Touched

A while back, I recieved a package in the mail. I knew it was coming. I had gotten an email from Stephanie the week before and she wanted my correct address to send it.  Stephanie... (a woman whom I respect, a jewel, and a heart bigger than life).  I met Stephanie thru friends that I see once a year. That is another story in itself.  Stephanie opened up her life to me and the band with open and welcome arms. We stayed with her and JJ when we played for LosCarnales at a benefit in Houston.    

Stephanie & J. J.   got married durring the Sturgis Rallies in 2001.  They came to where we were playing after the wedding.  J.J. was not feeling well the entire trip.  This was not either ones first marriage, but this was the right one for both of them.  Anyone around them could just tell.... magic, happy ever after.    I had known J.J. before I met Stephanie,  he was an individual among individuals.. ;).  The only guy I know that went out of his way to have cappuccino at the campground waiting for me.... the only guy I know that wore a satin robe at a campsite that resembled Hugh Hephners... he was special in many ways. He was a good guy... he was a police officer for most of his life.    The day of his wedding to Steph, he pulled me aside to have a moment... He said a few things that I will never forget.  He told me that he knew what was going on and why he didn't feel well.  He said he did not want to dwell on it, but he wanted me to know for some reason.  He said, he loved his new bride with all his heart and he had wanted more for her than what was going to happen. He needed more time, but was thinking that it was going to be short.  He then informed me what he was talking about.  He had been diagnosed with cancer 10 years before and had been in remission.  It was back.  He took my hand and placed it on his chest and told me to press..... as I did, his chest gave in to my touch like a sponge. I could not believe that this strong man before me, had this happening. At that moment.. I wanted to cry, I was holding his arm and touching his chest. I  believe that the only reason I didn't fall down is because he was holding me with his arm...   He was telling me this as a friend and in his own way, saying not to worry and saying goodbye... knowing that I only see them once a year.   At that moment in time, his new bride who was oblivious to it all.... called our names and said.. SMILE FOR THE CAMERA!.... She took the picture. I was still trying to maintain.    Since that time.. J.J. has passed away after a long fight. Stephanie was with him thru it all and still is.  She still goes to his grave site very regularly. She has tried to keep living as normal as can be.. but there will never be another person like J.J. for her.    Their love still lives... and life goes on.  We all miss J.J. but the impact of loss for her.. I can not imagine.  Stephanie and I have talked, hugged and cried together since things all happened.  She told me of a picture that was of me and J.J. that she got on the wedding day... I was wondering if it was that moment..... I recieved the picture. It was that moment.   It is captured in time.... She sent it in a frame that is on my desk now.  It is on my mind, and I share it now with you.....

                                            We love you and miss you.  PorVida XXOO 

P.I.P.  J. J. 

A Few Unforgettable Fans

I guess I was reminded of something by one of those triggered thoughts. Bar life and the characters that frequent the places.  Being on stage we are somewhat removed from the strangeness and just get to witness most of it. Sometimes we are the cause, or the target, but mostly we are there to point it out, laugh about it or handle it with kid gloves.  Some of the people over the years were just unreal.  I am not going to use names here, I probably don't even know the real names, just the nicknames we gave them.

Wayne and I were laughing so hard over one strange person. It was not so much what she was doing, but what she represented.  The really strange ones used to center around Wayne, he was like a magnet to these types.  This particular woman was out for a night on the town. It was about 11:30 pm, prime time for dancing and drinking on a Friday night. One would think that you are trying to look your best and since you were OUT ON THE TOWN… you were at your best or close to it…This woman had to be in her fifties I think, not sure on the age, but defiantly over 21.  Well, this woman was dressed ok and all, if you think a housecoat is fashionable. She had on shoes, but we thought that slippers would have gone better with the ensemble.  The clothes here are not the real issue. It is the fact that she had curlers in her hair.  Her entire head was still in curlers while she was out dancing on the dance floor.  Now, just where you gonna go after 11:30 at night that you have to get ready AFTER a night on the town????? We found that after playing this club a few more times, that she was indeed a regular. This was her look.   After a while Wayne and I started envisioning a fake bird in the top of her hairdo, cause it resembled a nest to us and at least there would have been some purpose to it all. 

We have all had nights where we play to the rafter brothers…. Not a person in the place but the band and the bartenders and one old hippy who keeps yelling for Neil Young or Emerson Lake and Palmer.  You play the songs, he keeps yelling for them. Nuff said.

