These Boot(legs) Are Made for Walking Down Memory Lane, Part II

Last week, loyal readers will recall, we were discussing the glories and travails of the bootleg recording. A brief recap: upside is you get to hear music, often live recordings, that you normally wouldn’t because the artist chose not to record/release it; downside is, the quality is usually not great, particularly recordings of older shows, before the advent of tiny digital pocket recorders.

To reiterate my stand on bootlegs – I’ve stayed away from them mostly out of laziness. In the vinyl and CD years, boots were not easy to find, tended toward expensive, and since they didn’t sound all that good, it seemed like a lot of energy spent for not a great return. But with the advent of the Internet and the transmission of music electronically, and the tendency these days to share music for free, the whole bootleg landscape has changed. Now it’s possible to download great shows from days gone by for the price of a monthly Internet connection that you’d have anyway.

An example: while I was browsing around on a site, looking at various shows available, I noticed a show available by one Mr. Van Morrison. It was from Fillmore West in 1970. He was touring his new album, Moondance. The band featured some amazing players, including guitarist Ronnie Montrose. And Van never sounded better. You could hear the passion in these amazing new songs, and the album was already generating the kind of buzz that would make it a classic, even today. It’s probably the best-known of all his albums, and the guy is prolific.

So this is a great recording to have in one’s collection. But for me, it’s far more than that. This, ladies and gentlemen, was the very first concert I ever attended alone. This was the show I went to see at 15 years old because I could. I was living alone for the first time, and realized one night that I could go to Fillmore if I wanted to. So I did. The bill that night? The Small Faces, starring Rod Stewart, and Van Morrison. This recording I found is of that show. I listen to it from several points of view at once; musically, it’s fantastic. But I can also remember standing there in that crowd, sizing up people at the show as potential audience members of my own one day, and also just basking in the feel of those days.

Fillmore West was a great place to see live music then. People gathered as much to see other people as the bands. In those times, the music was important, but the musicians not so much. There wasn’t the absolute adoration that came to pass just a couple of years later. People appreciated the music, but didn’t yet worship the players.

Ok, so you still don’t want to support bootleggers, and that’s fine and good. The Internet is giving us an ethical option. There are now streaming sites where you can listen to live recordings of shows from days gone by, without the ability to download the material. So while you have access to it, you don’t own it. The artist still doesn’t profit from the work, but you don’t get to turn around and sell it, either. A gray area, I know, but hey, this is life.

So go to Google and type in Wolfgang’s Vault. What you’ll get is a site that contains hundreds of live shows, mostly recorded at the Fillmore and at Winterland. This music is available for streaming, which means that while you’re at the site, you can listen. Most of it cannot be downloaded, so you need to either be at your computer, or own an iPhone and get the app (which, by the way, I did, and it’s great).

Right now I’m listening to Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention live at Winterland in 1970, basking in the glow of a Zappa guitar solo as only he could do it. The other day I listened to the very famous Bruce Springsteen show from December 1978, which is supposed to be the best live show he ever did, and if you know anything about Bruce, you know what a statement that is. There are shows from performers for every taste in music from the 1960s to now. This is a site for music lovers. And it’s free.

Could this something like the spirit of Woodstock coming through the Internet age? Or am I just having a rare moment of not feeling like a cranky old man?

Some Boot(legs) are Made for Walking Down Memory Lane

Normal 0 0 1 587 3347 27 6 4110 11.1282

Ah, the Internet; home of a billion Web sites, a veritable hive of human psychic fingerprints. With numerous free blog sites out there, almost everyone, it seems, has a story to tell, and they are more than willing to tell it.

This includes, turns out, a host of folks who have managed to acquire, through means unclear, various recordings of artists that the artists themselves did not intend to be recorded, or at least released. These have been and still are referred to as ‘bootleg’ recordings, and for the past forty years or so, these bootleg recordings have been the purview of enthusiasts, fans, and just people who enjoyed finding and owning stuff that is, at best, unauthorized, and, at worst, illegal.

