Holiday Highlights
Merry Christmas, everyone and a Happy New Year!
Right now I am sitting in an apartment in downtown Brooklyn and to be honest it is hard to think of anything besides New Year's in New York-TONIGHT! But I also understand that it might be a little bit strange to blog about New Year's in New York when I haven't even talked about Christmas. So I've decided I will try to quickly address a couple of my Christmas highlights so in the next couple days I can talk about my New Year celebration IN NEW YORK CITY(!) without feeling bad about myself. Which is not how you want to start out a new year.
Christmas is a time of giving. It's a time to put differences behind you, make some sacrifices and sit down round the yule log with a tall drink of nog and the ones you love. Well as you all know this was a special year for me, and it was important that Christmas be a special one. It was just that. Not only because I got to spend it with my family in Oregon which I love, but I can safely say that this year included two different Christmas "bests": 1. The best gift I have ever given. And 2. The best Christmas Dream.
Christmas GiftYou should always give of yourself, but this year I wanted to take it one step further and actually give myself.
The idea started months ago. The work began a week before Thanksgiving. Then after 2-3 weeks of blood, sweat, and coffee (to assist with the 4am mornings) we held the greatest gift ever. At least to us. It was "Christmas on Columbus", a Christmas album from the 116 Boyz including Jay, Ben, Corn, and myself. Mix 4 guys with an ear for music and a heart for mankind, and in the end you get about 8 tracks of Christmas Gold... and a little bit of wierdness. The album was entirely original with the exception of one angelic rendition of Drummer Boy, which was recorded before we decided to go entirely original and the strangest version of Ave Maria-ever. The tracks were as follows:
1. Christmas Intro.
2. Waiting- A back-home blue grass classic about the roomies waiting to see if Jason will make it home for Christmas this year.
3. Drummer Boy- The traditional song sung beautifully by a young angelic stud.
4. Christmas Interlude- That strange mid-album talk track about mistle toe and extended awkward laugh.
5. We Still Believe- A dark Burton-esque song of a group of children holding to their belief of Santa.
6. Got Soul- With sounds from the 50's, this classic has verses from each of the roommates and one neighbor, including the infamous "freak-out" by J-Holla.
7. Ave Maria- Featuring Dustin Evans (or is it?), this rendition of Ave Maria is both reflective and creepy.
8. Chipmunks on Columbus- What's a Christmas with out the Chipmunks? That's what we thought so this is our original Chipmunk gem.
I wanted to post the songs for everyone, but I haven't figured out to do that yet on Blogger. I will let you know if I can figure it out...even though it might be a little bit late this year.
Christmas DreamDreams... From the beginning of time, dreams have driven, inspired, and moved mankind. To some dreams are simply a chemical movement during while in a nocturnal state. To others dreams are windows to the soul, revealing each persons deepest and sometimes darkest fears and intentions. Still to others, they are in fact prophetic. Whatever your belief I had a doozy of a dream on Christmas night. In fact, I might even go so far as to say it was the best dream I have ever, ever. Which in my book (or blog) automatically makes it worth a mention.
Often times I will forget the dreams I have or if I remember it will only be parts. But this time when I woke up in a slumberry bliss I was determined not to forget. So I stumbled to the dresser found the closest pen and paper and jotted down as much as I felt necessary to remember. Here's what I wrote (bear in mind I was asleep when I wrote it):
"Got to play with Suns in a game. Used small foamy ball. 1st rest-start of 4th quarter. Sat with Nash on the bench. Got paid for every stat (points, reb, etc.)."
Since I know we have some international readers I should maybe explain. The Suns are a professional basketball team in the United States. They have always been my favorite team, however recently they almost revolutionized basketball with a new fast paced style of play. Nash, is their leader. If you've ever watched basketball, it game of physical giants. Large, predominately black men who can jump higher than most can dream. Nash is the league's running 2-time, MVP(Most Valuable Player), but logic tells us he shouldn't be. He is a skinny, 6'3" white guy from Canada. He's a guy that someone like me would challenge to a game of b-ball on the streets, thinking I would really tear him up. But Nash is freak. And I am a huge Nash and Suns fan...almost to an unhealthy level. (Where for example when you are watching the last 4 minutes of a Suns-Mavs game in the airport and hear someone behind you cheer for the Mavs, you are filled with equal parts astonishment and hatred...)