There was one of those people who was a bit more social. He came up in front of the bandstand and stood in front of Wayne forever. He happened to be mesmerized by Wayne's guitar work He seemed harmless enough and it gave Wayne something to play for.  He played air guitar in return for the sounds Wayne was pumping out.  He liked the little stuffed monkey that Wayne had hanging from his mic stand. He looked like he was dancein with it.  This went on for about two sets. Lone drunk dancing in front of the guitar player. I would like to interject here that he had some moves like no other.  He incorporated ballet with break dancing and some clogging, not to mention the one person line dance moves with the gymnastic feel to most of it, with the added head banging.  It was worth playing for. At the beginning of the third set, we thought we would have another dance exhibit, but it was very short lived.  The cops showed up, took him by the shoulders and escorted him out of the bar.  As Wayne was singing to his one and only fan of the evening… the cops drug him off.   As he was leaving, he was still dancein and singing loudly along with us right up till the bitter end where then he resisted arrest outside of the bar. 

We have also had those moments where women in the audience start to feel sexy and flash people.  This happened lots, cause we would actually encourage um….. lets say innocent exabitionism. There were some beautiful women that would come up and flash the guys in the band.  Sometimes they would dance and a circle would be formed around them just in case the rules were strict in the bars, they would do their turn at flashing and then someone else would take the circle.  You get the idea.  One particular time stands out to me where this very thing happened.  I will call her F. Yes, it is the first initial of her name. She was drunk out of her mind, which was a usual state. She saw some women doing this very thing in a circle.  I guess F started to feel sexy and frisky and wanted to play.  Now…. Normally this mood takes over and it is all play full and everyone knows the limit, drunk or not.   I would like to describe some of F's attributes here, (it is going to be necessary to get the point across).  F had to be about 40, her two front teeth were missing, she was a bar fly, she had a pot belly, she at one time had probably beautiful breasticles, however time and gravity and perhaps five or six pregnancies did her breasticles no favors, she also had a rather unpleasant droning laugh, sort of like a loud bland AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH hhaha AAAAAAAAAAAhahahha  .)   So anyway, she was on the dance floor,  whipped her shirt off and and….. At this point it was difficult to continue playing.  The circle that normally surrounds the woman… had turned their backs to her, oh yeah; there was a circle, but the wrong way lol.   Her breasticles had spillage from a drink earlier and had stuck to her belly, one broke loose and tried to flop a bit, and the other was stuck like glue…. Did I mention that this person had no rhythm????? It is also important to the visual you may now be having. She was smiling her toothless grin with the loud laugh, one breast swinging in the breeze, making very stiff jirating movements on the floor full of people that were trying to move away FAST.

We ended the song sooner than we should have, just to stop the madness. Switched gears cause it is difficult to dance nasty to Wind Beneath My Wings. LOL HAHAHHAHA ha.

Man, that is enough for now. I don't want to be stuck in memory lane all day today.

I'm sure one day I will be one of "those" people for someone else, if I am not already lol.

I can hardly wait

Tune it or die….

James Morrison - The Last Goodbye

Fountain Of Rock

Topic,    rock’n roll keeps you young.  Oh I do believe it.

I was on the road with someone for a while.  Someone totally opposite of me…. Or so I thought. As some of you know, I cut my teeth on country & a variety of music styles. I liked a few metal bands but was not overtaken by them.   This person, lived slept, breathed and drank Metal.   Odds of us meeting in the world were slim to none.  Yet, it happened. I needed a guitar player, a road warrior. Not the pansy ass’s that go out for two weeks and think they are “on the road”.   I needed someone for 48 wks a year.  6 to 7 days a week, live in the swill of a band house, drive or ride on your day off, and get along with the people you gotta share a bathroom with.  Requirements…  be able to play with some “wow” capability J ya’ll know what I mean lol, be clean no users, try not to suck and be nice to the people around you, and work on tunes once in a while. Last but not least, be in a position that you don’t expect me to check with your wife/gf or significant other when I book gigs or do scheduling. NOT gonna happen.     Believe it or not, these requirements don’t fit everyone very easily.   When one is found… it must be looked at with serious commitment.  Knowing that two weeks notice.. you start looking again.

    I found him, or did he find me… I’m not sure.  I know that he sent me a demo, that was a start.   Promo package with his work.   The song… “Town without pity”  done with an edge that gave me goosebumps when I heard it. Instrumental.  The boy could play.

The image… J   well.. He had spiked blonde hair, spandex, pissed off looking in every picture.  I called him.    He was half the country away. First impression was.. wow.  Hope he doesn’t break tv’s in motels.  On the phone I asked him if he could play any basic country or objected to playing it. (we had lots of country gigs at the time).  Without getting into this entirely different subject…  country may appear simple to some.. however in order to pull it off there is a knack… there is a style and a feel.  I have always felt that most country pickers can play rock, cause they listen to it and feel it.. get into it.  However not all rock players can play country.  It is that simple.  You gotta like it, or it sounds like a constipated piece of sound.   Forced.   I digress..   Back to my metal head.

When I asked if he could play other kinds of music and was he opposed to country, he responded with   “ I learned to play music before I learned to play metal”.    2 Kudos for da boy.  The boy.. was 3 years older than me, talking to him  you would never know it.