There are, from the artist point of view, several problems with the bootleg thing. One, they are, as mentioned, recordings not intended for public release. Artists feel that they are, or should be, the final arbiters of the work they release. To release work that doesn’t stand up to the standards of that artist can be to dilute the legacy of that artist. One can understand, certainly, how that could be a concern. The other problem is, of course, financial. When someone purchases a bootleg recording, the transaction is entirely underground. There is no royalty to the artist. Or the artist’s record label. Artists are by and large annoyed by this. Labels, on the other hand, go so ballistic over this that they sue the customers. It’s all quite dramatic.

So I have, over the years, more or less avoided the whole bootleg thing, out of sympathy for my artist brothers and sisters, sure. But really more for the fact that seeking out these things takes more time and effort than I care to put in to it. The quality of many of these recordings are sketchy, to say the least. And do I really need to spend a day or two seeking out a live recording of, say, Amy Winehouse that someone recorded with a cell phone, spend $20 on it and listen once, only to just have it sit on my iPod taking up valuable bandwidth?

But here’s the thing. Lately, bootlegs have been finding me. And giving me back some of my lost youth. Really. Here’s what I mean.

A friend of mine, a regular attendee at the Armando’s Blues Jam, showed up a couple of months ago with a very rare recording. He knows I’m a huge Eric Clapton devotee, so he brought me a CD of Derek and the Dominoes playing at the Berkeley Community Theater. Now, this particular band only did one tour, and I happened to be there the night they played Berkeley. I remember it so well, because Eric introduced a young turk guitarist named Neil Schoen to play on Key to the Highway that night. To my way of thinking, Eric was gracious and let Neil take a couple of choruses, and the young man played his heart out. But then Eric took hold and pretty much polished the floor with the kid.

This is significant in my life because a couple of years later, when my band was playing at The Great American Music Hall, Neil was leaving Santana and forming a little outfit called Journey. He was backstage before our show, and I asked him why he didn’t join the Dominoes when Eric invited him to. He told me that Eric was doing lines of heroin, and he didn’t want to get involved in that. He also said that he had pretty much mastered the Clapton thing, and was now working on the Hendrix thing. I thought that was pretty arrogant, so to show him a thing or two, I invited him to play with us that night. He came out and I struck up Key to the Highway. I played a couple of choruses and nodded to him. He pretty much polished the floor with me.

To have this recording now is like a direct window into my past, a very important part of my life. The recording is terrible. When I play it in the car, my wife begs me to find something more sonically suitable. But I don’t care about the sound quality – I’m hearing some very special moments being relived.

I have more to tell about this bootleg thing. And I will in columns to come.

You Say You Want A Resolution? Well, You Know. . .

I am skeptical of New Year resolutions, simply due to evidence and experience. I have rarely, if ever, kept one. They are the usual suspects of resolutions, primarily around weight or money or organization.

This year, I'm losing weight without making a resolution. So there's one down. Money is still an issue, but one that won't be settled with a simple resolve. I'm convinced that you get what you want, and I'm not sure what it is I want that lots of money will get me. So I'm looking in other areas of life for what it is I want. Organization? Well, we all need dreams, right? 

But I have made one resolution this year, one that I want very  much to keep. And that is to be more tolerant, more understanding and less reactive. Anger can be charming on the page, if you do it right, and if you're not the recipient of that anger. But anger hurts, and it turns out that it not only hurts the person with whom you're angry, but it also hurts the person who is angry. And aside from a quick little jolt of energy for the reader, I don't think it does anyone else any good, either. So, this year I resolve to be a kinder person. More understanding. Less angry and quick to throw vitriolic arrows of outrage at targets of my righteous indignation.

Let's put this to a test. Let's talk about the record industry.

Earlier this month, the Record Industry Association of America (RIAA) announced, with much fanfare, that it was no longer going to sue people who downloaded songs from the Internet for free. And then it announced it was dropping the company that scoured the Internet, looking for these scofflaws. So it seems serious about changing its ways, after filing more than 35,000 lawsuits.

Let's take a look at this issue. It's pivotal to the entertainment field. 

