Bold Predictions, Fearless Prognostications For This, Our Newest of Years

"There is no problem so great/that you cannot run away from it." The late, great blues/folk guitarist and singer Dave Van Ronk said that, and it's certainly as true today as it was then. But it's clear from all indications that Americans are tired of running away from our problems, and are ready to, as they say at the new Kinder's Meats in the Muir Station Shopping Center, "wash my hands and prepare your order." 

A mere 19 days from now, a gigantic party will take place from sea to shining sea. For some, a joyous beginning, for others, a sorrowful wake. But when it's over, on Jan. 21 for all of us, as Americans, it's a chance to start again, get some much-needed work done, make our case, plead our cause. This is a vast and great nation, with important work to do. We seem to have forgotten that somehow over the past years. It's time to remember.

That said, let's get to the important stuff. What is going to happen in the world of music in 2009? I've given this much thought, dear readers. I've used my best statistical models, employed complex databases and consulted hundreds of experts, all in the service of making this column as thorough and accurate as possible. So let's get to it. 

Prediction: As local bars and clubs continue to monitor the sound levels of bands with those repulsive decibel meters, the material covered by said bands will tend toward John Mayer, Crosby, Stills and Nash, and James Taylor. Rock and roll will become a distant memory, and the only thing still allowed to thunder through the city will be the sound of the modified Harleys, which the police department will continue to insist is ok, because it's for safety.

Side note about the decibel meters: if the bands are truly too loud for the audience, then the audience would leave. It's not the audience who has a problem with the volume. I am a proponent of reasonable volume myself, but this trend to stick a meter in my face and bark at me to turn it down, often by people who have little or no musical abilities themselves, in the name of some audio safety benchmark, just makes me want to buy a Marshall stack and turn it up to 11. Whatever happened to rock and roll? When did we become a nation of decibel meter geezers? Studies have shown that people too obsessed with reading studies about hearing loss become boring. I have a great storage suggestion for anyone who happens to have one of those decibel meters. Give me a call. . .

Prediction: despite a continuously demonstrated fact that Martinez is a hotbed of musical talent, the city's event organizers will continue to ignore that and book musical acts based on whether or not they charge for their services, for the occasional Main Street event. And the musicians themselves will continue to remain disjointed and unorganized, thus perpetrating the problem. Would it really be so difficult to stage an  annual musical celebration of Martinez at Waterfront Park? We have enormous resources here. An event like that could feature kids from Gina Graziano's class, local rock bands, the Martinez Opera, jazz and blues, the community band, the Alhambra Valley Band for bluegrass. . . that kind of event would attract more than just the locals, but what the heck is wrong with attracting locals to a celebration of local talent? It would be a simple thing to organize and operate, and would be a blast to attend. Why are our municipal cheerleaders so deaf to that suggestion? Have they been going to musical events that don't have decibel meters? 

Prediction: Armando's will continue to grow in popularity, and will become the only after-hours destination spot in downtown Martinez. Well, it already is, so that's not much of a prediction. But still, Roy Jeans and Eloise Cotton have created a masterpiece of a club (despite the decibel meter), a location where you can just relax and listen. I've never seen a problem in the place that wasn't attended to immediately, and I don't hesitate to suggest this as a spot for people of all ages and musical persuasions to go for auditory bliss and community love. As a side note, my band, the Very Bad Boys, will be there on Jan. 17, and five more times in 2009. Drop me a line if you want to be on our mailing list. 

Another side note about decibel meters: if the owners of these places with decibel meters are so intent on the bands keeping the volume low, will they be every bit as adamant about keeping the audience from talking through these now-low-volume performances? There are far too many instances where customers feel the need to chat at full-volume while musicians are trying to get something across. It would be fair and far more palpable if the decibel meter were aimed at these chatterers as well as at the band. Thank you.

Prediction: No one will continue to know you when you're down and out (blues joke).

Prediction: This column will become relevant and interesting in 2009 (a huge stretch, but you never know -- it could happen). 

