Sunday, September 25, 2005
You never know...
Here's a kind of Gig Journal entry, recalling a date long past...
Just more than two years ago now, the band played an up-scale art gallery in a particularly homogenous town. For homogenous, read white. This place shall remain unnamed, because I'm sure what transpired could happen anywhere. Honestly, I'm a bit surprised it hadn't happened before, and hasn't happened again since. As we were packing up after the gig, various audience members came up to chat and inquire, as they do. An older couple approached me and engaged in small talk. Then, the old man said, indicating my conga,
"You play those things pretty good, and you're not even black."
In the first second after his remark, my mind went into full anthropologist mode, preparing the data on the fossil record and genetic markers that clearly show our kind, H. sapiens sapiens, comes out of Africa, that we are all Africans by birth as it were, that there is no such biological entity as "race," that a propensity to rhythm has absolutely no correlation whatsoever with the amount of melanin in the skin...
But in the second second after his remark, as I filled up with air to transmit all that data, I saw in his watery old eyes and leering grin that any anthropological insight would be for naught. Bones, genes, biological truisms and cultural constructs would have meant nothing to him. This old man wanted to be reassured that all was right with the world as he saw it, that black was black and white was white and never did the two meet.
So, in the third second after his remark, I gave him what my students call "that look," and in reply to "You play those things pretty good, and you're not even black," said
"You never know..."
I turned my full attention to securing my gear, and he and the missus walked off. We haven't yet been asked back.
Just more than two years ago now, the band played an up-scale art gallery in a particularly homogenous town. For homogenous, read white. This place shall remain unnamed, because I'm sure what transpired could happen anywhere. Honestly, I'm a bit surprised it hadn't happened before, and hasn't happened again since. As we were packing up after the gig, various audience members came up to chat and inquire, as they do. An older couple approached me and engaged in small talk. Then, the old man said, indicating my conga,
"You play those things pretty good, and you're not even black."
In the first second after his remark, my mind went into full anthropologist mode, preparing the data on the fossil record and genetic markers that clearly show our kind, H. sapiens sapiens, comes out of Africa, that we are all Africans by birth as it were, that there is no such biological entity as "race," that a propensity to rhythm has absolutely no correlation whatsoever with the amount of melanin in the skin...
But in the second second after his remark, as I filled up with air to transmit all that data, I saw in his watery old eyes and leering grin that any anthropological insight would be for naught. Bones, genes, biological truisms and cultural constructs would have meant nothing to him. This old man wanted to be reassured that all was right with the world as he saw it, that black was black and white was white and never did the two meet.
So, in the third second after his remark, I gave him what my students call "that look," and in reply to "You play those things pretty good, and you're not even black," said
"You never know..."
I turned my full attention to securing my gear, and he and the missus walked off. We haven't yet been asked back.
Gig Journal
On Saturday 24 September,we played at what is perhaps our favorite of favorite places, the Metropolitan in Hutchinson, Kansas. Not to take away anything from the many great venues and people who open their doors and ears to us, but at the Metro there is a something. We began playing there about the time lovely Gretchen opened to the public, and both followings have grown together. The band is always very well recieved there, especially by a cadre of loyal fans, who are also good friends. As a measure of their appreciation and friendship, some of the Hutch people followed us to Colorado this summer, in addition to other gigs closer to home. That's something.
There were many new faces there as well, including a large contingent of first-year college students. Again, not to take anything away from our more mature fans and friends, but I think that any musical legitimacy we have comes from the younger generation. They are, of course, the final arbiters of cool. Among the youth was a drummer from the college, who introduced himself as I finished my set up. He took off before we finished the night, so I didn't get his ruling.
Without question, the Most Devoted Audience Member of the Night Award goes to the beautiful and exceedingly pregnant Angie (she's of that cadre, whom we call Number One Fans). Despite being under doctor's orders for bed rest, she was there for the whole gig. It really is gratifying and even touching that someone would be so dedicated to our little cause, but this was a bit above and beyond. In any case, we reserved a large couch for her, upon which she reclined in a most languid fashion. Much is made of the Mozart effect; could there be a 5 Man Trio effect? And if so, is it treatable?
