Blast From The Past?

Joy and I just got a phone call the other day from Calvin (my old bandleader in Powerlight), letting us know that they were going to be in town this weekend. That, and that he needed Joy's help again in doing his back taxes. They haven't played a meaningful gig since they got 86'd from the Atlantis nearly six months ago, and are only coming to Reno to play for Renown Medical Center's holiday party. Driving over fourteen hundred miles round-trip for one gig, one night only, what does that tell you?

But it stirs up some interesting emotions. I quit Powerlight to save them from getting fired because of Cockbreath McPothead's jealousy, only for them to get fired the very next gig. Meanwhile, I'm working pretty steadily and trying to get our lives in order for our next step, likely a move back to Washington State and probably back to Port Angeles, where Joy could live more comfortably (not to mention closer to our families). I never stopped being friends with Calvin, but dealing with Jackie could be difficult. Y'see, after I left Powerlight, a mutual friend who works at the Atlantis told me that Jackie had blamed me for all the band's ills over the years, never mind that I'd pretty much carried the band for all that time. Now, they're in more dire straits than they've probably ever been due to Jackie's (alleged) outburst, and they're in need of our help, even if only for Joy's bookkeeping skills.

Fortunately, I won't have to deal with them for all that long, as their gig is on Friday the 13th, which is the same night as the Divine Heresy show at the New Oasis. Three of the four opening bands on the bill, I Dekay, Pain Clinic and Blasphemous Creation are friends of ours, and our favorite tattoo artist, Ali Deceunynck from No Boys Allowed will be coming along for the show as well. Her ticket was the tip we gave her for Joy's latest tattoo. And Ali will pop my cherry next month, when I get my first tattoo. I'll only have to deal with Powerlight in passing on Saturday, when Calvin will unload a few hundred pounds of paperwork on us......

Oh, joy.

In The Crowd, Rather Than Onstage, Part 2

Who doesn't enjoy a good concert, after all? And even if it may or may not cause future financial distress, there are certain bands that we just won't miss for anything. Ozomatli is one of those bands. This seven-piece combo is the living embodiment of all things LA short of getting a bacon-wrapped hot dog from a taco truck on the corner. Sunday's show was our third straight year seeing them up at the Crystal Bay Club, and we were dead-set on getting good spots up front.

I swear to god that we shouldn't be in such a rush. Security opened up the Crown Room at 8pm, and even though we went through the line about five minutes after eight, well..... there was no real line to speak of. Let's just say that Tahoe crowds like to develop slowly. The few that were there to greet opener Lateef the Truthspeaker enjoyed his set, but they were just biding their time, waiting for the headliners to come out.

Ozomatli hit the stage a little after ten, and delivered another killer set of their unique blend of Latin, hip-hop, soul and rock with the usual crazy energy that we've come to expect from them. The crowd is almost immediately in a frenzy....... and that's not really a good thing. Two years ago, a guy came rushing up to what he thought was an empty spot up front, and put a knee into Joy's back as she sat in her wheelchair. Her scream of pain brought the show to a standstill then. Sunday, some blonde woman tried to jump on to my back, as if to get a piggy-back ride. Well, all I knew about was feeling small hands on my neck, and what I'd presume was legs trying to lock around my waist, then suddenly dropping away. Followed by Joy shouting in pain. I looked behind me to find the blonde flat on her back, then turned to see Joy clutching her left arm. The blonde had kicked Joy in that arm when she tried to mount me. Inadvertently, to be fair, but she kicked Joy. I wasn't paying attention to the stage, but I wouldn't at all be surprised if the whole band saw it happen. I tried to explain to the blonde what she'd done, even guided her over to Joy to apologize, but I don't think she ever really caught on to what had happened.

I'm pretty sure the band knew what was going on. I was confirmed in that when Ozomatli ended their show with their traditional march through the crowd, where the entire band (save Asdru and Ulises, their horn players) grab drums or percussion and boldly climb down from the stage to play in and amongst the crowd in a conga line. Well, the line snaked around the crowd before coming right up to us, with bassist Wil-dog Abers leading the entourage, and every single band member came up to Joy and passed by, touched her in almost a kind of reassuring way, as if they all wanted to know that she was okay.

And after the show, we got to talk with Wil-dog for a few minutes. He was glad that we'd come, and noted that it was our third year in a row for their show in Crystal Bay. We were pretty impressed with him remembering us like that. After all, these guys play hundreds of shows a year, all around the world. I'm sure Joy isn't the only woman in a wheelchair that these guys see. But I'm also pretty sure that she isn't that hard to forget after what happened two years ago.