All that said, what's important is that you and yours have a prosperous and productive year, despite all the noise and hand-wringing about the economy. And don't forget to get out and hear some live music this year. It's never been better, and you know you love it. 

The Best Kind of Christmas Present

A brand new red Firebird. Sounds spectacular. Plays like butta. 

The Carols of Christmas - A Cacophonic Conundrum

Merry Christmas, those of you who celebrate this holiday. I sincerely hope today finds you among family and friends and warmth and comfort, even if you don't celebrate Christmas. It's cold outside, in more ways than one. Individuals, and the entire human race, needs all the warmth and comfort it can get, with the distinct exception of the whole global warming thing. Today a lot of folks are sleepily walking around in new pajamas, sipping warm goodness from holiday-decorated cups and watching children play with new toys. Later there will be all kinds of food, and more warm stuff in cups (perhaps, by now, even laced with warmer stuff), and, of course, the singing. 

And that, dear friends, is what I'm here to talk about today. The singing. 

I have an enormous soft spot in my heart for the word 'carol,' because I'm married to a person with that name, and I am mightily in love with her. However, that spot grows progressively harder, stone-like, even, when the word moves to define a seasonal song. When it comes to Christmas music, I am downright cynical -- Scroogelike, even. Except I'm not. Dichotomy, my friends. Contradiction. Disconnect. These are the plagues of my holiday season. That endless tape loop of both instrumental and vocal versions of these songs I've been hearing my whole life, now used as relentless marketing tools in shops and malls and elevators everywhere, that say "'tis the season, now get out there and buy things," makes me dislike the songs, and yet my memories of childhood are drawn to these very same melodies, and I secretly shiver as they waft inside what's left of my brain. 

So today, let's take a look at the origin of some of these tunes, as presented to us by our good friends at Wikipedia. If you don't know what that is, great. Then just chalk up this information to my vast array of knowledge, and we're good to go. 

The Twelve Days of Christmas: it's been postulated on the Internet for some time now, in those endless chain letters that plague my inbox, that this song is really some kind of code for English Catholics who use these various things given by his or her true love to symbolize religious items. This, according to the best research, is simply not the case. It's believed to be a sort of game, where the singer sings a verse, and the players sing it back, and the singer sings another verse, and the players sing both back, and so on, until one of the players makes a mistake and has to give up a kiss or a sweet. This is the kind of thing people used to do before they had reruns of "House" in those post-present, pre-dinner hours. Also, it used to be a tradition to celebrate Christmas from Dec. 25 to Jan. 6, thus the 12 days. And the song is believed to be French in origin, which explains a lot about its length and its lack of, um, focus. 

Silent Night: One of my favorite carols, and now I know why. The words were written by father Fredrick Mohr, an Austrian priest who apparently wanted a song to sing in church that he could play on his guitar. The music was composed by the headmaster of the school, Franz Gruber. The year was 1818, right at the beginning of the German Romantic period, and you can hear the aching, the longing, in that gorgeous melody. It's not a simple song to sing, but every voice I know clamors to sing it, because it is truly a melodic prayer. And, as with so many of these carols, everyone knows the first verse, and only some know more than that.

What Child is This: More aptly named "what song is this?" for it's Greensleeves, for my money one of the most haunting and gorgeous melodies of all time. It evokes the music of the middle ages better than any other surviving melody from the time, already well known in Shakespeare's time and probably originating to the early 1500s, a fellow named William Chatterson Dix fell ill in the late 1800s and sank into depression, composing a number of hymns, including "What Child Is This?" It's probably impossible to know which version is better known with the melody - the hymn or the ballad. But it's a great song, and proof that truly great songs live on forever. Just look at "Louie Louie." 

Jingle Bells: This is not a Christmas song, though it has certainly become one. It was written in 1857 by James Lord Pierpont, who takes four verses to describe various equestrian misadventures involving snow. The first verse and chorus we all know, the others not so much. But this song was originally written for Thanksgiving, apparently. However, since there aren't many sales of goods and items on Thanksgiving, the good merchants co-opted it as a Christmas song, is my theory. But after eight years of the previous administration, I'm still a little bitter and conspiracy minded. One of my enduring Christmas memories is my dad playing that Bing Crosby Christmas album every year, and his version with the Andrews Sisters is the one I will always associate with this tune.

