Bad High-School Poetry

It has been kind of a weird week for me. Like most people I have a few different versions of myself, but for the most part Poet/Musician Eric is the Supreme Ruler of me. I have given him that title because there appears to be very little democracy in the decision making process, like Homeowner Eric thinks there are tons of things he could do with tax return money, but he has yet to win that debate, seems every year there is an amp that Poet/Musician Eric must have or he has to go in to the studio or needs a new guitar because there is a tonal gap with the 7 he currently has.

This week was Work Eric’s week. I do not intend to discuss work in this blog for a few reasons, but primarily because Work Eric is quiet possibly the weakest of the Erics. He may be a bit stronger than Homeowner Eric, but still nothing compared to Poet/Musician Eric or Friend Eric or Family Eric; however, his importance is not diminished on the tribal counsel and all versions of Eric are appreciative that his contributions provide them freedom, but he kind of just does what he has to, not really what he wants to. He is driven by a combination of fear and desire to succeed. The deal was he was really busy this week, which caused everybody else to take a break from their normal functions, except Workout Eric, Workout Eric never alters his routine.

Alright now that everyone officially thinks I have lost it, let’s talk songwriting. I had an opportunity to sit down and write yesterday, which is a rarity for me due to the chaos that I keep for a schedule, but Saturday afternoon offered a perfect window to get something accomplished. I had a chord progression I had been toying with for a few weeks and a line that I wanted to work in to a song, just needed the time to tie them together. The line is “Traffic Stopping Stunning” (maybe it is more of a label than a line). It is something I coined while I was in Birmingham on my Southeast Swing tour and saw the most amazingly attractive girl at a show I was playing at Marty’s. So I took that, ensconced it in a warm blanket of shyness, and this is what came out.

I Don’t Know Your Name

(Verse 1)
Silent energy between distant eyes
My mind drafts stories of us tonight

(Verse 2)
I play the rescuer, you the enslaved queen
Destroy armies just to set you free

(Verse 3)
Then you’ll play the flower and I’ll be the bee
Sip from your nectar to quench my need

(Chorus)
You’re traffic stopping stunning
But you don’t even know my name
You’re traffic stopping stunning
But I don’t even know your name

(Verse 4)
Tantric crescendo as we close the gap
I’m staring at you, but you’re looking past

(Verse 5)
Crafted stories escape my mind
Hope blue sky falls to moonlight wine

(Verse 6)
I would have held you 10,000 days
but intense pressure left no words to say

(Chorus)

(Bridge)
All these years of quiet fears
Guess I am still the same
In this hour, I’ve lost my power
Because I don’t know your name

As you can tell, I do not really follow a standard songwriting format Verse/Chorus/Verse/Chorus/Bridge/Chorus, and that is okay. I do not claim to write country or pop, so if I bend the rules so be it. The issue that I have and why I rarely share lyrics is they are never as good as poetry. When I sit down to write a song, rather than to just write, I will innately structure the words to fit the tune. When performed everything seems fine, but on paper, if you are reading the words, they are just not that good. To me, very few song lyrics can hold their own on the page, maybe Waits, Dylan and Morrison, but outside of that they all sound like bad high-school poetry.

I suppose that is really all I have this week. I’ve been very focused on getting everything in place for So Much Closer, getting assistance with Logo creation from Stephanie, launching all necessary pages: Facebook, MySpace, and a FanBridge page so you can join the e-mail list. I also put together an ArtistData account, which I am still learning how to use effectively, and the CafePress site will be up once the logo is complete.
Here is the first draft of the logo:



Lastly we started talking with Abi Robins from Morning Bird Records about joining their collective. There is a lot of potential there to help out the scene and get some much needed support for out of town shows. And that really is it. Hope everyone has a good week...Eric

Days I Will Never Forget [Morgan Page]

I think if you asked the majority of my friends they would say I hate clubs, and I probably wouldn’t deny it, but that is not entirely true. What I dislike is the bullshit that accompanies clubs, the Too Cool Crew that lines outside walls, mean mugging people with puffed pathetic chests, as they tip up dangling bottles of domestic, held loosely between their index finger and thumb...the prostitots putting their pure petals on display for all to ogle at, more interested in being scene than the underground scene...the inevitable chaos of those that cannot control consumption milling about like wayward atoms in super conductor, colliding into each other and disrupting the energy of those that are living for the beat.

Here is what I love about them: dance, sweat induced euphoria, good friends having good times, the pulsation, BPMs that hit so hard they alter the rhythm of your heart, being lost in the moment.