He was a glam rock boy.. when the 80’s was going on, his world was in full bloom. He had booze, women and rock and roll.  Things important to him were his hair, his guitar, his pack of cigarettes a day, his whopper a day, his whiskey, and the miss ok for now for the hour.  Yes.. hour.  Not night.  There was a line.  His road life was his life. His band mates, his family. He was a monster guitarist. He wore it well.   

   One morning after the 80’s… he woke up, and his world was gone.  The glam bands were no longer top dog… they had faded like his favorite pair of jeans.  The road stopped.

In order to continue playin in the way he was accustomed to, meant playing with another kind of band….  Here is where we came in J

    He made the trip, he stayed.  He played with us two different times in life for months at a time.  He did have a wife back in Georgia. His lifestyle changed a bit.  When he joined us we must have seemed as if we were Donnie and Marie lol.  

   While he was on the road with us… things awoke in me.  With every player you work with, you gain something, if you are open to what is happening.. you add,  you change, you grow musically and personal things and ideas sometimes rub off for both.   This happened.    I drank more than I ever did when he was in the band. He and I became friends as well as working together.  Hours of playin guitar off stage as well as on.  Not for material we planned on using…. Just to play.   He would wake up and take a swig of whiskey.   He always smelled of it… just a hint.   He was never without a bottle. When he would sweat, he sweat whiskey.   His attitude kept him young… he was showing his age on the outside, his hair was thinning, he needed more whiskey to survive, but the rock n roll attitude was there.  I was rubbing off on him,  he actually smiled at a few people and helped a couple of older people in a store a few times.. you had to see it to understand.  His influence on me….  I drank.  I played parts I never would have paid attention to, we laughed lots.  He was a bad boy.  I stayed a good girl lol in bad girl clothes. Don’t cut image short cause people will have what you give them as a first impression. 

       He will always forever be in his mind, the spiked haired 20 something guitar God.

When he walks into a store today,  at first glance you see a cherubic, hair thinned 50 something year old man going to the paperback book section or the vitamin counter.

When you look a bit longer, you will see what he is inside.. it comes thru, there is no hiding or denying it.  This is the youth within, rock n roll keeps him young no matter what his body does.    He said it to me once,  I will never get old. I have Rock n Roll, it will never die. It keeps me young.   He truly believed it.  So do I.  The minute you stop thinking like a rocker… you get older.  It is the essence.. the attitude not so much the actions.   All you have to do for a fix to maintain.. is.. put on a favorite tune, something that made  you react…. Listen to it again, and you get young again. You can’t help it. Open yourself up to it and you will feel it, that taste of …   youth   At this time I would like to interject not to dance like you used to unless you have been doing it all along.  For Obvious reasons. 

     I did this today J  I am feeling bout 26 at the moment… having a great morning. My neck now hurts … for obvious reasons. Ahem.    

I would like to thank today’s inspiration to Hans Stoutpeter.   ( Love ya Dave)

My Permanent Address

EADGBE

1234

Heart Mind & Soul

 

Home. That has been my address now for over 30 years.  I know I’m there when I feel 6 cold strings that have been warmed by my hands.  Its just on top of a sound hole and just a little south of a mountain of tuning pegs.  You can get there from here, no matter where you go.  I found myself the moment I realized that this was a missing part of me.  Be it the six strings, four or twelve, be it the black and white, or the old keypads from a nickel woodwind, it has been my haven.  I’m there when I’m happy; I’m there when I’m depressed.   It can change my mood like the drop of a hat. Without it, I am missing something. I realize that now more than ever. It is an instinct that I was lucky enough to stumble on.  It’s my high, my low, and my best friend.  It will never leave me; it is with me like my last breath until I die.

   I come from a long line of entertainers, musicians and bards. It is in the blood. One form or another, it is there just as sure as it runs thru my veins. Some of the line didn’t find they’re calling exactly, and were always restless and sometimes turned to other things as a lost child who cannot find their way home.  Their talents stifled and limited to things that other choices lead them to. I am lucky enough to know where mine is. Dumb luck, maybe, destiny absolutely. It is the one thing in my life that no body can take now that I have it. It’s mine, I can share it, but nobody can take it away unless I do it myself.

People come and people go, and I will forever have indentations on the calluses of my left hand. I have never been nor will I ever be bored. 

    They say that home is where the heart is. Home is where you feel safe.  Where love lives, where you know you belong.   The best music comes from the heart; a haven of sound, where you know the song fits you. Delivery and sharing knows no bounds here.

When music touches you, it means you are open to it. When music touches you, it means you allowed it in, and for a brief few moments in your life, you let it have control and make you feel something other than where your thoughts were before you heard it.

It is a harmless way to touch someone inside and out.  Or you need not touch anyone at all.  Just play.  