Happy Xmas (War is Over): Perhaps it is indicative of my history and background that this is the song most evocative of the season for me, and the one guaranteed to make me break out weeping every time I hear it. Why do I weep? Because John Lennon had a way with composing heart-rending melodies that grab my guts and twist them in delicious ways. And I weep because, just when the song gets good, John shoves Yoko to the microphone and my bliss is rudely interrupted by the vocal shenanigans of Ms. Ono, who, with all due love and respect, cannot and should not sing on songs that feature John. So it's a true weeper, this song. The best and the worst of music. Oh, and the message. War is over, if you want it. It reminds us, as John frequently did so well, that the fates by which we believe we are pummeled are really in our hands, if we choose to take some action and shape the world the way we think it should be. 

And with that, have a fantastic day today. I hope you get all the things you want, material and spiritual, and that you have love right in front of your eyes the whole day and night through. 

Music Business:Happy Holidays, We Won't Sue

This just in:
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/n/a/2008/12/19/financial/f115719S10.DTL&tsp=1

"We're at a point where there's a sense of comfort that we can replace one form of deterrent with another form of deterrent," said RIAA Chairman and Chief Executive Mitch Bainwol. "Filing lawsuits as a strategy to deal with a big problem was not our first choice five years ago."

In an industry in its final death throes, it is astounding to me that the head of the organized crime, er, organized music business can make the above statement and not collapse from laughter. When you are literally starving for customers, the best you can offer them is one form of deterrent to another? Really? And this is your business plan. Ok, then.

I understand that downloading music online is seen by the industry, and by some musicians, as the equivalent of shoplifting. I get that. But here's the simple truth -- it's simply not. It's file sharing. If some kid sees a file online at a site which is perfectly legal to be on, and the file is offered for free, then how is that the same as taking something from a store? The problem is not the customer, the problem is the provider.

The music industry, in its ignornance and greed, completely ignored the digital age, except to harvest obscene amounts of money from CD sales. They make a CD for pennies and sell them for $15 each. When music became digital files, swappable through computers, the industry just didn't see it happening until it had become part of the culture. Once it had, oh my. Then the customers were bad. And liable. And subject to litigation, and in need of educating. 35,000 people, mostly kids, were sued by the record industry, for the crime of downloading files off of a computer.

Hey, record executives: we realize that ya'll don't have degrees from Harvard Business School, but here's a little newsflash for ya: people download files off the Internet every. single. day. For free. It's part of the culture, for goodness sake. You are the only industry (well, you and your moronic cousins in the movie industry) to make it a crime. You should have seen this coming many years ago, and invested some time, energy and brain power into designing a suitable model for this form of distribution. But, of course, you didn't. Because your distributors were busy explaining that they were still important. How's that working out for you these days?

Personally, as a professional songwriter/musician who stands to lose money from the taking of my intellectual property, I am all for marching these fools off to prison for instigating this legal form of terror on innocent people who were (gasp!) trying to enjoy some music. Yes, the old ways of doing things worked out very well for those musicians and songwriters lucky enough to sign with a label and get work. Hundreds of thousands of musicians and songwriters were left out of that loop, though. No longer. The wild west of the Internet has leveled the playing field, and the industry as we know it ceased to exist in actuality several years ago. It just doesn't know it yet. I celebrate that demise.

But far more importantly, I look forward to the new music business as it grows in front of our eyes. There are exciting opportunities everywhere right now, and we get to watch things take shape from the beginning. At the very least, we won't have to watch kids getting sued for the crime of enjoying the music.