It had been years since I had been to a “club” club, but this Saturday I had the opportunity to see the Grammy Nominated Morgan Page do his thing, and it was VIP all the way. My keeper (this keeper concept came out of an earlier post,I essentially have one good friend from every segment of my life) from High School, Jared, has bucked the system since we were 15, and it is finally paying off for him.



He is managing several extremely successful DJs and making a living at it. Morgan is his client, so Jared got me, and a few of my favorites, on the guest list.

Whitney and Noellen


Allyson


To be honest, the only reason I went there was to see Jared, and I thought it was cool that I could hook some friends up. By the time the night was over, the reason I was glad I was there was it reminded me of how much joy I find in dance, and how much I genuinely enjoy House/Techno/DnB. I mean, I am not going to play it in Saaby on my way to work, but when you want to lose yourself in movement and music, there is nothing better. It really was a great night, mean muggers kept to themselves, prostitos stumbled about, as they do, but the energy in Sol Lounge was infectious and Morgan was pulling our chords like a great Puppet Master. I had the pleasure of dancing with 5 amazing ladies (Allyson, Heidi, Megan, Noellen, and Whitney) and two of my best friends (Jeff and Jared) all night long. Other than playing a show, it really doesn’t get better than that for me.

Bad photo of the crew:


What I look like after 2 plus hours of dancing...ROUGH!!!

Even my shoulder was sweating...that is just wrong!

When I was younger and in the Navy I spent a lot of time at dance clubs. I wrote this piece after dancing ‘til dawn on Oahu.

Waikiki Waltz

Clouds waltz across an opaque sky
Waikiki wipes the sleepies from her eyes
Geisha girls scuffle by in bowed appreciation
Street lamps bloom at the stroke of 8pm
Conversations filled with the purity of summer romance
Jungle beats bounce your feet through its doors
Dancers groove to strobe light amplification
With sweaty confused eyes Puppet Master controls you
Sarah arrives with quarterly refreshments
Halo's appear hovering above angel heads
Manito kissed his child, sent her down on winged cloud
Robotic rhythm drives blood pulsation
Exhaustion slows mind, slows body
Manito's child vanishes, angels follow
Once pure streets now soiled with inebriation
Cool breezes walk tourists to hotels
At dawn Waikiki sleeps

Days I Will Never Forget [the Black Crowes]

There are days in your life that you will remember forever. I was fortunate enough to have 2 this week. The first was an All Access Pass to the Black Crowes at the Pageant. When the Crowes busted on to a thirsty music scene in 1990 with Shake Your Money Maker, I was an instant fan. They were accessible and offered the two qualities I look for most in a band, great vocals and good lyrics. Sadly I lost track of them after Amorica. I tried to search my mind for a reason why I would have let them slip from regular play, but I have no good excuse. I do know I started playing guitar in 1996 and my musical focus shifted quickly to singer/songwriters like Edwin McCain, David Wilcox, Dave Mathews, and Duncan Sheik. Still that is not an acceptable reason. When a friend from work approached me about going to the concert, I jumped at the chance.

The invitation was kind of odd because as we discussed the concert, he kept referencing VIP and getting back stage. Now, I have been a fan of music my whole life, I can still remember seeing Heart and Mister Mister with my mom and the Chicago Blues festivals when my little youth belly was full on hotdogs & funnel cakes and my ears were in love with the soulful sounds of life that were being emitted from the stage, but I have never been back stage (unless I was playing the show, of course). My friend is pretty high up in the company I work for, so I thought maybe that is how he rolled, like maybe he has some corporate pull or something. Honestly I didn’t know and didn’t care, we could have had GA tickets, and I would have been stoked. To see and hear Chris Robinson do his thing was all I needed.

The Monday before the show Tom rolled into my office and started talking about VIP seating and getting on the bus. The bus! Seeing a tour bus is a MAJOR fantasy of mine, not the Black Crowes bus specifically but any tour bus. So many of my dreams are wrapped up in that bus that I just want to see what my life could be like some day. At any rate, I had to get to the bottom of this. How were we getting all the special treatments? So, I asked. His reply, “You jerk…the drummer is my brother. You didn’t know?” No! Tom and I connected through music upon first introduction. He is also in a band and is an amazing, toneful, lead player. Tom’s son is also a skilled guitarist. We spent a lot of time discussing gear, our projects, and his son’s bands, but the topic of his brother never came up.