    I didn’t play for a while. Almost 3 years. Dust settled on my guitars. They sat there looking at me with their strings all loose… just waiting. I was busy trying to be “normal” just to see if I could do it.   I did it, to the best of my ability. Successfully?  Lol who knows, but then again who cares! Not me. Not anymore.   That was a very needed break and at the same time it is a double-edged sword.  I was taking enough breaths to stay alive, but not really breathing, not really living.   I noticed blandness to my thoughts, my actions, and my creative juices…. So to speak.  A life of oatmeal.   Not what I ever wanted.    Did I see myself living in oatmeal five years from then?. noooooo.

   I have changed with the times.  I’m playing again. I can breath again. No dust, no loose steel.  Things change, but the address is the same.  I’m home. Not trying to be anyone’s accomplished musician, or someone’s super star, (never did actually), but it is for me now. Not the drinkers, the dancers, the amateur pukers that make it out for the holidays. J It is for me.  

    This time, I am not going to put anything above it. Give it the respect and acknowledgment that it deserves.  It will never move away from me, it will never be mean to me, it will never hurt me.  It never has. It is there when I need it and when I don’t.   How did I ever forget that for three years…..    Thank God it was only three years.  I know how it got that way.  Not enough time or energy to do it when you have things that you have obligated yourself to do.  Burnout from too many years, and having the world change around you.  Oh… J  I can live without it.  But why would I want to. Why should I have to, and who wants to live an oatmeal existence.

Life will change again, this I am sure of.  However this time I know where MY home is. Not where I live, but what makes me live. I share my home with many, and I share my thoughts with you….   

Tune it or die.

One Good Burn Leads To Another

This morning for some reason a particular memory came to mind. No reason that it should show up again other than to put it here. So here goes.

  Ah, road life, band houses, substitutes for things you don't have. You learn to improvise, adapt and get used to the lack of things that you would have at your own home for convenience. You either get used to it and stop whining or you become a pack mule to your own creature comforts. After two decades of road, you get sick of packing things around. Many band houses were equipped with the basic necessities, kitchens, bathrooms, beds, & televisions.  It is the little things you had to bring along that come to mind this morning. If you packed right, things would not be wrinkled too badly, but if you are a girl & old school, you pack an iron anyway as not to look like a clean but wrinkled slob.  Trouble is, those stupid little portable irons don't work for me. So I had a medium sized one that did a great job. Fit in its own safe spot & all was well. There is no practical way to justify packing an ironing board however. The little ones are just a pain in the ass like the travel irons, a waste of time for me. So, one learns to improvise.  (Here is the Martha Stewart section of this post)… Take a corner of the bed, (or table), lay two towels on the bed. The bottom one should be dry & the top one damp. This helps with the steaming and the sticking to things that it shouldn't. It is a perfect set up and no pack mule effect. This is what I was doing that particular summer day. 

  It was early evening I just got out of the shower. Time to get ready for the gig. My other half Jets, was already dressed and laying by the cat, on the bed reading a book. Jets was reading, not the cat. (I believe the cat can read, but would rather be read to).  I set up my makeshift ironing station. It was hot that day, the window was open, but the blinds were closed because there was not only no glass on the loverly band house window, but no screen either. However we did have privacy unless the wind came up. The room is cramped, things on top of each other, space was a luxury. So I proceed to iron my choice of garment for the evening. Remember me mentioning that I just got out of the shower?  Well, I didn't get dressed yet, too hot to do it twice, and after all, we had privacy right!  It was time to get dressed for the gig… do it once.  So, setting the scene once again, Jets reading with the cat, me naked and ironing… typical married couple.  All was well until……. The cat decided that he wanted some attention from me. So he comes up and sashays around me. I put the iron down and pet the cat. Here is where it starts to turn into something ugly.   As I am putting the cat down, the iron falls over, not only does it fall over, but it falls to the floor, on my foot. I jump back, throw the cat safely far from the iron, I stumble during this act and fall backwards, my naked foot burned by the iron, I lose balance and as I fall backwards I'm thinking that I will land against the wall.  WRONG. That damn window with no glass,(which was actually a good thing), or screen is behind me. I fall into the blinds. Now blinds are not that much support when you get a naked woman falling backwards into them and there is nothing between the one side of privacy and the outside world. I threw my arms out to my sides to catch my fall. My ass landed on the window sill, However my ass did find daylight as the rest of the blinds came crashing down on me.

   The man mowing the lawn in the next yard had a strange visual to be sure. What does one do…. I waved. What else can ya do!  Through all this, Jets looks up calmly and says, "you done messing around? It is about time to go". 

  One rattled cat, one burned foot, messed up and scattered blinds, bruised arm (don't know where that one came from), Section of wrinkled clothing that forgot to get ironed in the confusion.  There you have it, a regular day.  Put on a robe, calm the cat, bandage the foot, hang a sheet over the window until the blinds could be sorted out, and kick the husband with the newly bandaged foot. Alls well and time to hit the club, show time ;)

  Moral of this story is, don't be a pack mule to your creature comforts, learn to improvise, but don't get careless.  OR should it be…

  If you are gonna pet your pussy, naked in front of an open window, don't multi task. You choose. 

