and invest some time. Usually the musicians will perform with everything they have, and you will be a happy camper. If they moved you, buy one of their CDs in a show of support. Your efforts will not go unnoticed. If the sun and stars happen to line up on that day you might be a participant on the best roller coaster ride of all time.
And if they didn't move you that night, you will still have the satisfaction of knowing that you did something to support your music scene. If you don't, that "scene" might someday sound like the junk that you hear on your car radio...
Posted by ®acy
A record has an influence in the world way beyond yourself and your realm. As an artist, I think you just put the best work out that you can and it will be meaningful for the people who need to find it. Those people will find it. And it will change people's lives. That's the best thing you could hope for. It's the process, you know? It's the path. I finally realized after trying to push things through for so long, that this is what you get. You get to perform. You get to play music for people. That's what you get. You don't get anything else. If you want to get money, then you have to be a businessperson. If you want to get famous, that's a whole industry networking game. But if you want to be a musician, you get to play music. That's what you get. You get that experience with the audience. That's the deal.
Posted by ®acy
Posted by ®acy
Sunday, April 13, 2003
So there I was:
No Vehicle
No vehicle, no transportation, I ain't going nowhere tonight.
My bus is in the shop, awaiting it's turn on the diagnostic computer.
Me? I am waiting for the results of the diagnostic testing, hoping that this is one of the less expensive fixes, knowing full well that I might need an engine for the bus. The thought of having to spring for a new engine sends a shiver up my spine. I am the type of guy who has always had to do his own maintenance on his vehicles, one who has never allowed himself the luxury of having someone else crawl under his transpo, looking up and seeing something that's not quite right.
Unfortunately, this bus is too new. I can't repair it by myself, and that really sucks...I am at the mercy of the mechanic's diagnostic computer...
More about my first legal car...
My first legal car was a 1964 Chevy Biscayne wagon. Scroll down for more another story about it.
My friend's father told me he was selling it, and he offered me a 10% finder's fee if I could move it for him. After giving it the ole once over. I knew it was the car for me.
I took the 10 % discount and applied it to the purchase price. I vividly remember driving it home. It was my buddies family car, and I remember driving in it. Rides to the store, to Mountain Park, to places that my parents wouldn't ever drive me to. I always liked that car, even though, looking back, that it really wasn't anything special. To ME, though, it was the culmination of many months of hard work. When you are sixteen years old, the prospect of having your own ride was an intoxicating proposition. I just knew I had to have that car... I had gotten a job with the express purpose of getting that car for me...
And now it was mine! Yeah! Finally I could escape from the confines of the city. I longed to go to the country, where I had heard that everything was much more relaxed than the city life that I had grown up with. I knew of a few transplanted city dwellers who had moved to the country, and every one of them talked up the niceties of country life.
So I am fiilled with anxiety now. Will the bus survive a nother day? Stay tuned.
No Vehicle
No vehicle, no transportation, I ain't going nowhere tonight.
My bus is in the shop, awaiting it's turn on the diagnostic computer.
Me? I am waiting for the results of the diagnostic testing, hoping that this is one of the less expensive fixes, knowing full well that I might need an engine for the bus. The thought of having to spring for a new engine sends a shiver up my spine. I am the type of guy who has always had to do his own maintenance on his vehicles, one who has never allowed himself the luxury of having someone else crawl under his transpo, looking up and seeing something that's not quite right.
Unfortunately, this bus is too new. I can't repair it by myself, and that really sucks...I am at the mercy of the mechanic's diagnostic computer...
More about my first legal car...
My first legal car was a 1964 Chevy Biscayne wagon. Scroll down for more another story about it.
My friend's father told me he was selling it, and he offered me a 10% finder's fee if I could move it for him. After giving it the ole once over. I knew it was the car for me.
I took the 10 % discount and applied it to the purchase price. I vividly remember driving it home. It was my buddies family car, and I remember driving in it. Rides to the store, to Mountain Park, to places that my parents wouldn't ever drive me to. I always liked that car, even though, looking back, that it really wasn't anything special. To ME, though, it was the culmination of many months of hard work. When you are sixteen years old, the prospect of having your own ride was an intoxicating proposition. I just knew I had to have that car... I had gotten a job with the express purpose of getting that car for me...
And now it was mine! Yeah! Finally I could escape from the confines of the city. I longed to go to the country, where I had heard that everything was much more relaxed than the city life that I had grown up with. I knew of a few transplanted city dwellers who had moved to the country, and every one of them talked up the niceties of country life.
So I am fiilled with anxiety now. Will the bus survive a nother day? Stay tuned.
Thursday, April 10, 2003
Cars and trouble
So I load the bus up after I finish my last performance, and head off down the road towards home. It was during our last spring snowstorm, and I was playing at Mount snow in Vermont.