The concert was amazing. The Black Crowes can throw down with any band, stage presence that would make even the most committed girlfriend question whether or not the Robison brothers count as 1 or 2 on her freebie list. Chris’ voice broke through the thick jam progressions and grounded the audience in the reality that they were witnessing one of the great singers of our time. With the addition of Luther Dickinson on lead, the grooves were intense but well constructed. I never had a sense that they were just noodling. They were always moving the tune somewhere.



And Tom’s brother, Steve, was a monster behind the kit providing nice punctuated beats, and helping things stay in order while giving us some ear candy to appreciate.

As it turned out, I did not get to see the bus, but I did get to watch the show from the wing, meet Steve, Luther, and the keyboardist Adam MacDougall. More than I could ask for from any concert. Tom, if you are reading, thanks!!!


(Sorry for the photo quality, I was shooting with my phone)

Weeks in Rewind...

Life after Southeast Swing 2009 can only be described as chaotic. The week I got back was the final week/weekend for a major project at work. My schedule was all discombobulated. After some calculation I determined that I put in 66 hours between Friday and Monday, as a result there was no blog. The last week was all about getting back to my normal routine and putting the finishing touches on Roktoberfest Belated, more on that later but first I want to talk about Son Volt and Complexions.

As I indicated in this post One Fast Move, Son Volt is one of my top 5 bands. There is something completely genius and inspiring about Jay Farrar. His lyrics are grounded, rooted in the common, but extremely intelligent and poetic at the same time. Jay possesses this quiet calm on stage, as if the energy pouring into the song is so intense that it would be wasted on some showy performance. This was my 4th time seeing Son Volt, but the first time I got to expose newbs to their music. In tow was the It Burns bowling team; Warren (has previously be referenced in my blogs), Jeff (he has also been mentioned and was my road warrior for SE Swing), Stephanie (who you are familiar with from Epic Roadtrip ’09) and a newcomer to my blog Jen, also referred to as Jenertainment, for no other reason than she is a lot of fun.



I love this group of people, everyone unique but connected by a shared love of music, intelligence, whit, sarcasm, bowling, spicy food (hence the name, It Burns) and a desire to have fun whenever possible. Collectively everyone had a good time. I think Son Volt may have been a bit too Country for Jen and Warren, but Jeff, Steph, and I were completely awed by the performance. They were touring in support of American Central Dust which is their 6th album, but they played all the favorites, and Jay threw in a couple tunes from the One Fast Move or I am Gone CD. Highlight for me was probably “Cocaine and Ashes” because it is stark and powerful. We parted ways and I had a great drive home enjoying the Indian Summer in the Saab, top down of course. Oh yeah, I did have a pretty amazing Dirty Blonde there, as well.



Saturday, was the big Roktoberfest Belated day, but we are not there yet…Complexions . As you may or may not know, my ex-wife was a Modern Dancer. I met her in college after a Dance concert. I was always interested in dance, as I am interested in all the arts, but being married to a dancer definitely heightened my emotional attachment to dance, to its creation, the thoughts behind the movement, the sacrifices dancers make for their art, as well as my overall knowledge of dance. Alvin Ailey to Angela was like BB King to me. A couple years ago I had an opportunity to see the Alvin Ailey Company at the Fox, and I jumped at it. Though I have been divorced for several years, my respect for this incredible art form has not wavered. Saturday, Desmond Richardson’s company, Complexions Contemporary Ballet, was at the Touhill, and I could not miss that opportunity. Desmond was a protégé of Alvin Ailey and is quite possibly the best dancer alive. There were three acts to the show with multiple group pieces. His dancers were all amazing, especially Christina Dooling who is extremely captivating, but his solo has forever changed the way I will look at dance. There was more soul and emotion in the curl of his fingers than most people could produce doing a full piece. He is the Elvis of dance.

Finally, the 3rd Annual Roktoberfest (Belated), I started throwing this party when I had a roommate who was also a musician. The first two years were very gimmicky, resplendent with PBR, Camo cans, and Stag. In a sense we were poking fun at an often misguided hipster rock culture, while embracing the idea of rock at the same time. Roktoberfest was about drinking, food, and costumes, with inevitable jam sessions. This year I put the focus on the music. Sure there was a keg, but it was a keg of good beer, Boulevard Wheat! Hate me if you must, but I have a really good job, why should I subject my guests to crappy beer just because it is trendy?