We left Crystal Bay with a set list, a warning sign with the band's pic on it, a CD, a pass to download the show to our computer as an mp3, and a broken string from Wil-dog's bass. And the special kind of buzz that you can only get from being at a really good show. A show from a band that we can count as friends instead of just a band. That's what makes being in the crowd so special to us.

In The Crowd, Rather Than Onstage, Part 1

Sorry that I haven't posted in a while. It's just been kinda hectic recently. Not my work life, my personal life. With Joy's suite of illnesses, things are never calm for long, as one or another bobs to the surface and she's in pain-and-suffering mode, and I'm duty-bound to care for her. Not that I have any problem with that. All part and parcel of the whole husband gig, I always say.

But today I write about other things than sarcoidosis, costochondritis, or multiple sclerosis. Instead, I write about the simple joys of being in the crowd for a show, rather than being the one onstage delivering said show. I'm writing this from the cozy confines of our hotel room at the Carson Station on the day after Halloween, getting ready to head up to Tahoe to see an absolutely killer show tonight when Ozomatli take the stage at the Crystal Bay Club. It's our third straight year seeing them play there, and we have no intention of missing this show.

It's kinda funny. We used to live an hour away from Seattle, which is always on the tour itinerary of most bands, yet we never went to any shows there. Now we live in Reno, which most tours avoid altogether, and we manage to hit several shows a year. Not quite three weeks ago we went to see 90's alt-metal legends Prong at the New Oasis in Sparks. And in a little less than two weeks from now we'll be catching shred-metallists Divine Heresy at the Oasis, and I'll be doing a little drum-deity worshipping at the feet of DH drummer Tim Yeung (go check out his videos on YouTube - you too shall bow). I guess that it's just that when anything close to a cool show comes down I-80, I'm going. It also doesn't hurt that most of the shows we go to aren't terribly expensive, no more than $30 a ticket and most less than $15.

I'd like to pontificate more about tours, travel paths, promoters and such, but it's dinner time and Joy's hungry. I wanted to take her to Happy Hour at Bite in Incline Village (www.bitetahoe.com - 'American Tapas' - We call it 'awesome'), but it's a little late for that, so it's down to the casino restaurant for dinner, then up to Tahoe. And I need to get dressed.

Typing in the nude - ain't it great?

(Okay, go clean up your vomit. We'll talk again later.)

Going Coastal

I just got back the other day from a gig out on the Oregon Coast. It was a pleasant gig, but not great. There could've been more people there, especially on Sunday night, but I can't complain too much. The last time I played at the Three Rivers Casino in Florence, I played with a band that I don't have much contact with any more, mostly because the bandleader is a lying backstabbing bastard. And no matter how quietly I played, I was getting slagged for playing too loud. So, to prepare for the gig I took the heads off my drums and replaced them with a different set of heads that I'd modified with a generous application of carpet padding. Then I applied electronic drum triggers (basically similar to guitar pickups) to each head and ran them through the Simmons Hybrid controller that I got for my birthday in February. I still have some learning to do with muffling the heads properly, and getting the best contact of the triggers to the heads to get the best possible sound, but it was a good enough job to get by.

The drive over was easy enough, though I've come to the conclusion that Mike and Arthur really don't like driving too much, and would just take the easiest route to get where they're going rather than the the shortest route. I'd wanted to take Joy with me, but Mike really wasn't down with that idea, so I dropped her off in Bend to visit with her sister while I was out in Florence. I'd been informed that there was no way in hell that I could find the bandhouse, so I was told to go to the casino and wait for the guys there. I really hate to tell them this, but they were making mountains out of molehills. While the bandhouse was off US101 and up a dirt road, I had no doubt that I could've found it if given the proper directions.

The bandhouse itself was something of a shock - it was actually a nice house! And since nobody had a real idea as to who owned the place, my mind started to fill in the blanks for me. Whether I wanted it to or not. I even took a hint from Joy and brought in my thor's-hammer to bless my bedroom and protect it from evil. I later learned that the casino rented the house from the couples who owned it and were still in the process of remodeling it, but I slept the firs night in the house with the nagging feeling that something sinister was lurking.

I have to give a kudo to the casino's soundman, Jeff. He remembered me from the year before, and was nearly moved to tears when he saw that he had nothing to worry about with my newly-modified drums. That, plus the addition of a drum-screen to the stage, made me very quiet and mellow for the audience's safety. The shows themselves were okay, just not to a lot of people.