Ever since music went digital in the 1980s, the record industry has been nervous. And for good reason: music recorded digitally is far more available to consumers than its analog cousin. In the halcyon days of the music business, an songwriter wrote a song, a publisher published it, the record company brought one of its artists with a producer into the studio to record it on a very expensive tape recorder, which was then pressed onto a vinyl disc, reproduced and packaged in full-color LP or 45 rpm sleeves, sent to distributors who then sent the product to record shops, while promotion men haunted disc jockeys at radio stations to play the disc. Each person at each step of this process was paid, often handsomely. But since the record industry had a virtual lock on the recording and distribution of its product, there was plenty of money to go around.

When the recording and reproduction of music switched from electrical signals on magnetic tape (analog) to capturing a series of zeros and ones in the computer (digital), things got different very fast. Suddenly, and almost virtually overnight, one no longer required an expensive tape recorder to make a pristine recording. And, with the advent of the Internet, one no longer needed a record industry to record, manufacture, and distribute product. But the industry kept the same model in place, because it was such a great money maker, and it fed a lot of people. 

Here's the problem: in the old days, one couldn't post a recording in a public place. Now, it's just too easy. People have come to expect free entertainment on the Internet. So files were uploaded, and downloaded, for years, and the record industry folks went crazy. And here, in days gone by, is where the industry and I parted company. 

The people in the industry are not monsters, or morons (see? right there is a huge step for me). They see their product being absconded by pirates and thieves, and they rightfully react. The profit margins of the record business have been on a downward path for quite a few years now, and the folks in charge of figuring out why have concluded that it's primarily due to downloading free files. But there didn't seem to be a way to stop it using technology, so the industry used its big gun -- lawyers. It sued Napster, the first major Internet company to specialize in file sharing, and won. Then, after other companies sprung up to take Napster's place, the industry decided to go after individuals. And they were successful; the majority of lawsuits settled for about $3,500, which is a fortune to most of the people who were sued. But it didn't cover the cost, ultimately, of the legal campaign, or stop file sharing, which is still a robust activity. Meanwhile, iTunes and other Internet music sites are prospering. 

So the RIAA called a halt to the lawsuits, which were mostly filed against kids and grandparents (look it up). In fairness, their product was being taken and distributed for nothing. It costs a lot of money to make that music, and a lot of skill and talent goes into the process. Artists and producers need to get paid -- otherwise, they'll do other things. Entertainment is not a volunteer activity, it's a full-time job. It's hard, and deserves remuneration. So I see why this is a problem the industry felt deserved the nuclear option. 

But it doesn't ignore the primary truth behind the curtain of the industry's indignation. The 1980s saw the introduction of digital, and the industry folks knew it was a new era. But the old system remained unchanged, due to laziness, greed, and a complete lack of foresight by people at the top of the industry food chain who make enormous amounts of money to see just these kinds of changes coming. I know this inside baseball stuff, and civilians don't really care, and I wouldn't be writing about it to a general readership if it hadn't come down to suing its own customers. But it did. You and I were subject to lawsuits for the crime of finding and using file sharing sites that were, as far as knew, perfectly legal. Sure, I know that child pornography is wrong, even if I find a site that promotes it. But downloading a favorite song is hardly in the same category.

No, my argument is this: the industry finds itself vulnerable and at risk, because it stubbornly hangs on to a system that no longer works. It desperately wants to fit its old model into the new paradigm, and it's just not going to happen. But the insult was having the arrogance, the abject arrogance and hubris, to think that it was somehow all right to punish its customers instead of firing its top ranks for going into a coma for 20 years and completely ignoring the obvious. 

No doubt the industry is undergoing a major restructuring right now, and hopefully the old school thinking is being swept away. We need a record industry; finding and recording artists is a major undertaking, as is promoting those artists and songs. The new era of Internet distribution presents major challenges, but also massive opportunities. Let's hope the new generation of record executives knows how to make it work, so we can enjoy the product without fear of legal retribution.