Afterwards, Gary said it was perhaps our best performance at the Metro, and Dave commented to me that he felt particularly in the groove these last two gigs. More thoughts on "the flow:" While I did not have the altered state experience, I was certainly very limber and relaxed, and took some big rhythmic chances that really paid off. What external factors play into "the groove?" It is the relaxed, "home" feeling of the place? During load-in and set up, we were joking and conversing with familiar friends and new audience members. They were certainly convivial and expectant, and that must surely influence us. As I've said before, if the audience is into the experience, that elevates my playing all the more. The Metro audience is definitly into us (see above). Don't know...perhaps this is too ephemeral a thing to quantify or qualify. Or perhaps there is a book in it!
Conversely, but not in contradiction, I blew the form twice that night, each time in a big way. And on one occasion, I felt it more natural to reverse my usual "handing" (like sticking, but referring to the use of hand-held perc), for no reason clear at the time, or now as I write about it. I say conversely, in that you would think such major mistakes would undo a good performance. I say not in contradition, because it just isn't the case. Indeed, the contradiction is that often the "mistakes" are the most genuine, or most inspired, certainly most musical moments in performance. Certainly I am not the first to comment on this, but it seems clear to me that too often those who seek a rigid "note-perfect" performance, and use rigid methods to obtain such a thing, do nothing that can be remotely called musical.
Years ago, in my very first "real" band, playing my very first "real" gigs, the leader of that group told me something that has guided me since. Holding up a page of manuscript, he said "This (meaning notes on paper) is not music." It was a profound revelation: the lines and dots and Italian adjectives are merely a device to transmit the intention from one musican to another. The performance is when the musician communicates that intent to the audience, and shares the experience with them. At the Metro, that shared communicative experience is always a good one. It is something.
Saturday, September 24, 2005
Gig Jounral
Last night the band returned to Little Pleasures, a coffee shop in Hillsboro, Kansas. It is Marisa's place, an oasis in an otherwise sleepy little rural town. She came from Hawaii to Kansas, and the coffee shop is the result. It's very upscale for the locale; it would easily fit perfectly into the landscape of a city many times Hillsboro's size. And it is a bright, airy kind of place, with cool concrete floors, gleaming tile and metal appointments; in the very back, beyond the café seating, there are some book shelves, games and a big sofa. Marisa has a wide range of hot and cold drinks, most with a Hawaiian origin or reference. The baked goods are superb, and she makes a white chilli that is most suitable for the post-gig repast.
It was Big Game night in town, meaning everybody was at the high school for the football game, meaning nobody was at the coffee shop when we started. Marisa and her staff were there of course, and she bought some t-shirts to dress 'em all up properly. There was a single, lone official fan, also in uniform, who hung in there from beginning to end, with only a single pause to get her brother. Oddly, Little Pleasures shares the main entry with the adjacent Christian booksellers, and there must have been some sort of ladies' evening there. We drew in a few of the shoppers, most notably two older women (mother & daughter) who were way into us. I was even able to brush off the sideways insult the daughter dealt me, the vibe was so friendly.
In time, more and more arrived, including familiar faces and a big segment of the high school crowd after the game. There was also a group of students from Tabor, the private college in town. It is a Christian school. See the trend? It's a very conservative little Mennonite town in central Kansas, which makes the coffee shop, and their reception of us, all the more remarkable and unspeakably cool. On the downside, it confrims my horrified suspicion the 5 Man Trio is mostly harmless, but on the upside it confirms that we can appeal to anybody.
I did miss the traveling group of Swedes who were up and down the main street as we were loading in. They seemed interested in coming in, but Marisa wasn't open yet, and then they never returned. Hope we didn't miss our crack at a coffee shop gig in Stockholm!