In the dream, I was chosen to play with the Suns, but it was a real game. I don't remember who we were playing and I don't suppose it really matters. What does matter is that I played really good. For some reason, in the dream it was really impressive that I played (as did Nash) through three quarters before even getting a rest. Also worth mentioning was the fact that after every quarter the assistant coaches handed me a small piece of paper noting all of my stats and how much I was getting paid. I do remember at the end of the game and scoring 30 some odd points, I was going to get paid about $68,000. Not bad for a dream, eh?
I imagine "best" dreams often consist of super powers like flying or breathing under water, maybe of power like being a king, maybe of dating a supermodel, but not me. No, while you and other kids were dreaming of sugarplums on Christmas night, I was playing ball with the Suns, hangin with my boy Nash, and getting paid +$60,000. Merry Christmas to me.
And now my friends, it is 4:30 pm, and I have to get to Ritz Plaza where we are getting some passes to a "friends" apartment on the 36th (or thereabouts) floor, a block away from Times Square. Yeah, so um... Gotta run!
Happy New Year, everyone!
Born to Rock
Life is about two things: opportunities and taking advantage of opportunities. So when your friend who is in a popular band asks if you would like to play a show with them there are two very clear options: Be a rock star OR Be a pansie. By now I hope that I have proven that I am no pansie, so I took the rock star option.
Now I should probably explain something. This is not the first band I have been in. No, in my college years my friends and I formed a band we called Guatemallan Rubbish. Guatemallan Rubbish was formed specifically for our university's Harvest Festival and talent show and to answer the question you are all asking: no. We didn't win the talent show. Nor did we place second or third. But to be honest, and forgive me if I still sound a little sensitive, I truly beleive the judges were absolutely nuts. I say that only because I still believe in the good of mankind, and if they weren't nuts then they were undoubtably paid off or even worse, had no taste at all. I think they were just crazy.
It might be argued that people think they sound better than they actually do. That may be true. It may have even been true on that particular night, however, if you are arguing that Guatemallan Rubbish did not deserve to win. I would argue that our following success would indicate otherwise. You see in the coming months, Guatemallan Rubbish was not only asked to open for one the hottest bands at the University, we were also invited (and accepted) to play for a live radio show one Friday evening for a Phoenix radio station.
Oh, yes, I forgot to mention one important fact concerning our band. When Guatemallan Rubbish was formed it was formed under one important pretense, that none of the members could play an instrument they knew how to play. This worked well for me at the time, because I don't know how to play a single instrument, which in turn meant I could play
any instrument. And I did. Most often holding lead vocals, I also played trumpet, percussion, keyboard, the magical music machine, and many other insturments. A novel idea for Guatemallan Rubbish, but not for most bands.
Which brings me back to the recent proposition to play with my friends band, M77 (www.myspace.com/m77). In case you are wondering I haven't since the G.R. days picked up any instruments, not even keys the instrument I agreed to play for M77. The upshot is this, I would only be playing in one song (The Distance-Cake cover) and had a couple weeks to learn how to play. Let's go ahead and skip the practice stories, and my colored key method of playing and jump right to the night of the show.
Friday night. December 8. Boardwalk-Flagstaff, AZ. It was a cold night and the spitit of rock filled the crisp air. Even my breath seemed to come thundering out of my soul, rocking it's way visibly through the frozen atmosphere. Being a rock star generally takes years of hard work and heart break, but tonight was different. There was something in the air that insinuated greatness. Something was happening.