Axes of Evil -- Marketing Guitars in a Down Economy

"Talkin' 'bout hard times, who knows better than I?" - Ray Charles

Imagine being the maker of fine guitars in this particular economy. Like autos, you don't turn your design, production and sales strategies around on the turn of a dime; and the economy pretty much tanked seemingly overnight. Meanwhile, the industry seems increasingly clueless as to the needs of the working guitarist -- more and more toys keep getting produced, at the expense of bread and butter tools for making music. 

Case in point: Fender's new idea to create a "Road Worn" series of guitars . It's not a bad idea; we all love the look and feel of guitars that have been through the mill, and there's something very sexy about a Fender Strat or a Tele that has notches, nicks, scrapes and fret wear. It tells you that there are many stories around the guitar, many nights of sweaty, sultry, loud seductions and screams in ill-lit bars and stages; battered days and nights of rehearsals, performances, broken strings, amazing solos, adoring fans. So I see where Fender is going here. Sell the sexy without the sex. 

But really, who wants that? Not players. Collectors who don't play may feel proud to put a guitar that looks beat up on the wall and make up stories about it to admiring guests. But players want the real thing -- players want to put their own miles on a guitar, or buy one that has real wear and tear on it, not some prefabricated ideal. You can't prefabricate history, you have to make it one hard day at a time.

Fender is selling these guitars for a little more than the price of the same guitar without all the manufactured wear and tear, which is, frankly, kind of insulting in this economy. I would urge our friends at Fender to instead start focusing on a quality line of guitars for working players that feature top-notch woods, tuners, bridges, etc., at price points players can afford. Boutique stuff is nice for those for whom price is no object, but please, Fender, don't forget the core constituency here. We are the ones who keep you in business, who have built your brand and rely on your product to tell our stories. Please stop catering so shamelessly to those seeking cachet over utility, or otherwise the market will work its magic, and you will become an obsolete name replaced by hungrier, more responsive companies.

The same is true for Gibson; innovation and modernization is great, and essential, and it's a bold move to delay the launch of Dark Fire , which will apparently play your solos for you, make a chai latte and wash your car. But while you're doing all this great innovative stuff, please continue to focus on your core constituents as well. Gibson guitars have been falling significantly in quality for the past ten years, while the price tags continue to increase. Sure, I'd love a new Firebird from the company that created the guitar, but it's $2,500. I can see paying that for a new Les Paul, but not for a Firebird. Sure, you let me buy the Epiphone version for half the price -- that tells me that if I buy the Gibson model, I'm paying you at least $500 for the cachet of the Gibson logo. Working musicians don't have the luxury of paying for cachet, unless they're working in places like coliseums. Have your brilliant minds come together to figure out how to make great guitars at prices more in line with the players who play them.

I believe in market forces, sure. And the guitar market has plenty of room for collectors with tons of money to throw around for collectables. But what's happening with the top two guitar brands is a little scary, frankly. It feels like both companies are catering to beginners and collectors, and not so much on the players any more. It would be encouraging if both companies released a product or two that was aimed at guitarists who knew what they wanted, and what they were doing, and what they were willing to pay for such an instrument. 

I'm not yelling, I'm just saying. . . 

Ba-Rackin' the Inauguration in Martinez, CA

On Tuesday, Jan. 20, 2009, a very important event is taking place, an event of historic proportions that you will want to attend so that, as time marches on, you can one day tell your children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren that you were there, right there, in person when it occurred. It's a rare opportunity for us as Americans to participate personally in history, or at least to be able to mark that opportunity on our calendars. This is one such opportunity.

For the very first time, on that historic day, Armando's in downtown Martinez, CA will be presenting live entertainment on a Tuesday. It's unheard of. It's never happened before, and many believed that it would never happen in our lifetimes. But others (and I count myself among them), chose to believe that it could happen, that the power of change and reason would ultimately prevail, and that we would have hope and live music in Martinez on a Tuesday. 

And now, at last, it is so. 

And oh, by the way, the new president is getting sworn in, too. So, in another nod to history, Armando's will have a television set turned to the inauguration.

Brief reminder and shameless promotion: The Very Bad Boys are at Armando's this Saturday, Jan. 17, at 8 p.m. We've been working hard on this performance, and we'd love to see you come out and help us celebrate a new era in America. 