Many first-timers for us at Little Pleasures; you can tell them by the unbelieving stare. It always takes people a few tunes to figure out where all the sound is coming from. There were a lot of young lads in the crowd who must have been drummers in the middle school and high school bands. They studied my rig intently, and watched my every move, and a few played along. This is of course very gratifying in the egotistical sense, but it also brings a deeper dimension to any performnance. I like the fact that I get to teach a bit, while I entertain.
The sound is always good in Little Pleasures, very full and bright. The concrete floor and high ceiling make me sound good, even when I don't play well. Last night, I approached 'flow,' that state of seemless, beyond-the-self performance (I believe psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi first used the word to describe this state). It is something that I have experienced numerous time, a transcendental experience of playing beyond the limits of my body and talent. Of course, whenever I try to make this happen, my playing suffers and the groove dies. It is hard to define the circumstances that make flow possible for me, but I am sure that setting and audience are two significant factors. Interaction with band mates is critical, natrually. Last night we played some things that we had not playing in a long while, and took some chances with new material. I wonder if these musical acts contribute to that state of flow? I'm not as well read on Shopenhauer as I should be, but it is my understanding that he speaks to the ecstacy of music, and I would equate that with the experience that I'm trying to describe. Perhaps just like the attaining of this state, a conscious effort to describe it defeats it.
It was Big Game night in town, meaning everybody was at the high school for the football game, meaning nobody was at the coffee shop when we started. Marisa and her staff were there of course, and she bought some t-shirts to dress 'em all up properly. There was a single, lone official fan, also in uniform, who hung in there from beginning to end, with only a single pause to get her brother. Oddly, Little Pleasures shares the main entry with the adjacent Christian booksellers, and there must have been some sort of ladies' evening there. We drew in a few of the shoppers, most notably two older women (mother & daughter) who were way into us. I was even able to brush off the sideways insult the daughter dealt me, the vibe was so friendly.In time, more and more arrived, including familiar faces and a big segment of the high school crowd after the game. There was also a group of students from Tabor, the private college in town. It is a Christian school. See the trend? It's a very conservative little Mennonite town in central Kansas, which makes the coffee shop, and their reception of us, all the more remarkable and unspeakably cool. On the downside, it confrims my horrified suspicion the 5 Man Trio is mostly harmless, but on the upside it confirms that we can appeal to anybody.
I did miss the traveling group of Swedes who were up and down the main street as we were loading in. They seemed interested in coming in, but Marisa wasn't open yet, and then they never returned. Hope we didn't miss our crack at a coffee shop gig in Stockholm!
Many first-timers for us at Little Pleasures; you can tell them by the unbelieving stare. It always takes people a few tunes to figure out where all the sound is coming from. There were a lot of young lads in the crowd who must have been drummers in the middle school and high school bands. They studied my rig intently, and watched my every move, and a few played along. This is of course very gratifying in the egotistical sense, but it also brings a deeper dimension to any performnance. I like the fact that I get to teach a bit, while I entertain.
The sound is always good in Little Pleasures, very full and bright. The concrete floor and high ceiling make me sound good, even when I don't play well. Last night, I approached 'flow,' that state of seemless, beyond-the-self performance (I believe psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi first used the word to describe this state). It is something that I have experienced numerous time, a transcendental experience of playing beyond the limits of my body and talent. Of course, whenever I try to make this happen, my playing suffers and the groove dies. It is hard to define the circumstances that make flow possible for me, but I am sure that setting and audience are two significant factors. Interaction with band mates is critical, natrually. Last night we played some things that we had not playing in a long while, and took some chances with new material. I wonder if these musical acts contribute to that state of flow? I'm not as well read on Shopenhauer as I should be, but it is my understanding that he speaks to the ecstacy of music, and I would equate that with the experience that I'm trying to describe. Perhaps just like the attaining of this state, a conscious effort to describe it defeats it.
Friday, September 23, 2005
Feast of the Saint
Today is the celebration of the birth of St. John Coltrane the Divine. Let the faithful dig.