Here is $20. You never made it to the gig ok.

Setting – Mid 90's, Motel Lounge Gigs

Place - Texas, New Mexico & Arkansas

Players 4 pieces, exchanging lead guitar player.

Full Schedule, gravy gigs, just keep it together.

As everyone who has been in this business for a while knows, players change. Especially if you work 48 weeks out of the year for over two decades.  You get subs, you get new best buds, and you get lots of things that come your way, not all good, not all bad, and some with quirks.  I was lucky for many of those years with only one end falling off at a time, someone had bad health or a wife that wanted to see them, or someone simply got shit for brains and decided to become a world book encyclopedia salesman or something of equal chance for advancement. My last guitar player was worth his weight in gold… but ya'll have heard me brag on him before, and this is not his story at all, however it is about a guitar player. 

  There are times where you try it again with a player that you worked with before. You may not have lost contact even after they no longer are on the road with you. Especially if you developed and kept a friendship thru the rough times.  This is a story about just that kind of situation.  I had hired a kid, he was good on his demo tapes, and he was a nice guy, all the other reasons fit that made me give it a shot.  He met us in New Mexico after a long ass drive to get to us.  There is risk for him as well as for us, it does equal out.

I have to give him credit here for one thing. The songs he knew, he knew very well and his ability to play and deliver what he knew was very good.  But that was the kicker, "what he knew".    The boy couldn't play a three-cord country wonder to save his ass.

He could play like Van Halen, but he couldn't hear the cord changes in a simple little three-cord song.  This was amazing to me.  He could not hang on for the life of him.  Now. I don't call myself a lead guitar player, but hell, someone had to do it and I hired him to do it. So I ended up having to hang on with guitar parts and do my own stuff.  Not good. So. The search began again.  I was in touch with "Steve", who happened to be out of work and starving back in the town where I keep my stuff. He had landed there because of a woman, the woman was no longer a part of his life, he was ready to move on, hence the road was a calling again.  He had no money for travel, so an advance was going to be needed.  I could not help myself here. I notified my bank that "Steve" would be coming in for a withdrawal.  I needed to go into the third degree here, but they knew me from other situations and it was not a problem to set it up.  However, Mr. Steve had to do a few extra things to prove who he was.   He used to have a rubber chicken he had on stage (yeah one of those guys). I made it so that he could not withdraw any money unless he showed up at precisely 11:am WITH the rubber chicken.  Her name was Henrietta the wonder hen.  His instructions were to open the door of the bank, with the rubber chicken and announce for all in the bank to hear… "Henrietta the Wonder Hen & I are her for business", then walk like a chicken up to the second teller. LoL  well, I have to have some joy in life.  So. He did it.  I told the bank that if he didn't. He was in no way to get the cash.  We all laughed about it many times later and he was able to get to us and we let the kid go.  Gave him two weeks notice and he hung around for one, playing with Steve and the rest of the band. I was hoping that along with his two weeks notice and playing with another guitar player he would or could get a clue… um.. Nope didn't happen.

Anyway…. Steve, it is his second time around with us, and all is going ok… till it is not.

    Steve was hungry like I said before.  He was very insecure about me replacing him with someone else in the first few months.  History has a way of opening your eyes up and learning things, or it can make one paranoid as hell.  This was Steve.  I learned what not to do with him, and he learned that he was on eggshells.  Every time I turned around he was almost pushing me to the extreme to see what his boundaries were.   He screwed up on something not even musically related and was SO PARANOID that he thought I was making phone calls to find someone else.  I was not.  I was tired of the roulette game and wanted to get a tighter sound for a while.   However in his paranoid state, which lasted about three months, things happened that are very humorous to us now.   Restless Heart was playing in San Angelo Texas the same time we were playing a hotel there. They were staying AT the hotel we were playing in.  Steve was hanging out in the lobby when a guy with a guitar came to check in.   It was Greg Jennings from Restless Heart.  Steve however does not see this… he sees ANOTHER GUITAR PLAYER AFTER HIS JOB!

He thinks this is his replacement even though I have assured him that things are ok, we have some problems but lets work them out.  He goes up to Greg Jennings and starts up a conversation.  He said something like, "So, you are the guy.   Look here is $20. To just walk out the door and you never made it. OK? "   Greg stared at him for a bit and cracked a grin. He told Steve that he thinks he had the wrong guy.  He had an ok job already. He introduced himself and Steve was so relieved and so excited and feeling stupid, he had to tell the rest of us about the boner he just went thru.  We had a great laugh but had no idea what it would lead to.  After the Restless Heart concert was done, THEY CAME TO US!  The place was almost empty cause of the concert, but we had to play anyway.  So we were having a slow evening when in walks, the band.  Yes. All of em.  They had a laugh too because of what had transpired and had to meet the paranoid guitar player and the chick that was about to possibly chop his head.   They stayed till closing, had a great time talking to them, and then I guess they went off to a hot tub someplace. ahem.  But that is another story…….