Antidote to Holiday Music - Dark Ambient Sounds of Rapoon

Like many of my musical peers and colleagues, I am a Luddite when it comes to anything unfamiliar and even a little modern. I find that many of my blues musician buddies and sisters would rather hear nothing than the latest offering from Counting Crows or John Mayer. We're a cranky, crusty lot with a large thirst for old-school funk and rhythm; give us the big back-beat and a singer completely in the throes of a gospel-inspired love frenzy, frosted with soul horns, sweet guitar and a big, bold bass line, maybe a Leslie-speakered B3 organ, and we're home. Don't even speak to us when this music is playing -- there are few sounds more worth hearing to my tribe. But start in with the Dave Matthews-sounding quirky, breathy acoustic guitar driven introspective tales of who knows what, with just a touch of odd in the syncopation and perhaps some jazzy goings-on with the rest of the band, and that never-ending jam mentality, and off goes the radio/iPod/stereo, and on goes the TV.

This is most definitely NOT to say that any music is bad, or not worthy of listening to, or that the people who listen to music made in this decade or any other are somehow not cool or nice or smart, or that I'm somehow superior because I have a closed musical mind.  Music is the best, and all of it is worth a listen. If you have a pulse, however, you will respond to some music far more enthusiastically than another. Something will reverberate with your soul when you hear the music that truly speaks to you, and this perhaps is the very best thing music can do -- remind us that we have a soul by shaking it a little for us every now and then. 

I mean, it's almost embarrassing to play gigs these days anywhere that people under 50 congregate, simply because I have very few songs in my set list that go beyond 1973. I could, I suppose, brush off some Police and Bruce and Petty tunes that I used to play when I was trying to be modern, but jeez, that's already old people's music for anyone up to their early 30s.

Ok, this line of thought is getting me nowhere but sorely depressed, so let's get to the point before we start imbibing things that people shouldn't imbibe in the morning. 

I was goofing around the web a couple of years ago and came across an internet radio site/music store called Magnatune. It is an independent store selling music that you won't find elsewhere. One of the albums I downloaded was by a guy named Rapoon. The album was called "The Kirgitz Light," and the title comes from a portion of Russia featured briefly in my favorite novel of all time: "Gravity's Rainbow" by Thomas Pynchon. I will check out anything or anyone that references this remarkable novel, so I downloaded it, and played it a couple of times. I didn't hear much -- just some loops and strange, distant sounds sort of strung together. But then, last month, I played it again, and I guess this time I was ready. These sound sculptures really reached out to me, caused me to go places I truly needed to go. I don't need "smack you in the head" drama right now -- quite the contrary. And most of the music I play involves lyrical dramas of the highest order. Rapoon crafts these soundscapes that drift in and out and evoke remarkable internal worlds of dreams and reflections. It's impossible to explain with mere worlds, of course; any good music is. I guess what I'm saying is, if you're looking for a way to get away from the mind numbing holiday music growing like insidious barnacles out of every speaker in the land right now, I strongly recommend Rapoon's work. You can find some on iTunes, and some on Magnatunes.com, but for a complete list, check out rapoon.net, the artists' own Web site.

The latest work by him that I am listening to, even as I write this, is called Time Frost. What he's done is take samples (sound slices) of works by Strauss, particularly The Blue Danube, and rearranged them into frozen soundscapes. The idea behind this work, he says, is to evoke a frozen place where global warming has captured in ice everything, including musical sounds. And this, he says, is what that might sound like. 

Normally, experimental ambient woof woof stuff is not my cup of tea. It can sound pretentious and even silly to my untrained and blues-crusted ears. I don't have the patience, youth or wisdom to appreciate most music that goes too far beyond my very small circle of musical understanding. But somehow, for whatever reason, Rapoon has snuck in there and blown apart my assumptions about atmospheric, looping electronica. I have listened to little else for the past couple of months, much to the chagrin of my spouse, who has dubbed it "annoying." 

But then, Counting Crows is one of her favorite bands. So neener neener. How's that for maturity and healthy communication? 

You can find this column and a lot more on my blog: http://caroompaspick.blogspot.com.

No Longer the Soul Owner

Now this is a depressed and sad musician.

