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.