Yes, I was hit with my own foam rubber bat by Greg, it is true.  Damnit.

You Get What You Give

I have noticed something as I sit here decomposing...:

I realize that it is peoples nature to piss and moan, it is a given.

Just because it is not done "their" way or "your own" way, it opens room for criticism & complaints.  Not that anything is wrong with the end results of things; it just is not what they would have done or how they would have gone about doing it.  Talking about it is often misunderstood as pissing and moaning to some who are used to getting it done their own way.  Opinions & free will can also be called pissing and moaning.

The older I get, the more I learn to (believe it or not), hold my tongue. I used to watch and learn, then I started to comment on things in general pertaining to any subject, I wanted to make my own mistakes and fuck off (in a nice way) to anyone who tried to tell me what to do. Not to confuse telling and suggestions with one another.

That comes with age and fazes. After that, you see other people doing the same thing and you remember and start to compare.  That is when you also try to interject your opinion to save them grief…just like people tried to do in my "fuck off" stage to me.  It usually happens from ages 18 to 35. lol.   You then move to the… I'm not gonna even attempt to save you from yourself stage, and sit back and watch.   If you ever notice people doing that to you, it is not that they are snoopy, or have no opinion. They have just learned to realize that no matter what their piss and moan is, or their opinion on it, you will do what you want the way you want it anyway.  It is not for lack of interest, or lack of care, it is simply that some people open their mouths and their ears close.  This too will change (with any luck).    Rule of thumb, you get what you give.  If you are a shit head to people and all you do is piss and moan, share your opinion or offer too much information…. If they are not in the mind to hear it, it is a waste of time.  Some people ask.  It is a good idea to wait for that question or request.  I am guilty of just blurting things out that have not been asked.  I am learning to wait.. and yes people still do ask what I think.  However, it is becoming lots easier to not offer my opinion especially when it is not right in my face and part of my everyday thing.  I have stated before.. yeah, I have an opinion on just about everything, be carefull if you ask me cause I WILL tell you what I think.

  The reason for this entry is… bottom line,  It is ok to keep your thoughts to yourself some times, specially when no body asks you what they are.  People think for themselves then, make their own mistakes to be proud of (they are gonna do it anyway), and you are not labeled a piss & moaner. 

If you don't want to hear pissing and moaning….. don't contribute to the bitching and it will go away.   If all you do is complain and see things to fix.. you will never be finished.

If you actually let things be… you will have a bit of free time to smell the roses. Enjoy the show… watch, listen. You may be surprised. It is similar to watching a movie that you talk thru, or watching one where you don't say a word.   Guess I'm noticing that I'm talking less thru the movie.  Ok… said my piece for the day, time to smell a rose and resume decomposing. 

By The Skin Of His Teeth

     I remember one of my drummers getting used to his teeth... yes, his teeth. He had been without his teeth for 13 years.  He got used to it and the only thing that he wanted to do was bite into a steak.... so after that long there were some adjustments to be made. He was finaly able to get his nice shiney white choppers. It took 10 years off of his looks, he looked and acted more confident, it was really cool to see him smile and not hide his mouth. But there was a transition period...  He was and is not a large man, small in stature and it is to the point that if he were to eat an M&M he looks pregnant. (He has to run around in the shower to get wet).  Just so you get the visual. One needs to have a bit of a visual to enjoy the point of this  true story.
   His then wife could have been jealous to a degree because they now almost looked like they were mother and son, not husband and wife. It changed him that much.  He would forget to put them in some times and we got a chuckle a few times when he would race back to the hotel room to get them before a show.  It used to drive me crazy to see his upper lip stick to his new teeth because his mouth was dry, and the little shit did not notice that it was stuck there.  Many times I reached over and pulled his lip down for him.  At first that motion just made him resemble a caught dog in a dumpster... the deer in the headlights look.  He finaly realized that he needed to be aware or look like a goof, or a very very bad gangster in an old movie.
     The particular night was a typical gig in the middle of the week, middle of Montana, nothing special going on.  Dinner served on one side of the night club and the band and poker machines on the other.   As with most night clubs with that set up, you have to play really soft dinner music no matter what the requests are.  Sometimes we would end up doing a whispering rock song, It can be done, it is just gonna move ANYBODY especialy the person that requests it. So we started to do our comatose set, low key, normal.  So I thought..... 
  The stage was a small obliette,  crowded,  and the drummer was behind us with no other place to set up. I prefer it if everyone can see us and we can see them, I hate stacking players.  I would not want to look at anyones ass for five hours, I don't expect a drummer to enjoy it.  It was winter, we had colds, sneezes were a common sound even if we tried to stifle them.  We were playing Silver Wings, I was singin, all was mellow and smooth, except things started feeling wierd.  The drums were jumping around a bit, nothing too bad, but he was better than that and so I turned around to see what the problem was.   I looked at him tryin  not to give him the prison stare that I guess I have when someone is messin around.  His teeth were gone. He had sneezed and in his efforts to not draw attention to the sneeze after the song started, he tried to hold it in, and that inturn shot his teeth out of his mouth onto his snare.  That was the first sound that was not normal in the song,  I have to give him credit, he did not miss a beat, but he could not get hold of his teeth either.  Every time he reached for them, he would have to strike the snare and the teeth would hop around on the head of the snare. The harder he hit, the higher they jumped. Remember we are playing very quiet and soft, so with every strike, the teeth would move.  He could not catch them, but not for lack of tryin.   After about a verse and a ride of tryin to play with this going on, the front line was cracking up with hysterics but still playin.  Finaly in his frustration and all of the laughin (his included)... he whacks the snare out of context  in a loud snap which he knew would make the teeth jump up.  Once in the air he nabbed em and put them in his mouth... still never missing a beat.  This could only happen to this guy.
Of coarse we then got repremanded for being "loud".  We didn't care, we were still crackin up. 
   One would think that you would learn from that, however it happened again to him.  He was not on stage, but driving in his van.  Another sneeze, this time face to the open window.  Somewhere in the Arizona traffic is a run over busted upper plate and teeth that belonged to a drummer.
     He eventualy invested in some goop to keep his new teeth in his mouth, but those early getting used to them days were a great laugh.   Smile for da camera lol. Moral of the story, if you sneeze alot and have new teeth, invest either in some goop or might I suggest some chicklets and duct tape.