They say Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil in exchange for becoming the very best musician ever. While I don't believe a word of that (because the man had the voice of an angel, even though it was haunted by demons, but they were earthly demons if you listen to his lyrics), at least that transaction had an understandable motivation. 

This guy was just looking for the highest bidder on ebay. 

Let's say he did sell his soul for money. What on earth (pardon the pun) do you spend that particular pile of cash on? I mean, once your soul is sold, what is the point of acquiring anything anyway? Don't you just kind of walk around like a flapping, empty puddle of flesh, waiting for your body to just sort of waste away, knowing that, at least in your case, that's really all there is? What do you buy in the meantime? 

Wouldn't it be easier and more spiritually safe to just do what so many others of us have done and get a day job? 

Ten pounds of bacon, Revel-ation and a Great Party

This morning my wife and I went to the local homeless shelter and cooked 150 eggs, ten pounds of bacon and countless pancakes for homeless families. She arranged for about 20 of her junior high students to act as wait persons, and they wore adorable reindeer antlers while they took orders and brought plates of steaming breakfast to hungry diners. Afterward, a very anorexic looking Santa (Santarexic?) who was also in the junior high class, delivered an enormous number of presents to the children in the room, and tears were plentiful as gift paper was eliminated and toys revealed to thrilled children. My wife, who organized this event, is a truly astounding person and I am very grateful to be in her life. She is determined to make a difference in her own little corner of the world, and does not permit or allow sloth, excuses, illness or any other obstacle to prohibit or slow down the work that needs doing.  She gave her students a much greater gift this morning than the ones the kids gave out -- she showed them that giving of oneself is a vastly more rewarding experience than getting an item on a wish list. It's a gift they will have with them in their hearts for the rest of their lives. And hopefully, they will teach other children similar lessons as they get older. 

Oh, by the way, I apparently have appendicitis, according to my physician. It's in the early stages, and he wants me to wait and see if I get more pain in my side, fever and vomiting, in which case I need to rush myself into the emergency room for a procedure. Meanwhile, I wait for all this to come on. Oh goodie. 

After the cooking, we met my brother Steve and his partner Melissa in downtown Martinez, to transfer some stuff from my car to his, had a nice chat, and then headed to Oakland for our annual trek to the Christmas Revels. This is another tradition for which I have to thank my wife. It's how she and her kids have beckoned in the Christmas season for years, and it is a delight. This  year, the theme was old England, and plenty of comedy and ancient music filled the hall all afternoon. There are parts that get slow, and some that don't quite work as well as others, but overall this is a great production, featuring adults and children, and the remarkable Geoff Hoyle, who oversees it, deserves major kudos, and ho ho ho's. 

After that is the annual party at Scott and Katy Williams' house in Martinez. Scott is the reason Carol began going to the Revels in the first place. He's a force of nature. One of the nicest, most intense, smart and energetic fellows you could hope to meet. And he cooks like a pro. His post-Revels party always includes blintzes, ham, and other goodies, and other folks bring dishes as well. It's quite a bash, and this year Scott and I, being old radicals, were once again celebrating the fact that we have a fellow named President Obama. It's hard for either of us to keep from crying tears of joy at the mention of the name. We're both adjusting to the very new reality of being proud of our country, proud to be Americans. It's a new day, and we're anxious to be part of it. Thanks for the party, as always, Scott and Katy. Sorry I left early, but I had to go home and monitor the pain in my side. If my appendix exploded, I didn't want it to be in a large, friendly gathering with great food and splendid wine. Better to be home alone on the couch with a dog, the Dish Network and carb-friendly ice cream.

Poles on the stage, blues in the night

A couple of weeks ago, The Very Bad Boys took to the road and wound up in Byron, CA, which is somewhere and/or nowhere out in the Delta. Our destination: The Wild Idol. It's a bar that caters to bikers out on a Delta cruise, and the surprising large number of locals who seem to frequent the place. 

