An Attitude of Gratitude, A Table Full of Turkeytude

It's a sign of the nature and spirit of Thanksgiving that musicians are not generally well-employed on this day. It is a day of celebration, to be sure, but the celebratory instincts tend to turn inward today, as we scan our internal landscapes to ponder and acknowledge what is good in our lives. No one needs music to engage on this particular journey, just close companions and a few hours of mastication. Which is good, because musicians, too, need a day off to be with loved ones, have a little protein and complex carbs, and veg out on the couch for a minute (no, musicians do not routinely veg out on the couch, despite popular perception -- and with any luck, my wife will not read these words and laugh).

So, my list of gratitudes for this year, trying with all my might to focus on things musical, to stay within the spirit of this space:

• My wife of nearly two years -- a remarkable human being and much-beloved junior high school math teacher, who consistently inspires me to higher levels of functionality, kindness, compassion and overall humanity. She's also gorgeous and sings with the voice of an angel. On a road trip during our first out-of-town excursion, my iPod was on 'shuffle,' and it was playing my usual lineup of blues, r&b, reggae, etc. She wasn't paying much attention, as her tastes veer toward music made by people in this era. But on came "Sometime in the Morning," by the Monkees, and instead of turning it off, I let it play, and started to sing along. She joined right in, our faces lit up, and for the rest of the way, we sang the entire Monkees catalogue together. It was then and there I knew I had to marry this woman. And I did. And it's been a phenomenal journey ever since. I knew, as a child, that the Monkees would play a major role in my life. I had no idea how, but now I do.
• Danny White, harmonica player, local proprietor of the Good Stuff Guitar Shop, and a Very Bad Boy. Danny has a heart the size of Mt. Diablo. His store is constantly filled with people who are just hanging out, chatting and chewing the fat, tinkering with a guitar or other instrument, or waiting for their kid to emerge from lessons. All the while, he is the ringleader, answering musical questions, repairing and polishing someone's beloved guitar, or just watching with bemusement the parade of Martinez humanity traipsing through his humble and remarkable domain. On stage, he is poised and ready, though usually hiding behind whatever post or pole he can find (he's shy until it's time to play a solo, then he incinerates the room). And I don't know another adult male who has the courage to wear shorts the vast majority of the time.
• Scotty Riggs, bass player, human observer, and a Very Bad Boy. Scotty is, with Danny, the core of my band, the Very Bad Boys, and a fearless player of bass. Scotty will play a four-string, five-string, and even six-string bass, even though he can never quite explain to me why a bass needs more than four strings. Scotty and I have been playing together for years, and he is a monster at playing a song he's never heard before. I can call a tune he doesn't know, throw out the key (most of the time), and voila! He plays it as though he's been playing it his whole life. And lately, he's been doffing a sporty little hat, too. Style and talent. It doesn't get better. 
• Roy Jeans, Eloise Cotton, and the staff at Armando's deserve much gratitude from the people of Martinez, for creating something that no one else seems able to in this town: a viable business downtown that does not involve food or antiques. Of course Roy would know how to do that -- he's as much a part of this town as anything or anyone. Eloise does the booking, and brings her love of jazz and, um, quieter musical sensibilities to the lineup, while Roy runs the joint and provides the panache. Together they make an unbeatable force of local nature, and musicians throughout the Bay Area are thrilled to get a chance to take the stage at this miraculous venue. While I'm at it, a shout-out to Robert, Tom, and Joe, who take turns running the sound board at Armando's, and who took an inappropriate hit from me in this space earlier this year as I decided to publish a temper tantrum at the expense of the folks whose only mission is to make morons like me sound good. Sorry, guys, and thanks for your excellent efforts.
• The Martinez Arts Association, who each year put on a great show in the form of Art in the Park, and in the process present a great array of local music, something the folks at Martinez Main Street have never figured out how to do. It's great to have a venue for local performers of all ages, abilities and genres to play for their homies. There's a real resistance to this idea built into the DNA of this city, for some reason. I struggled with it years ago, and it remains a struggle to this day. But the talent is there, willing and waiting to be asked, so hopefully some day the powers that be will decide that local Martinez music is as good as anything else out there, and give them a chance to prove it. Until then, Art in the Park is a hot annual ticket, and it's free. 
• Gina Graziano, the music teacher at John Muir Elementary, for showing generations of kids year after year the joy of playing music just for the sheer fun of playing music. Gina takes even the shyest of children and urges them, cajoles them, sweetly on to the stage at her annual shows, where they become performers for the ages. This is a rare and remarkable talent, and one for which this city is extremely grateful. She has been recognized by her peers, parents and kids as a great musical amenity, lighting the spark of musicality in our kids that will burn long after they're out of school. Thanks, Ms. G, for that and your ongoing Hoot Nights at Armando's. 
• Hope Savage, my occasional musical partner in crime, who has a fearless talent, a great voice, and an unquenchable desire to write, sing and play. Hope embodies for me what makes making music so damned much fun -- she does it not for the money or the recognition, but because she just has to. And the results -- nights of friends gathering in darkened living rooms, singing and playing and laughing, with nary a television or other manufactured distraction in sight -- is exactly what the human experience was designed to be: participatory, a little awkward, harmonious, frivolous and fun. Within that template is an extremely serious communion; it's how we as people protect ourselves from a very scary world. 

There are countless other people who should be on this list, that space prohibits from being listed here, and for that I apologize. But let me close by saying this: I wish each and every one of you a fantastic, abundant and love-filled Thanksgiving. I hope your list of gratitudes is as endless as my own.