Other than having live music on Tuesday in Martinez, Tuesday marks a significant day in the lives of our nation, as the United States of America becomes, once again, a nation of people who can, should they choose, be in charge of their own government, and thus their destinies. I know, this sounds like hyperbole, and perhaps I am overstating the issue a tad. But not by much. 

For the past eight years (and one could argue convincingly eight years prior to that), America has been a nation led by men who didn't seem to care much for what Americans had to say, if those Americans fell into the 95 percent category of people who were not billionaires. When the most powerful Vice President in our history can look into the TV camera and say "so what?" to a question about the concerns of a majority of the country regarding the 'war' in Iraq, something had obviously gone horribly wrong in the national conscience. In my mind, such a response by an elected official should be an immediate impeachable offense. 

But those days are very soon to be behind us. President Bush and Vice President Cheney are going to be left for history to judge, and I suspect that when it does, Mr. Cheney is going to find out the answer to "so what?" Both men, to be fair, showed up to serve  their country, and could have made far more money in the private sector. But the power they wielded is not available to private citizens, and certainly both men had the ear of the very powerful and very wealthy in this country. It seemed to me (and I don't think I'm alone in this) that those interests were the ones served for eight years, and not the interests of the vast majority. Is it too kind to assume that their thinking was that if it's good for the elite, it's ultimately good for the population? 

President Elect Obama appears to be the kind of leader who inspires others to get their hands dirty, doing the dirty work of democracy. He certainly inspires me to do that, and I thought myself immune to the seductions of politicians. While his words are lofty and soaring, for me it's more about what he has become in spite of where he comes from. To put it kindly, black Americans are second-class citizens in America. And this man has chosen, for most of his life, to focus on the possibilities and opportunities in front of him, rather than the racism both inherent and obvious, that confronts people of color in this land on a daily basis. That in itself is leading by example.

President Elect Obama takes the chair in the Oval Office at a time when our country is in desperate need of a cool hand on the tiller. One can argue why our economic system is imploding, or why our standing in the world is at an all-time and very dangerous low, or why the very basic functions of American society seem to be, if not falling apart, at least making very scary squeaking sounds at the hinges. Those on the right will blame Bill Clinton and the minority congress that for six years was pretty much powerless to do anything. Those on the left will blame Bush and the six-year majority in congress. The truth is, there is plenty of blame to go around. Sure, 911 changed the face of American politics, but one cannot help but conclude that much of the fear that was mongered on Americans in the post 911 world was done out of political or economic expediency, and not an authentic sense of protection. On that list I would include Iraq.

Great leaders don't do for us, they inspire us to do for ourselves. And to me, that's the difference between the outgoing and incoming president. Bush argued that all we had to do was shop to do our part in the war on terror -- that and invade a country that did not attack or provoke us, for the first time in our history. He made it clear that the government would do all the protecting, even if it meant the end of some pretty basic civil rights. It appears that President Elect Obama will take a far different approach, and work to engage the rest of us in the work and responsibilities of democracy. It's a tough assignment, and he appears to be more than up to the task. I look forward to being part of the solution for a change. 

Besides, Aretha Franklin is going to sing at the inauguration, so even if you didn't vote for the man, you can at least enjoy the festivities. Who doesn't like Aretha? And don't forget to join us at Armando's for a great day of democracy, music, celebration and fun. All on a Tuesday. 

The Dark Mists of Days Long Gone

When I was a mere slip of a lad, I had a band named Colefeat. This was a band destined to make a serious mark on the American musical landscape. A five-piece blues-based band, we sometimes played behind John Lee Hooker, and we often played stages at such prestigious clubs as Keystone Berkeley, the Longbranch, West Dakota and the Great American Music Hall. We were together for several years, in different formations, and we played a lot of gigs. Most everyone who heard us seemed to like us.

There are a hundred thousand dramas that go along with this band. Just an example: the keyboard player was my wife. She had been, previously, my English teacher in high school. The band ultimately broke up when this woman met and fell in lust with a half-Aleut fisherman in Kodiak, Alaska while we were there on a six-week gig that had been arranged by ABC Records, prior to them signing us for a record deal. The band leader (me) couldn't handle the emotional fallout from that, and went home with no warning to the other band members. The other members went on to form the briefly successful Yankee Reggae band, The Shakers. They even put out a record. 