On the inside, it's a typical bar catering to folks with pickups and Harleys -- wood paneled interior with a pool table, formica tables for groups and a fairly large and well-stocked bar. The stage is memorable because it's large, but mostly because it has: The Pole. Yep. There's a large brass pole right in the middle of the stage. And believe me, it gets used. Even on the quiet after-Thanksgiving Sunday that the Bad Boys played, this pole got itself quite a workout. 

My familiarity with poles in general, and places with poles, are strictly limited to the Bada Bing from the Sopranos. I've never been to a strip club, never intend to visit a strip club, would not enjoy myself if I did, and would immediately want a shower afterward. There is a lot of substance and reality to the phrase "objectification of women." While I enjoy a beautiful naked body as much as anyone, having a woman writhe around in simulated arousal for the entertainment of a room full of boozed up, leering jackoffs just doesn't get it for me. But don't get me wrong -- that's not the Wild Idol's pole. The Idol is no strip club, not at all. The Idol puts the pole on the stage for women who want to pretend, in drunken moments of uninhibited fantasy, that they are strippers who can win the eyeballs of all the guys in the room. That notion doesn't drive me wild, either, but it's not quite so perverted as the strip club pole. 

While we were there, a young woman came in and started in on the pole. She was pretty, thin, and amazingly agile. She twirled a couple of times and then shimmied right up to the top of the pole, where she hung by her thighs for a couple of seconds, then shimmied right back down and gyrated for the next couple of sets like that. It was a, um, unique experience for me. Especially for a Sunday afternoon. She was dressed like the other customers, and never did anything particularly sexual (well, until the end, when she sort of pulled her jeans down for her boyfriend's benefit), but the whole pole thing was, well, just strange. 

The Annual Martinez Music Society Gathering

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This town has something pretty rare and special: a community of musicians and their friends who actively get together now and then and celebrate the music, and the community. Thanks to the mighty Brian Walker and a band of cohorts, the MMS has been operating in one form or another for the past twenty years or so. Its purpose is to bring out local musicians to venues of comfort and safety. It has served its purpose well over the years. These days, it's really more of an excuse for friends to get together and play, and for many years now, John and Barbara (last names omitted because I haven't asked permission) have hosted the annual holiday get-together in their home. It's no small thing. At least thirty or so of us swarm on their home to eat, drink and play for hours. The food is always amazing. The company even more so.

One of the very cool things about the MMS bash is the variety of musical styles that tend to get perpetrated. I suspect that, in the beginning, the gathering had a bluegrass/country/Grateful Dead kind of feel to it, given the founders and their proclivities. But I also know that one of the co-founders, Robert Perry, has always leaned toward the funk and the R&B side of life, and brings his taste for tasty rhythms to the mix. So there is already a powerful Americana thing going on. Add to that some old Beatles songs, tunes by the Stones, Cat Stevens, (gulp) Christmas songs, and even standard from the Great American Songbook, and you have a very potent gumbo of music and fun for your singalong pleasure.

One of my favorite parts of this event is the effervescent Gigi Walker, who generally wears the appropriate Santa hat, sits in the middle of the room, and more or less attempts to direct the musical direction of the evening, at least for a couple of hours. She tries to make sure that there is order in the chaos, and that everyone gets a turn to select a tune and/or sing one. And she is adamant that whatever happens, the vast majority of the attendees can join in and sing along. This is important for when hamburgers like myself show up and attempt to show off by doing more of a show than a share. Gigi makes sure we all keep it real and down home, and brooks no nonsense. 