For the past several months I have been practicing with a great group of musicians (Patrick Swan on MiniKorg/Trumpet/Guitar/Vocals, Chris Logan on Bass, and Patrick Enright on Drums) but because of work delays, Swan's wedding, Epic Roadtrip ‘09, and my SE Swing, the process has taken way longer than anyone of us were accustom to. We were all getting antsy and just needed to get in front of people to validate that what we have has value, but we knew we were not tight enough to book a venue, so we commenced on turning my living room into a fitting stage for the debut performance of So Much Closer. Our performance was not perfect, but it was VERY close. I’d say we are at about 85% and should be ready to start playing out in December.

So Much Closer:


Me doing my thing:


Now, since we had converted the living room to a club atmosphere, it seemed fitting to have a DJ, and luckily I happen to know the best Drum and Bass DJ in St. Louis, Dylan Thomas to the rescue. At one point my living room looked closer to a raging, pulsating, club, than it looked like a respite for the work weary.



It was the best Roktoberfest to date, kicking off at 8p and officially closing down at 4:55a after we got back from a much needed gravy run, and I sent my last tweet before crawling in bed. What made it great for me was not solely the So Much Closer performance or the amazing DnB by Dylan, but that several fragments from my world were forced to collide, and they all played nice with each other. It is great to have amazing friends…you all know who you are.

The Truth in this Sculpture

As you may or may not know, I have been roadtripping again. This time I was off to Columbus, GA to meet up with my dad for the World War II Ranger Reunion. Every year we run the "Hospitality Suite" (aka tend bar) for the old Veterans. My grandpa was an original Darby's Ranger, 1/B. It is our way of honoring his legacy. This year, since the reunion didn't begin until Wednesday, I opted to take a few extra days and play my way down there, so I did a show Monday in Starkville, MS. Tuesday I hit up Marty's in Birmingham, AL, and then Wednesday did a set at the Loft in Columbus. I have lots to say about this adventure, but I need time to construct my thoughts, and time, sadly, I do not have at the moment.

I did, however, want to share a poem I wrote while visiting the Birmingham Art Museum.

The Truth in this Sculpture

Surrounded by stoic souls
frozen by bronze cast
many years before he took his first breath
ponders garden emptiness
diagonal bricks
weathered and mossy
central ponds
black and white tile circles beneath filtered water
leaves settled on turquoise and lavender ceramic squares
mathematically placed and divisible by 2 to create his number
one greater than his number
he paces in the underbelly of Birmingham
seedy story of a city that pursued the great division of color
your fountain
his fountain
afraid to touch the very handle colored hands turned to drink the very same water
now hiding in the thick nappy weave of goatees
proving we are not so far removed
if they could have just seen the Rodin statue
as he sees it now
facially Caucasian but structure folkloric African
immense ape like hands attached to ground dragging arms
chest
thick-wide-powerful
like Silverback standing upright
pounding to display dominance
Martin did not pound chest
pounded pulpit
two streets over
where he rallied those that saw the truth in this sculpture
and the truth
the truth shall set you free
but the world hums
above-besides-below-between
never stopping
always go-go-going
ruining the tranquility of his moment
this moment
when solitude inspired clarity begs to be shared
Hello, Are you there? Are you listening?

It may take me a couple weeks, but I will recap the entire trip soon. Hope you enjoyed the poem. Oh and you can see some Video on my YouTube page, embedded videos are conveniently located to the right... :-)

Community

Thirteen years since I wrote my first song, and I still host/frequent Open Mics. I have actually been hosting the Open Mic at St. Charles Coffee House every Tuesday for just about two years now. I don't get paid anything for it, have nothing really to gain from playing 3 to 4 songs every Tuesday when I am sitting on over 4 hours of original material, but I do it. For some, I think this is a hard concept to embrace. I mean you’ve played the Pageant why would you subjugate yourself back to the ranks of Open Mic performer? Community.

In the scene that gave life to Eric the performing singer/songwriter, Open Mics were an essential step in your evolution. You could not book a gig until you had proven yourself on the Open Mic scene, of course recording was more expensive back then and very few people starting out had CDs. Now, kids are dropping discs before they have even worked a crowd. The problem is you can make a slurring drunk with a toothless lisp and no upper register sound good with the right studio tools. As a result, I think the performance level at our venues is inconsistent which results in smaller crowds because people are less willing to go out and see a band they have never heard of if they are not confident they are going to be good.

Wait…wait…I was two seconds away from a cliff jumping diatribe, and that was not the intent, today. Community.