Charlie The Road Cat

The year 2000, We were still on the road playing full time. We were home for a few days and had a friend visiting while we were at the house. It was fall, close to thanksgiving and hunting season. We got in at about 4:am from a long road trip.  I heard a meowing at the front door and went to investigate.  It was.. a puddy tat. He set foot in the house as soon as the door opened, took one look at me and looked in the house and turned around and left. Well... so much for fuzzy company.  I noticed he had on a flee collar but that was all.  No ID no nothing.  I was a bit worried because the coyotes in the woods are in full force at this time and were very close to the house.  I'm thinking they were after the puddy tat.  If he stayed close to the house, they would not come that close.. so I left the light on so that the snobby cat would have some safety.  For the next few days, he had a change of tune, he meowed very loud, all day. Wanting in.  Jets (hubby) said.. leave him alone he will go back home, he obviously belongs to someone.  So... since we are on the road, I thought it best to do just that. The last pet I had was 12 years before. The road is no place for some animals. After about three days, we had a local gig for the weekend so we noticed the cat was still around.  Our friend showed up and we had not slept yet because of the gig and having morning coffee..  the cat was meowing LOUD.  Our friend Tad asked, so is that your cat.  We proceded to tell him that it was a stray and we didn't have any cats.  Then, it got louder.. and would not stop.. so after a few chuckles here and there.. Tad says.. so.... How many other cats don't you have.!  It was sort of an insite to the next few months.  When Tad left.  I opened the door and asked the puddy tat if he was hungry and would he like to come in and have dinner.   After looking me over and just stareing at me for about 3 minutes.  He got up in his own time and waltzed to & thru the door like he owned the place.   He was very lovey and loved the tuna fish.  He was lovey to Jets as well. Jets kept saying remember he ain't staying.  etc etc etc.   Well, the coyotes were back and very close to the house. So I asked if the cat who now had a temoprary name could stay in over night. Charlie sucked up at the right moment and we won.  I called around to all the places and neighbors that I knew of to see if we could find Charlies people. No luck.  I could not just leave him here and we were scheduled to leave. So... I took him with me. Jets kept saying all along.... don't get used to him, we are still on the road. No place for a cat. Hassles, and more shit to do. etc etc etc.   One month later...... Charlie has attitude and so does Jets.     There has been ordeals of getting on the table. Jets fixed that by putting duct tape upside down on any surface he didn't want Charlie on  whenever we left.  Charlie was a duct tape mess when we came back but he stayed off the tables.   1 for Jets.   Charlie 0     There was a cat box dispute.  Jets caught him trying to go into the plants.  He grabbed a handfull of dirt and threw it and the cat in the sand box.... Charlie got the hint. Jets 2 Charlie 0     There was attitude from both. The more rules Charlie had to live with, the more attitude he gave Jets.  He loved me. Jets had attitude with the so called "lovey" cat that was a monster to him when I was not in the room.    One evening I was brushing Charlie and giving him some attention that a puddy tat deserves. It was time to hit the sack and fool around with Jets. So I put the brush down and crawled into bed.  Jets took his shirt off and threw it on the floor, crawled into bed also.  (omitting the bed scene & any discription there of.).  When Jets got up to get a drink, he put on his tshirt to leave the room because we were not at home.  ... The shirt was wet and smelled like Tom CAT.   Charlie resented the fact that I left him and spent time with Jets... and had declared war.  Jets threw the tshirt on the floor and said.. IF YOU THINK IM GONNA FIGHT WITH A F98r9wonwe8u rw9  CAT FOR YOUR AFFECTION YOU ARE WRONG! THE CAT GOES OR I GO.    I gave a few hours of quiet for cool down time. I then said, the cat was not going anywhere and neither was he. There would be a compromise.  Jets agreed he had lost his temper, but said something still had to be done. He had come up with a solution. Charlie gets nuetered, if he behaves he stays.  That was the law.  The next day Charlie was in surgery.  Jets carried him out in his arms. When he saw they put on his records his full name  Charlie Fischer (same last name as Jets)... a soft spot and a limp cat sort of took over.  Jets mellowed realizing he just nipped the cats urges for ever.  Charlie... did not loose his urge. He did not ever pee on anything of Jet's again.  However he now makes love to a pillow on the love seet.  He does it several times a day.. we call him a ... pillowphile.... harmless and no secretion, just the Elvis motions and some nice little kitty sounds.... Jets 3 Charlie 0    So that was five 11 years ago, Charlie is still here and now King.  I have found him sitting on Jet's lap in the morning over coffee. They have come to an agreement. Charlie loves hard surfaces and wet hair....He also likes to bite people in a loveing way.  He stopped sucking up, but then again, he gets all the crunchies he wants, treats, love, animal planet on the tv, country music when he wants it, playmates, toys,has had road travel, his own castle & room in which he is the king, his favorite pillow and a home he never has to be afraid in.  so.. Jets 4 cause he got a kitty. and Charlie 10, for being a puddy tat.  

