The Clingers

I’ve been thinking about “Clingers,” people who cling onto you like black tar on the soles of your feet. I went out last night and I was introduced to a clinger first thing upon walking into my favorite bar. Because I’ve been thinking about it, I didn’t let the clinger get to me. I shook his hand and said hello but quickly moved away. I know a clinger when I see one.

             I think we’ve all been a clinger at one time or another. I found myself acting like a clinger at a party the other night. There’s a man named George who I like to talk to. We’ve talked before. He’s very creative. We've had good times together. We talked about interesting concepts and ideas and made things up on the fly. We'd ask stupid questions about the ordinary. It was a lot of fun.

The other night when I saw George, I thought we could continue with the same funny banter, but no, George was snubbing me. 

There was something about the snub that turned me into a clinger. I wanted it to be the way it was, fun and interesting. I found myself standing near George waiting for a chance to talk to him. The snub had consumed me. I wasn’t thinking straight. I lost myself for a moment. I fought through it and finally came to my senses. You can’t force things. When you're clinging, you ain’t swinging, so stop your clinging and move away.  

               

Busting

I went to Martin’s house yesterday to lay down bass lines for the cover band. We’re making a demo so we can get some paying gigs.

            It’s taking longer than I expected to record the bass parts. I thought I’d go in and play the songs a few times and that would be that. Oh no, not with Martin. He’s a perfectionist. I found myself pushed to the brink. I was playing the same part over and over and making up new parts on the fly. I was working hard. I felt like we were making an album for Capital Records. My resolve was being tested. I started to feel insecure with my playing, as if I wasn’t good enough.

            “You can do it tighter, “ Martin said.

            I wasn’t sure if I could. Martin has a way of pushing me. I went along with the drill sergeant’s request, but deep down inside I wanted to give up. I battled through it. My personality is more about pleasure than pain and to Martin’s credit the music does sound tighter.

            I wrote an email to my band mates. They have to record their parts when I'm finished. I said beware! Martin is busting my balls.  

Hemmingway’s

Last night I went to a place called Hemmingway’s in Hollywood. My friend Lou’s nephew was playing bass in a band called Kiev. I’ve known Derrick the bass playing nephew since he was a kid.

I liked Hemmingway’s. The walls were lined with vintage books and typewriters, there were stacks of papers lining another wall above the bar. I felt at home there. I’ll have to go back sometime. The typewriters were amazing. 

I wrote a book once (currently unpublished) where I used vintage typewriters as an element to the story. I love old typewriters. There was a time in my life when I was considering starting a typewriter museum. People laughed at me when I told them my idea,  but I was serious. Now all I have to do is go to Hemmingway’s to get my feel.

You never know what kids are going to be when they grow up. I have a secret hope that they’ll pursue physics, or computers. Last night as I was watching Derrick play bass, I knew he made the right choice in life. He’s in the right place, with the right people, and as far as I’m concerned, that makes him a huge success. 

Dog Specific

I spent the night at Lon’s house last night. I don’t know Lon. I’ve never met him, but I must say he has a nice house. Lon asked my lady friend to take care of his wiener dogs while he visited his dying father in Seattle. The wiener dogs were lovable but kind of on the spooky side. First of all, they’re pretty small, almost delicate. Their heads are tiny, and they have a hard time backing up.

Part of the deal was that my lady friend had to spend the night with the dogs. She was doing Lon a favor and asked me if I’d come along with her. I didn’t mind but the dogs seemed to be staring at me constantly. It makes me insecure when dogs or cats stare at me. I can’t tell if they’re judging my spirit, as if they have a greater understanding of universal properties, or if they’re just needy. It’s almost too much when they just sit there and stare at you.

We took the dogs for a walk last night. I wasn’t into it all that much. I had fun but there was something about it that made me feel ordinary. I was holding one of those push button leashes that’s designed in an inferior manner. You have to push down and hold the button to lock the dog in. It should be the other way around. You should have to push down on the button to let the dog out.

            I like dogs. I like big dogs with a nice coat. I want a dog I can let run wild, a dog I can use as pillow, a fluffy dog. I guess you might say, I’m dog specific. 

Technology

I went over to Martin’s today to work on Dust Covered Man. We picked through the guitar parts we recorded the other day and laid them into the track. It’s sounds pretty good.

Today’s technology is such that you can monkey with a song at the click of a mouse, which is nice. The art of sound and music is of course old, and antiquated. For the most part you’re using analog recording techniques and applying them to a digital format. There are tricks and secrets for capturing sound. It can be as easy as playing a guitar through an amp, or you can make it more complicated if you want. It depends on what you’re going for, what you want to hear.

           Guitar and voice is about as pure as you can get but it’s more interesting to me to try and come up with other parts to go along with the guitar and voice. Ultimately, I’d like to have two versions of the songs that I write. An acoustic version and a studio version. That way people can pick and choose what they want to hear, more or less, less or more, electric guitar, no electric guitar, drums, no drums. I suppose that’s where we’re heading. You can play a song and create your own mix by clicking a button. You feel like hearing the drums. Click. That bass line is driving me crazy. Click. That singer sucks. Click. Oh, that singer was me. Click.

Lady Killer

            My neighbor hacked down her avocado tree. She ruined a good tree. It made me mad. It made the birds mad. It made everybody mad.

            The tree gave the most unusual avocados. They were long and succulent. They were phallic and sexual looking, simply delicious. She doesn’t like avocados. That’s fine, but why kill the tree?

She said she had rats in the garage and the rats were destroying her material possessions. She paid four hundred dollars to have the rats exterminated. That didn’t work. She paid another two hundred and fifty to hack down the tree, six hundred and fifty dollars to kill rats and a tree. She didn’t have to kill the tree. She could have trimmed it back. She mutilated it. She’s a tree killer. That tree didn’t do anything to her. It just lovingly gave fruit.

            I know she’s going to act real nice and make apologies the next time she see’s me. I told her how much I loved those avocados. It’s just cruel. I’m still mad about it. She ruined a good tree. 

The Cover Band

I was in the studio yesterday with the cover band. We’re putting a demo together. The process has had a tremendous effect on the band. My band mates started to talk music for the first time in weeks. They became very interested in music with their reputations on the line. It was kind of funny. Uncharacteristic. The guitar player emailed me and suggested we extend an eight bar solo to a twelve bar solo. I’d been trying to get him to do that for months.

            The difference between a serious musician and a dilettante is time and energy. I enjoy dissecting songs. I like to learn them as close as possible to the original. It’s fun. With the recording looming my band mates actually took the time to practice. There’s something about the ego. The ego makes things happen.

            The session was kind of long and it brought out the warts in everybody’s playing. I hadn’t eaten. I was growing weak with time. At one point there was a lot of talking in circles and I was just about ready to lose my mind. We got through it and I think it’s going to sound pretty good. We’ll be playing in whiskey bar near you real soon.