A few miles down the road I notice something has gone awry: The bus started bucking like a mule, and the service engine light illuminated. Turning up the radio doesn't work this time, either. Uh, oh...
So there I was, at 3 A.M. on the highway in Vermont, snow falling like crazy, it's APRIL, I have a bus full of equipment, and I am hoping that the thing doesn't break down before I get home. Going about thirty-five miles an hour certainly makes the trip home quite longer that the ride up. I had lots of time to think. I wouldn't want to leave the thing on the side of the road because there is a lot of music equipment in it, and I tend to worry about things like losing it. It would be tough to replace it all.
OK, the temperature and oil gauges are in their normal ranges, that's a good sign. When I push hard on the accelerator, as in going up a hill, (Vermont certainly has more than it's share of those,) the engine starts to sputter and shake. Which is not a good sign. I am still making forward progress, which is good, and at this time of the morning there is no traffic to speak of, which is another good thing.
Three hours later I pull into my driveway, shaken and pissed off but very happy to have made it all the way home. Let's see: one and a half hours to get there, and three hours to get home. Oh well...
Later that morning I get out the phonebook and calI my mechanic. Hmmm, I forgot there is a war going on. He's a reservist and was recently activated. Not good news. I get a few more phone numbers to try and I actually do track down my mechanic. While he was indeed activated because of the war, this time he is working at a local Air Force base in a support position. He is very happy because he is married with kids and wasn't especially happy to be trotting off to the desert like the last time they activated him. He says that he'll need to put my vehicle on a diagnostic computer to see what's going on. Fortunately for me he has a space available on Friday, and will look at the bus and determine what I need to get it running properly again.
I do miss the old days when I could repair my own car. Now the repair guy has to have access to a diagnostic computer, and the car tells him what is wrong. Gone are the simple old days of "Do It Yourself."
I dropped off the bus and now I wait for the dreaded phone call. I am reminded of Dirty Harry's little saying, "Do you feel lucky?" I dread car trouble as it's so frustrating to me to not know what's wrong. Is this one going to be an easy fix, or a nightmare? I can only hope for the former.
I'll post the update later this weekend.
posted by ®acy
So I load the bus up after I finish my last performance, and head off down the road towards home. It was during our last spring snowstorm, and I was playing at Mount snow in Vermont.
A few miles down the road I notice something has gone awry: The bus started bucking like a mule, and the service engine light illuminated. Turning up the radio doesn't work this time, either. Uh, oh...
So there I was, at 3 A.M. on the highway in Vermont, snow falling like crazy, it's APRIL, I have a bus full of equipment, and I am hoping that the thing doesn't break down before I get home. Going about thirty-five miles an hour certainly makes the trip home quite longer that the ride up. I had lots of time to think. I wouldn't want to leave the thing on the side of the road because there is a lot of music equipment in it, and I tend to worry about things like losing it. It would be tough to replace it all.
OK, the temperature and oil gauges are in their normal ranges, that's a good sign. When I push hard on the accelerator, as in going up a hill, (Vermont certainly has more than it's share of those,) the engine starts to sputter and shake. Which is not a good sign. I am still making forward progress, which is good, and at this time of the morning there is no traffic to speak of, which is another good thing.
Three hours later I pull into my driveway, shaken and pissed off but very happy to have made it all the way home. Let's see: one and a half hours to get there, and three hours to get home. Oh well...
Later that morning I get out the phonebook and calI my mechanic. Hmmm, I forgot there is a war going on. He's a reservist and was recently activated. Not good news. I get a few more phone numbers to try and I actually do track down my mechanic. While he was indeed activated because of the war, this time he is working at a local Air Force base in a support position. He is very happy because he is married with kids and wasn't especially happy to be trotting off to the desert like the last time they activated him. He says that he'll need to put my vehicle on a diagnostic computer to see what's going on. Fortunately for me he has a space available on Friday, and will look at the bus and determine what I need to get it running properly again.
I do miss the old days when I could repair my own car. Now the repair guy has to have access to a diagnostic computer, and the car tells him what is wrong. Gone are the simple old days of "Do It Yourself."
I dropped off the bus and now I wait for the dreaded phone call. I am reminded of Dirty Harry's little saying, "Do you feel lucky?" I dread car trouble as it's so frustrating to me to not know what's wrong. Is this one going to be an easy fix, or a nightmare? I can only hope for the former.
I'll post the update later this weekend.
posted by ®acy
Thursday, April 03, 2003
Piano
A spinster lived in the house next to the house I grew up in. I have memories from many years of my youth wherein I did lots of maintenance around her house: cutting the grass during the warm months, shovelling snow in the cold months, general cleaning up around her place, etc.
The house had been in her family for generations. She was born and raised there, and lived her entire life there. For most of her time here on earth, she lived alone in that large old house.