P. S.   They wouldn't give me Charlies balls.. I was gonna make earings. 

Who's The Dude "Road Story"

Ok, instruments are carried in cases. Sometimes they are bulky and big and you have to find a place to put them until you are done playing.  Sometimes stages are no larger than a postage stamp and you have to be inventive as to what goes where.  Sometimes there are no places to put your covers or your cases and instead of hauling them back out into the trailer, you improvise. 

   I have a keyboard case that is rather large and heavey. Not really an eyesore, but if you have cases to stack under it ..  you place it on top for more storage.

One needs to cover the stacks...I used to carry a red satin sheet or two, just for this purpose.  After a gig of more then one night, we cover things.. just looks better and less tempting for any remaining drunks to decide to entertain with our gear.  There was a gig that we had major storage problems. It was snowy and cold and frozen and nobody wanted to make more trips out to the trailer than was needed.  So the plan was, extend the stage with a red satin drop cloth and use it for the cd's and tip jar.. and under it all for the empty cases.  We had no place to put it, so it went right up front of the stage.. looked good if I say so myself.   We had solved a problem,  and all was well.  until..........

   Strange things started to happen.  The tip jar was on the red satin covered keyboard case that stood about 3 feet up off the ground, it was long.  A guy at the bar slowly came up, with tears in his eyes and said.. you guys are the best... I hope I have friends like you in the end... and sniffeled away after tipping us.  The tipping wasn't unusual, but the statement was a bit out there. We kept playing, and another guy came up... somber... serious.. tipped us and bowed his head, paused for a few seconds...waved to us and left the bar.   We played our first 45 minutes and took our first break, and it all came into focus.  Another guy from the bar was waiting for us to break so that he could ask...  "who's the dude".    We had no clue as to what he was talking about.  He asked again. saying  "who's the dude man... pretty cool of you guys to have the wake here.

As we turned and looked at the stage.. we then realized that our little decorated hidden gear cases resembled a casket to the average drunk.   People thought... and kept thinking that we had a dead friend of ours in a box and were paying him tribute and a last night out.  We watched as more and more people filled up our tip jar, before we had a chance to say   HEY>> NOBODY IS DEAD.. THAT IS NOT A CASKET!  We were stunned and laughing... and from that point on my keyboard case became the.. who's the dude case.  We never did it that way again, some things are just tacky.... and yeah.. it was Fargo ND, they have cold hands up there, but very warm hearts.  Would like to also add that in that same little bar, they held bingo there every afternoon before the band started.  The place packed out from bingo... and then it was our turn.   Nothing like starting to a full house..... and there is also no stranger feeling than watching the blue haired women and disgruntal old fellas hurry up and get their coats on cause the noise of the band is about to start.  One by one, the bingo players would leave until there is nothing left but the guy at the bar who thinks he is there for a wake for a guy he doesn't know.  The bingo players never cared about the who's the dude box.... they were busy thinking about I29... 29 under I.   We didn't care about the who's the dude, or the bingo... but we sure were disapointed when the one guy at the bar decided it was time to go, he didn't win at bingo and now he was crying for a stranger that wasn't even in the box.  Nothin like a good bingo game before a wake in a bar where nobody knows ya lol.....

Stay Tuned