Anyway, it was a heady experience, those Colefeat years. But we never recorded any official music, and I don't have any of the reference recordings that were made, so whatever that band sounded like was permanently lost to the mists of time. Or so I thought. 

But Gil, the original drummer, just sent me a CD of five original Colefeat tunes we recorded at LaVal's Pizza in Berkeley, on his penultimate gig with us in early 1974. For me, it's a life-changing recollection. This is a Jim Caroompas (or, as I tried to be known then, JC Scott) that was completely immersed in the music -- focused on little else but making a way as a musician in a weird, often-cruel world. Married, sure, but not much of a husband. Stoned most of the time, a momma's boy from Lafayette, CA, tossed into the rough and tumble East Bay music scene, with very few clues and even fewer experiences. The voice is young and squeaky. You can hear me trying to sound like BB King, and sounding more instead like someone just stepped on my foot. But at least I'm trying. But the guitar work... well, I was playing every day back then. Some day I'll write a book about this band. For now, I'm just grateful that there are a few sonic remnants to take me back there. 

It's All Funky Up In Here, Ya'll

Sometimes, if you're paying attention, delights just pop up out of nowhere. I can personally testify to this, because it happened to me just yesterday morning. There I was, perusing the Armando's calendar for next week, and out of nowhere, I learned about an exciting New Orleans Funk/Blues band that's going to be playing there. 

Now, I know what you're thinking -- more shameless self promotion for my band, The Very Bad Boys, who happen to be playing Armando's on Saturday, Jan. 17 from 8 p.m. to 11 p.m. The club is, by the way, located at 707 Marina Vista, right down from La Beau's, and is a Bay Area treasure and absolute delight for music fans, because it is geared for listening, not socializing, so music here is the primary motive, not an afterthought. And The Very Bad Boys will be playing an eclectic mix of New Orleans fonk, blues, and R&B. But more on that in a minute. 

First, a word about New Orleans, the first Soul Sister of American music; the living consciousness of American race relations; the frilly, dangerous, seductive, steamy, swampland of food, music and language. America was born, in many ways both comfortable and uncomfortable, on the shores of New Orleans. It is one of our oldest cities, and it is the landing spot of slave ships. It is where African music first sounded in the thick night air, played by slaves who were desperate for something familiar from their home. It is the place where that very sound met and morphed with other sounds, and the soul-screaming pain fused into something unique to the American experience. And over all these many great and horrible years later, we now have a juicy legacy of blues, soul, funk and jazz -- the tastiest treat in the musical menu, as far as I'm concerned. And as we prepare to welcome our first African American president into the White House, it seems just right to celebrate that notion with some New Orleans sounds.

Though it may not be the best marketing move, let me tell you about the band that's playing Armando's the night before my band. It's called the Jolly Gibsons, and oh my goodness, ladies and gentlemen, ya'll must reserve both nights, Jan. 16 and 17, for this special weekend New Orleans fonk festival. You are, by the way, reading the word 'fonk' correctly. It's the sound of New Orleans funk. Say it out loud. Fonk. That's the soul and spirit of this music. Anyway, the Jolly Gibsons are led by Jennifer Jolly, a keyboard player of the New Orleans genre (which is, for my money, the very best kind of keyboards). Most of my life spent right here in the Bay Area, playing music all over the place, and I've never encountered her before. But I'll be right there near the front on Friday, Jan. 16, because her work with this band (hear some at http://www.sonicbids.com/epk/epk.aspx?epk_id=77620) is nothing short of remarkable. Steve Gibson is on guitar, and his work is also stellar. The bass (Mark Fischer) and drums (Dave Bernfield) are held down by excellent players, and en masse these guys just make a joyful noise. It's not often that our own little town gets visited by New Orleans fonk specialists, but Friday, Jan. 16 is just such a night. Write it down, circle it in red, and come out to Armando's for this evening of fun and frolic. 