Monday, September 19, 2005
Gig journal
Yesterday 5 Man Trio played the Kansas State Fair, which is not nearly as lame a gig as it sounds. Despite oppressive heat & humidity, and a bit of scheduling confusion, it turned out to be a good time. In the past, we've played as many as five or six days at the Fair, with multiple sets per day, but this year it was two sets on one day, the last of the fair as it happened.
The first set was at noon on the Alltel Gazebo, just inside the main-gate enterance. Didn't know what to expect in terms of a crowd on the last day of the "party on the plains," but we had a good deal of foot traffic and a few friends who hung out in what shade was available. I like playing on that stage, because the acoustics are so good. It a high wooden dome-ish roof over a concrete stage--perfect for acoustic drum sounds. I get a great big sound and lots of projection with a minimal effort. Would have been nice for more to have heard us, but truth is the near-by "Tigers of India" were the big draw. What does it mean when the white tiger is the one that most responds to your sound?
The 4 PM set was in the Farm Bureau Arena, between the Colgate Country Showdown and a popular hypnotist. Now, there was a time I wouldn't have been caught dead in any venue that had the word "farm" in it, but then again there was a time I would have gladly suffered disfiguring injuries rather than go to a state fair. In all truth, it was a good gig: the bleachers were full, and according to the Chamber of Commerce that means 1800 people were listening to us. And for a Kansas crowd they were enthusiastic. Kansas crowds are very reserved; you'll get some smiles, some head-nodding, laughter in the right places and enthusiastic applause, but very little leaping about, full-frontal nudity or acts of physical congress stage-side. This rule applies doubly so at "family" events (such as the fair), and when the audience reaches a certain median age. 5 Man Trio fans are so damn well behaved! There were a number of friends and fans in the audience, and that's always good to see, and in their fashion the general public dug it. Mission accomplished, but I could really go for some full-frontal leaping about every once in a while.
It occurs to me that if I'm keeping an online gig journal, I should take some "drummner's eye view" pics at the gigs, to more fully eludicate the experience for you, O Gentle Reader. Watch for them in future entires.
Only a couple of blights on an otherwise enjoyable gig. The scheduling problems turned out to be no big deal--we did our 50 minutes and so did everyone else. And I should mention that the sound crew did a great job for us, the soundman's nightmare of a band. But in the midst of the Farm Bureau crowd there was a lone heckler, far stage right and up front. I'm not sure, but I think it was the wanker who ambushed Dave just as we started, asking Dave to announce another act I believe. We made no adverts, so he is my leading suspect. Now, I do not mind a heckler qua heckler. See above: a well-behaved audience is not by definition the best in my mind, and I much rather an honest response than a polite one. Nothing worse than "That was interesting," when what was meant was "You suck." What I do hate, vigorously, is cowardice. If you're going to heckel, heckel and be known. Don't be an anonymous voice in the crowd. Stand up and express yourself, and be ready for a beating. It may not come to that, but have the sphericals to take it or shut the hell up.
And speaking of assholes: You will learn much about a man's character by giving him a token ammount of authority. Give a guy a name badge and put him on a gate, and he will rather be revealed as among the righteous, or his inner Nazi will come to the fore. The righteous will know intuitively that I can't carry a carload of percussion a mile through milling conrdogged crowds in 90+ heat and humidity with only 30 minutes to go before the set. The small, petty and useless man can't wait to exercise his empty power upon you, whom he sees as being in his control. Guess which species I encountered at Gate 2 on the last day of the Kansas State Fair? But as Marcus Aurelius noted in his Meditations, "If I say I have not been harmed, no harm has been done." No harm done, and I lived to play another day.
The first set was at noon on the Alltel Gazebo, just inside the main-gate enterance. Didn't know what to expect in terms of a crowd on the last day of the "party on the plains," but we had a good deal of foot traffic and a few friends who hung out in what shade was available. I like playing on that stage, because the acoustics are so good. It a high wooden dome-ish roof over a concrete stage--perfect for acoustic drum sounds. I get a great big sound and lots of projection with a minimal effort. Would have been nice for more to have heard us, but truth is the near-by "Tigers of India" were the big draw. What does it mean when the white tiger is the one that most responds to your sound?