My only real disappointment was that there weren't good crowds that weekend. One of the waitresses was rather disappointed as well. The casino is the only real source of nightlife in the area, but it's still heavily dependent on tourists coming in from around western Oregon and southwest Washington, so if they're not there, the audiences get a little thin. I still had to go buy a few odds and sods in Eugene, so Cliff and I made a day of it and got a great lunch at Three Forks Wok & Grill (excellent stuff, right there in the same stripmall as the Guitar Center in Eugene - jackpot!). I really didn't leave the bandhouse much beyond that, other than for expeditions for groceries. Didn't really want to, because I just wasn't interested. All I wanted to do was to get the gig over with and get back to Bend to be with my wife.

I really shouldn't be so negative. I do get to do what I love to do, and get paid for it. But I never know when things will really start to go downhill with Joy, so I just would rather be with her and take care of her. But at least I'm working. I'll be pretty busy through the remainder of the month, and playing on Halloween night in Carson City at the Carson Station. That could be fun. I'm suggesting themed costumes for that night. Maybe 'Wizard of Oz' or something like that. Just as I'm not the Tin Man. Then it'd be hard to play.....

All Bets Are Off

Y'know, I'd been planning on writing this post about how a former friend of mine had stabbed me in the back, calling me up and telling me the most heinous pile of lies that Cockbreath McPothead was probably spreading because his ass was in serious jeopardy (don't curse out a lipreader, fool - enjoy grill training at McDonald's!), but my situation has changed dramatically because of two little words my wife and I heard the other day at her doctor's appointment:

Multiple Sclerosis.

It wasn't a confirmed diagnosis, but it makes sense. After researching it online, it was crystal-clear. Every defined symptom of MS, she has it. Every last one of them. There will be tests coming, MRI's and CT scans, but a certain sense of inevitability has creeped into our trailer. And the weirdest thing is that one of the reasons for us moving here in the first place (Joy's allergies are relieved here due to the climate) is now the reason we will likely be forced to move home - that same hot, dry climate exacerbates the symptoms of MS. And Joy has already decided our course for the foreseeable future - if the diagnosis is confirmed, we're out of here, waiting only long enough to get her SS/D claim approved. I can't imagine the Feds turning down someone with MS.

In reality, it isn't a death sentence for her. At least not in the proper sense of the term. It's just another disease added on to her burden, another illness that kills by inches at a time. I was quite morose about it for some time, but now I've kinda gotten over it, and back on track. I've got a gig with the Stonz out on the Oregon Coast next week, and I'm taking a detour to drop Joy off in Bend so she can see her sister, who isn't doing too good herself - needing a hip replacement at age 45. October will be a busy month for me, but it will likely be my last October in Reno.

I just find it ironic that poor Mike and Arthur could wind up losing a second drummer in the course of a year for the exact same reason - moving away to care for an ailing relative. Which reminds me, I've gotta give Dre a call, see how his ass is doing.........

Is This Worth It Anymore?

I just don't know. More and more this is just becoming another job to me. And anyone who knows my track record when it comes to employment would know that when I start to consider being the drummer in a band as merely being a job, you just know the shit's gonna hit the fan, and soon. Just being in a band is no longer enough. It's not that I want to run a band, it's that I want to actually contribute to the processes of the band and not merely do what I'm told and otherwise shut the fuck up.

I've also lost a lot of respect for a certain agent. When I'm told from on high that I must go to the Atlantis and prostrate myself at their feet and beg forgiveness for my 'personal problem' without anyone hearing my side of the story (does anyone read this?), only to find that even that opportunity was taken away from me before I'd even had a chance to do so, I have come to the full realization of just how musicians are regarded here. Like week-old shit.

Friends, neighbors and colleagues, this has got to stop. When we get less respect than a burger-flipping miscreant at McDonald's, why is that? When the local media prefers to talk about the days-gone-by of the orchestras that used to do our jobs rather than us, why is that? When any talk of making things better for ourselves is met with cold hostility and threats of blacklisting, why is that? It's because nobody takes us seriously, that's why.

It's up to us to change that. I was actually serious when I said that delivering pizza was beginning to look better than dealing with this, and I know that I've invested way too much time, effort and money into this to just walk away like that. I'm sure that there are things I could do to make myself better, but I also know that we as a group must make changes as well, or else we'll be making even less money and enduring even more shit than we already are now.

So how do we get there from here...............?

There's A Clusterfuck Going On, And I'm The Cluster

This will only be a brief post, as I'm between sets at the Carson Station. But let's just say that the last 36 hours or so has been an exercise in what-the-fuck-now. Stressed, sick, and thoroughly pissed off is your humble blogger, and I'll be in the mood to vent about things when I get done with my night onstage and my time on the road.

Right now, pizza delivery in Port Angeles, WA is starting to look good.