Oh, but then, rest up Saturday. Because Saturday night, Jan. 17, again from 8 p.m. to 11 p.m., out come, for  the first time in months, The Very Bad Boys. Now, we were the first band to actually play Armando's, back before the club even officially opened. And that gig, by the way, was the first official gig for The Very Bad Boys. Since then, we've added the mighty Bill Horton on drums, and the awe-inspiring Greg Beaudreaux on keyboards. We also play New Orleans Fonk, and we mix it up a little -- some reggae here, some Motown there -- all intended to cause as much aural cacophony as possible without hurting your ears. This night officially launches the Very Bad Boys 2009 Tour, which features five more stops at Armando's and a variety of other venues and exotic locales that have yet to be determined. But this space will keep you appraised of the situation as it unfolds. 

So we'll see you Friday and Saturday, Jan. 16 and 17, where the fonk meets the friends and they all dance together. Bon Temps Roullet, as they say.

Show Coming Up -- Rehearsals and Stress

My band, The Very Bad Boys, haven't done a show since New Year's Eve, but that was a dance, not a concert. We have our first concert since August coming up on the 17th of this month. Frankly, I'm a little concerned about the lack of new material. We have about 12 new songs we want to cover, in addition to four or five originals I've written, but only a couple of weeks to get them learned and under our belts.

In the past, things like this didn't bother me. You take your gear to the gig, you plug in and you play. People like you or they don't. And you go home smiling most nights.

For some reason, I'm worried this time. I don't want to play the same material we know and are comfortable with. I want to throw out new, unheard tunes. I want to explore new territories and scrape against the screen of the unknown. I want to see what we can do when we don't really know what we're doing. 

I've called for two rehearsals before the 17th, a challenge in the best of times. But hopefully we can do both of them, and in the process nail down the songs we've obligated ourselves to learning and playing. This band is not big on doing homework, and not terribly great at focusing during rehearsals. But I'm hoping we can all reach deep and dig out our desires to burn the house down at our next concert. Playing to drunks in bars is easy, and you get spoiled, because even when they're listening, they're drunk. If you throw a drunk a four-four, they'll love it, whether or not you're doing anything musically worthwhile. When you're playing a concert where people are seated, sober, and listening, you have to show up and play. You can't just cruise, and you can't just make funny faces and pretend you're squeezing out your best. You have to give it up. 

What began as a loose configuration of friends is morphing into something a little more serious. As the navigator of this journey, I can only hope that I'm up to the task of making this happen in a way that shows off our skills and instincts in the best possible way. 

I'm not grumpy! Now get off my lawn!

There's a fellow guitarist right here in Martinez who reads this here blog, and I'm nothing if not shamefully influenced by my audience. A couple of weeks ago, he said "I always look to see who you're ranting about this week." He enjoys the ranting, I noted to myself. Must rant more.

So I wrote last week's column about new year predictions and decibel meters. My own band members accused me of trying to get assassinated, or telling people that if they don't like it too loud they can just leave. Which is not, astute readers will already know, at all what I said. My wife accused me of being negative. Try as I might, I cannot get the love 'round here. 

But, I thought, CB will enjoy the rant. He said he loves the rants. So I took no small amount of comfort in that. 

Today, in an early afternoon visit to The Good Stuff Guitar Shop, he was there. Well, I inquired, how did you like the column? 

"You're grumpy," he observed. 

Which just goes to show that you cannot, try as you might, please anyone at all. I mean, one would think that a rant about decibel meters and their abuse by those who would impose their volume ethic on everyone would appeal to a fellow guitar playing band dude. But noooo. Instead, I get accused of grumpyhood. 

In future columns, I shall shower light and flowers all over the place, and ne'er say a discouraging word about anything or anyone. I'm gonna get all Donovan on ya'll (those under 35, don't mind the reference -- it means all hippie and peace-love and flowery). 

And I'm gonna do all that as soon as you all get off of my lawn! 

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

Please subscribe to my blog: http://caroompaspick.blogspot.com. There you can find copies of this column, and other stuff that pops up during the week. I look forward to seeing you there.

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.