The 4 PM set was in the Farm Bureau Arena, between the Colgate Country Showdown and a popular hypnotist. Now, there was a time I wouldn't have been caught dead in any venue that had the word "farm" in it, but then again there was a time I would have gladly suffered disfiguring injuries rather than go to a state fair. In all truth, it was a good gig: the bleachers were full, and according to the Chamber of Commerce that means 1800 people were listening to us. And for a Kansas crowd they were enthusiastic. Kansas crowds are very reserved; you'll get some smiles, some head-nodding, laughter in the right places and enthusiastic applause, but very little leaping about, full-frontal nudity or acts of physical congress stage-side. This rule applies doubly so at "family" events (such as the fair), and when the audience reaches a certain median age. 5 Man Trio fans are so damn well behaved! There were a number of friends and fans in the audience, and that's always good to see, and in their fashion the general public dug it. Mission accomplished, but I could really go for some full-frontal leaping about every once in a while.
It occurs to me that if I'm keeping an online gig journal, I should take some "drummner's eye view" pics at the gigs, to more fully eludicate the experience for you, O Gentle Reader. Watch for them in future entires.
Only a couple of blights on an otherwise enjoyable gig. The scheduling problems turned out to be no big deal--we did our 50 minutes and so did everyone else. And I should mention that the sound crew did a great job for us, the soundman's nightmare of a band. But in the midst of the Farm Bureau crowd there was a lone heckler, far stage right and up front. I'm not sure, but I think it was the wanker who ambushed Dave just as we started, asking Dave to announce another act I believe. We made no adverts, so he is my leading suspect. Now, I do not mind a heckler qua heckler. See above: a well-behaved audience is not by definition the best in my mind, and I much rather an honest response than a polite one. Nothing worse than "That was interesting," when what was meant was "You suck." What I do hate, vigorously, is cowardice. If you're going to heckel, heckel and be known. Don't be an anonymous voice in the crowd. Stand up and express yourself, and be ready for a beating. It may not come to that, but have the sphericals to take it or shut the hell up.
And speaking of assholes: You will learn much about a man's character by giving him a token ammount of authority. Give a guy a name badge and put him on a gate, and he will rather be revealed as among the righteous, or his inner Nazi will come to the fore. The righteous will know intuitively that I can't carry a carload of percussion a mile through milling conrdogged crowds in 90+ heat and humidity with only 30 minutes to go before the set. The small, petty and useless man can't wait to exercise his empty power upon you, whom he sees as being in his control. Guess which species I encountered at Gate 2 on the last day of the Kansas State Fair? But as Marcus Aurelius noted in his Meditations, "If I say I have not been harmed, no harm has been done." No harm done, and I lived to play another day.
Friday, September 16, 2005
First ravings...
- It is a sad day when the only ones who are brave enough to uphold true freedom of expression are Kanye West, and the anonymous New Orleanian who invited the Vice President to perform an unnatural act upon himself.
- Everyone associated with Rock Star: INXS should be ashamed of themselves. Regardless of the talent of the contestants and remaining members, it seems a sad last gasp for a once great band. It is demeaning to the memory of Michael Hutchence.
- No one in Hollywood gets to complain about a lackluster return at the box office this summer. Just because something worked in a 30-minute sitcom format twenty to forty years ago doesn't mean it makes for a good movie in 2005, even those "classics" elevated to pop icon status. And the producers of the "Dukes of Hazzard" movie should be prohibited from reproduction, by force if necessary.
- Here's some words that many have seemingly forgotten: satire, polemic, parody
- How many Picassos and Einsteins are we medicating out of existence in public schools today?
Well, there's a start...
From time to time, I'll do this sort of random raving, if just to get it out of my head. You don't get to comment on these, Dear Reader. Save your slings and arrows for the more substanstive postings.