This year, the usual suspects were in full musical bloom by the afternoon, since this gathering fell on a Sunday, instead of the usual Saturday. That made for a more laid-back feel, and far less imbibing than I (sort of) recall in years past. But for the past two years, I have had with me my beautiful wife, and this year, we played a song together for the very first time at this event. Baby, It's Cold Outside was debuted at an Armando's Hoot Night earlier this year, but this past Sunday was the first time Carol and I did it without the use of words or music in front of us, and it was certainly a weather-appropriate tune. Also the remarkable Bruce Campbell was there, of the Alhambra Valley Band, as was founder Annette, who is learning the mandolin. That made for some bone-chilling bluegrass moments, and lovely harmonies. Mark Thompson was on keyboards, giving a solid foundation to the musical happenings, and Robert Perry brought in a cymbal and drum. At one point, I usually do Bruce Springsteen's 'Thunder Road,' because when there's a keyboard handy, it's the only song I really play well on that instrument. This year, I recall a shadow singer right behind me, singing along note for note, and I swear the shadow looked exactly like Roy Jeans, owner of Armando's. You just haven't lived until that has happened to you. And I'm not sure if anyone was checking to see if his decibel levels were legal or not. I'll get back to you on that. Hope Savage brought her little red guitar and her powerful pipes to sing a few country tunes. Again, chills. Danny White was in fine form, on guitar and mandolin, as well as harp, doing what he does so well. Brian had his guitar/mandolin thing happening, and the list just goes on and on, way beyond my capacity to remember names. For that, I'm sorry. But for the music, I'm so grateful. 

The food. . . well, it's pot luck, but emphasis on the word 'luck.' Someone keeps bringing, every year, these little pastries filled with cream next to a chocolate dipping sauce. Note to this person: why do you hate me so? This tasty little treat, which I cannot have, is a source of guilt for months after the party, because I manage to stop eating them after about ten or so.

All in all, another great year for the Martinez Music Society annual holiday gathering. It's part of what makes this town so remarkable, and I just want to thank everyone responsible for making it happen. It makes my life that much richer, and it's an honor to be part of it. 

Just a New Guitar Ho (ho ho)

Ask anyone who knows me and they'll tell you that my goal in life is to own every guitar ever made. There is nothing more luxurious to me than

1. A brand new unadulterated notebook, or;

2. A brand new unplayed guitar. 

Both have the advantage of being able to project multiple identities onto the shiny surfaces. 

The guitar in the picture is a cherry-red Firebird by Dillion, a great guitar maker. The person is Danny White, a Very Bad Boy (of The Very Bad Boys) and the owner of Good Stuff Guitar Stuff in Martinez, CA. I am hoping this guitar will be under the tree this year. Who can't love a three-pickup configuration?

Another interesting Dillion Danny had was a 12-string Les Paul copy. The reason for such a thing completely escapes me, but someone is coming in Monday to buy it. An interesting idea, but I can't think of a practical use for a 12-string Les Paul. 

Last week we did a gig where I used a cherry red Hamer ES-335 copy. Amazing guitar. The action and the tone were both remarkable, and it actually sounded better through my tiny Mesa Boogie amp than the actual Gibson ES-335 that my wife bought me last year. Now, that's not an easy thing to write, and hopefully Carol won't read this post. But it's a fact. It looks and feels very close to the real Gibson thing, and it's not even one of the top end Hamers. Great ax. 

At some point very soon, I'm going to post about the Wild Idol gig we did in Byron last Sunday. The gig with the pole on the stage. And the woman on that pole. Oy. 

But right now, it's dinner time and I've got a hungry family. So, as the resident chef, my duties in the kitchen and on the grill await. 

Stay tuned. 

Shopping Tips for Your Music Maker

And so it begins. . . the seasonal spending orgy, once a sacred connection to our shared humanity, and now a frenzy of shopping so intense that a person in Long Island was trampled to death by heedless Walmart customers anxious to get their chilly paws on the day's great bargains. A young man is dead now, his family has a permanent empty seat at the holiday table, because Walmart had some great prices on must-have items. This was bound to happen, and now it has. Merry Christmas, Walmart shoppers.

Still, life goes on, and you may have a musician in your household. If you do, here are some suggestions for stocking stuffers that may inadvertently get left off the list:

For guitarists, let me suggest the following (honey, are you listening?):

Strings. You can never have too many of these. Electric players tend to prefer Ernie Ball light gauge. Acoustic players tend toward heavier gauges, and Martin makes great acoustic strings, but so do many other makers. Actually, I think strings are all made in the same place, and sold under different names. 