Eventually she died, and I was the first person to enter the house in many years. It was like walking back into time: the house had gas lights that were functional, toilets with tanks overhead and chains, lots of very cool old furniture, large brown and white photographs of very rugged looking women and children.
My brother bought the place, and we spent a few months cleaning it out. As compensation for helping with the needed work, I was given a turn of the century Weber upright piano. I visited the Weber website and found out via the serial number that the piano is from 1903, and was made in New York. It's quite nice: the piano has hand carvings etched into the front, and very ornate scrollwork on the legs. The tone is dark and marvelous to my ears. I'm a happy camper.
So now I own a piano. Let's see, what comes next? The evil word "Move" comes to mind. This piano is built like a tank and must weigh one thousand pounds. Oh happy day. I pick up the phone and see if I can call in a favor from a pickup truck owning friend that I have helped out previously. After some heming and hawing I reel him in, and together with two other big burly types, we load the piano into his truck and drive off towards my place. It was quite the sight: I was playing the piano as we drove down the street. Seems to me I just saw a video recently on MTV where some young female singer was doing the same thing. When I was doing it the image conveyed was quite different, thank you.
Ah, home. We back the truck up to my door and set up two planks in ramplike fashion and succeed in getting the piano into it's new home. It is looking resplendent in it's featured place against the wall in the den.
Posted by ®acy
A spinster lived in the house next to the house I grew up in. I have memories from many years of my youth wherein I did lots of maintenance around her house: cutting the grass during the warm months, shovelling snow in the cold months, general cleaning up around her place, etc.
The house had been in her family for generations. She was born and raised there, and lived her entire life there. For most of her time here on earth, she lived alone in that large old house.
Eventually she died, and I was the first person to enter the house in many years. It was like walking back into time: the house had gas lights that were functional, toilets with tanks overhead and chains, lots of very cool old furniture, large brown and white photographs of very rugged looking women and children.
My brother bought the place, and we spent a few months cleaning it out. As compensation for helping with the needed work, I was given a turn of the century Weber upright piano. I visited the Weber website and found out via the serial number that the piano is from 1903, and was made in New York. It's quite nice: the piano has hand carvings etched into the front, and very ornate scrollwork on the legs. The tone is dark and marvelous to my ears. I'm a happy camper.
So now I own a piano. Let's see, what comes next? The evil word "Move" comes to mind. This piano is built like a tank and must weigh one thousand pounds. Oh happy day. I pick up the phone and see if I can call in a favor from a pickup truck owning friend that I have helped out previously. After some heming and hawing I reel him in, and together with two other big burly types, we load the piano into his truck and drive off towards my place. It was quite the sight: I was playing the piano as we drove down the street. Seems to me I just saw a video recently on MTV where some young female singer was doing the same thing. When I was doing it the image conveyed was quite different, thank you.
Ah, home. We back the truck up to my door and set up two planks in ramplike fashion and succeed in getting the piano into it's new home. It is looking resplendent in it's featured place against the wall in the den.
Posted by ®acy
Tuesday, March 25, 2003
Long Island
The band travelled to Long Island on Sunday to play a wedding gig. It was a good day to go, as the traffic was very light, and we arrived with lots of time to set up our gear.
This was my first performance at a Jewish wedding and it was an eye opener. There was lots of ceremony that I, as a Catholic, had never seen before. Lots of dancing and not as much drinking as I have seen in other weddings. The highpoint of the dancing for me was when the crowd surrounded the bride and groom and picked them up in their chairs, and proceeded to toss them into the air, chairs and all. They repeated this for about ten minutes. The groom was digging it, and the bride looked scared to death.
The ceremony after the wedding vows consisted of a medley of songs that the crowd danced to nonstop. We played this medley of tunes for about thirty minutes. the dancers were quite resiliant, and they did their thing at full speed the whole time.
There wasn't any tossing of a bouquet, and no garter ceremony either. It was a quite different experience for me. It was fun, and I look forward to performing at the next one.
Posted by ®acy
The band travelled to Long Island on Sunday to play a wedding gig. It was a good day to go, as the traffic was very light, and we arrived with lots of time to set up our gear.
This was my first performance at a Jewish wedding and it was an eye opener. There was lots of ceremony that I, as a Catholic, had never seen before. Lots of dancing and not as much drinking as I have seen in other weddings. The highpoint of the dancing for me was when the crowd surrounded the bride and groom and picked them up in their chairs, and proceeded to toss them into the air, chairs and all. They repeated this for about ten minutes. The groom was digging it, and the bride looked scared to death.
The ceremony after the wedding vows consisted of a medley of songs that the crowd danced to nonstop. We played this medley of tunes for about thirty minutes. the dancers were quite resiliant, and they did their thing at full speed the whole time.
There wasn't any tossing of a bouquet, and no garter ceremony either. It was a quite different experience for me. It was fun, and I look forward to performing at the next one.
Posted by ®acy
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