Like every great rock star, my night began in the wardrobe. The key to being is seeing and if the audience doesn't see a rock star, then you will never be one. (I learned that lesson in my last band.) Fortunately I had some international options from my recent travels. Pants: Blue jeans from London. Shirt: Mustard tee-shirt from Thailand; slightly small with the silouhette of a man with an afro. Coat: Brown suede-like sport coat from Rome. Capped with a hat Castro might have worn if he were a skater. And finally a pair of signature nerdy plastic lensed glasses.
I arrived fashionably late, missing a good part of the opening bands but early enough to ensure my ivory was still colored properly. It was. "The Distance" was the seventh song in the set. So I rested in the shadows at the back of the crowd as M77 progressively rocked the crowd one song at a time. Note by note my song approached. If any rock star, tells you they don't get nervous, they are lying, which to their credit may at times be to necessary uphold their desireable "don't care" attitude. Song six. I crawl out of the shaddows and meander my way to the side of the stage. Song six ends. The crowd's is screaming. The band is sweating. Then...
"Ladies and Gentlemen, have any of you ever heard of the band Cake?!" The crowd thunders back. "Well tonight, we have a special treat. One of the band members from Cake agreed to play a song with us..." As the crowd rumbles in anticipation, I take the stage, swaggering casually as if there was no audience at all to my keyboard. I remove my black gloves, pick up the keyboard the size of my arm and walk to the front of the stage staring through every eye in the audience. Holding my instument above my head, like Braveheart would his sword before entering into battle. And with that the music errupted.
The music starts pumping. I start jumping. The crowd follows suit. Up and down. Up and down. The floor bends slightly with every bounce. Then pulling my weapon down from the air, I drag it accross my body with the beat, as my part approached. The chorus hits and I look down at the keys to fulfill my duty...except they're not there. Well at least not some of them. Appearently in my freak out, as I drug the keys accross my midsection a number of them got caught on my pockets. I staired at the dismembered piece in disbelief. The music stopped. The lead singer came over, looked at the keyboard and it's owner trying to salvage the remaining twisted keys.
Corn (the lead) returns to his mic are screams, "SECOND VERSE!". The audience explodes and I return to my freak out. Only this time when the second chorus came I was ready. I passionately plinked my part. Screaming out the backup vocals to my Army of Rock! Eventually, to everyones disappointment the song ended. I tossed my keyboard on top of the bass player's amp and walked elusively off stage.
My part was done. Blood. Sweat. Keys. I left it all out there on the stage. When the set was done, I walked outside, oblivious to those around. Outside, one guy smoking with his friends notices me, "Great f*n show, man!" "Thanks, man." I say and pull him in for a distant hug. His girl responds, "Hey what about me?" "Alright, Alright." I respond and give here a hug too. Pause. I look at the other guy standing in the group, and give him a hug so he wouldn't have to ask. Turn and walk away.
"Hey Wait! Wait up!" I hear from behind. I turn to see the last guy running to catch up with me. "Hey man, I just found out you play for Cake!" "Yeah..." I respond. "Oh f* man, I love your music! You guys are awesome! F*! I wish I had a pen right now!" "Thanks, man. Hey, just keep buying cd's, ok?" I say. "Definitely..."he slurs. I turn and walk away.
Christmas Gift
Since I know we have some international readers I should maybe explain. The Suns are a professional basketball team in the United States. They have always been my favorite team, however recently they almost revolutionized basketball with a new fast paced style of play. Nash, is their leader. If you've ever watched basketball, it game of physical giants. Large, predominately black men who can jump higher than most can dream. Nash is the league's running 2-time, MVP(Most Valuable Player), but logic tells us he shouldn't be. He is a skinny, 6'3" white guy from Canada. He's a guy that someone like me would challenge to a game of b-ball on the streets, thinking I would really tear him up. But Nash is freak. And I am a huge Nash and Suns fan...almost to an unhealthy level. (Where for example when you are watching the last 4 minutes of a Suns-Mavs game in the airport and hear someone behind you cheer for the Mavs, you are filled with equal parts astonishment and hatred...)