Chords. These are the wires that connect the guitar to the amplifier. These days, it's as common for acoustic players as for electric ones. Chords are always nice to have, as they tend to get all funky and shorted out over time, and they are things that most of us just don't think about replacing, but would love to have replaced as a surprise. 

Straps. I can't tell you how many guitar straps I have, and all of them are dangerously close to the end of their lives. They wear out. And without them, you can't stand in front of the mirror, practicing your most awesome rock star poses. Straps these days are a cottage industry, and many makers are pretty clever when it comes to guitar strap themes. If one were being chosen for me, however, I would opt for a comfortable leather model with padding. Working players tend to wear their guitars for at least four hours, and comfort quickly supersedes fashion.

Picks. Oh yeah. Picks are essential to most guitarists of the rock/blues/R&B variety. Classical players use their fingers, as do folk pickers, but the rest of us use picks. And because they're small, plastic and relatively inexpensive, they tend to get stored in back pockets, etc., where they are vulnerable to things like washing machines. Picks also have an uncanny knack of winding up under furniture, between couch cushions, etc. I tend to carry at least 20 with me now at all times. You never know.

Polish and polishing cloth. Some guitarists are prone to polishing their instruments on a regular basis for some reason. As anyone can tell you, I am not one of these guitarists. If I have a great night, with lots of perspiration involved, I don't mind leaving the evidence there for the next time. I'm told this is wrong. I don't care. Rock on. 

Metronome. No one, and I mean absolutely no one, is good enough to stop practicing. And no one is good enough not to practice with a metronome. These little devices are now very inexpensive, and essential for musicians of all instruments (are you listening, drummers???) to learn to keep time without thinking about it. It's not the most popular thing, especially for musicians just starting out, because it's hard to stay within a particular beat, and metronomes, like mirrors, are merciless. But the effort pays off spectacularly when you can sit down with other players and confidently feel the tempo. 

Music stand. This one reminds me of the old joke: how do you make a guitar player turn down? Put a piece of sheet music in front of him. Music stands in my house are used for lyrics, chord charts, and sometimes even for slooooooowly picking my way through some notes. But music stands are always useful for musicians, and they are not that expensive.

Microphone stands. These are also essential, and always appreciated. Mike stands range from inexpensive to pretty complicated. I have a beautiful blue mike stand I bought many years ago, and still love very much. I've not since seen colored mike stands, and mine is kind of rusted and tired, but I'm looking at it right now, with fondness. Anyway, mike stands are important for professional players, not so much for beginners. But they're fun to play with, even if you're just pretending.

Microphones. Ok, this might start sounding scary to those who envision lots of amplified out of tune singing wafting through their evenings. But microphones can be used without being plugged in, so your budding musician can practice singing into one. Or you can plug them into most standard amplifiers if you want to hear what the real thing sounds like. These come in a wide variety of prices and quality. But I've never met a mike I didn't like. 

Reeds. If you know someone who plays the saxophone, reeds are lifeblood. Get them many, many reeds. Just make sure you know the right gauge.

Drum sticks. For drummers, sticks are essential. Some drummers are pickier about their sticks than they are about the time they keep, but still. . . if you know a drummer, he or she will probably want/need sticks. Do a little research to make sure you know what kind they use. They all look the same to us, but sticks are very different. 

Piano players. Ha ha. They get nothing. I mean, what does a piano player need, other than a piano? Maybe a gift certificate for a tuning? A lesson? A clue?

Harmonica players. How about music books teaching them to play a different instrument? Oh. Sorry. Is that cruel? Seriously, harmonicas are not the cheap little thingies they used to be. These days, they cost a fortune. To me, in the hands of most, they still sound the same as they always did. But apparently they cost a lot now. 

Look, there's an easy answer to all of this. Go to the Good Stuff Guitar Shop on the 500 block of Main Street, downtown Martinez, CA, ask for Danny White, and talk to him about your musician's needs. He can help you either purchase something from him, or point you gladly to a place where you can find it. Or give him a call at (925) 228-2500. 

In upcoming columns, let's talk about buying guitars and basses. Aside from breathing, this is probably my favorite topic.