I got a Facebook message on Wednesday from Whitney, an Open Mic Regular and budding Poet. She thought it would be cool to dress up for the 10/27 Open Mic. Now that is what I am talking about, someone from the community coming up with an idea to improve the community. Of course, I totally agreed. Spooktacular Open Mic is a great idea, but it could be a little difficult because I am out of town next week, so it is going to be up to the community to spread the message. Luckily, we are a very trendy Open Mic and are connected via Social Media, #StCCHOpenMic for you Twitters, myspace.com/stcchopenmic…I know I should have a Facebook fan page for it, but it seems redundant when most of the regulars are already on my friends list…someday, when I have time, I will break down and do that. So, I sent out a couple tweets and people are on board. What about folks that stumble into the coffeehouse, those that are not regulars, we need to get flyers made for them, but I am slammed and don’t have time to make one. What to do? Go to the community, I know Cara, Tom Dugan’s girlfriend, is a Graphics Designer (Tom is hosting in my absence, by the way), so I reach out to her, she is more than willing to do it, by the end of the day I have a flyer in hand (actually on an attachment, cyber talk doesn’t always lend itself to the dramatic). I was up at FedEx Office on Saturday morning and dropped off the flyers soon after.



If you were just thinking “Hmmm, the communal nature of Eric’s Open Mic is probably a metaphor for his social-political ideology” you were correct. For those that did not pick-up on it, let me be a little clearer. I want Universal Health Care and would gladly pay more to the community to ensure that every man, woman, and child had coverage. For those that do not want this, that think Health Care Reform is some how the first step in an Orwellian, Big Brotheresque, government take over, that stand on the corner of suburban streets with revolutionary banners threatening to dump tea and wage war, I ask where the hell is your humanity? I do not want big government. I am not pro-huge deficits, but I do want to know that if some little kid gets injured it is not going to bankrupt the single-mother that is raising her. That if something happens and I lose my job, I do not have to worry that a bout of H1N1 is going to find me in debt. Oh and if you are planted firmly on the religious right wondering WWJD, I’ve read the books and he would want universal health care, just sayin’.

Well there you have it…ah the power of the flashing cursor and a blank page. When I got up this morning I was just going to post a poem that I read last Tuesday because Whitney said she liked it. I guess I'll give you the poem now.

How my Heart Heard

Closed eyes to Duncan
so I could recall your head on my chest
my fingers skating on your skin

Dreamt of you
your tired eyes peaceful slumber
interrupted by cognition

Dreamt of all the things
I wanted to say

I wanted my Gray’s moment
wanted to stand on chair
hands to ceiling
pleading with you
to pick me
choose me
puff my silver back chest
so you could see my value

I didn’t
fearing I would
lose the moment
lose the silent sound
of life cyclically dancing
from your lungs to mine
of blue light
red hue
purple shimmer
of 9 holes and 90’s tights
of me wrapped around you in need

So I remain mute
allowing Duncan
to speak for me
And how I shed such tears but never cry
This is how I want her
And how I kiss her lips and taste goodbye
This is how I want her
Run from the moment
knowing I was too deep

Startled eyes
opened at 8
knowing it was too soon
drifted off
to dream of the
softness of your kiss

The Tale of T-Rex and the Sports Coat

There are a variety of euphemisms that can be used in place of fat. There is the fun and cutesy, Pleasantly Plump, but I ain’t that cute. I believe Thick is reserved for black women. Big Boned sounds good, but it does not explain my love handles or belly. Of course we have the ever popular Big and Beautiful, but frankly that just seems too desperate, like we are trying to convince the world that we can still be beautiful even though we are big. Although I agree with that statement, until Rubens makes a come back, I don’t think the world is going to listen. So, I use Big Boy. I am a Big Boy. This fact affects my life in many ways. It definitely finds its way into my poetry and music from time to time, and is always present at Christmas time.

Like most 35 year olds with a Master’s degree, a good job, a house, etc., I pretty much have everything I need. So, every Christmas this conversation occurs.

Mom: “Sweetie, what do want for Christmas, and I am not buying you CDs. I am tired of buying you CDs.”

Me: “Well, how about a DVD.”

Mom: “No…try again.”

Me: “Well, I could always use some clothes.”

This is not because I love clothes, more because I hate them and therefore rarely shop for them, as a result I could always use some new threads, as the holey undershirts and shredded skivvies will attest (okay it is not that bad, but they are worn).

Mom: “Okay, sounds good.”

It took me a few years to figure this out, but this is a horrible gift to give a Big Boy because the shit never fits. After trying on four shirts that look like a wetsuit when squeezed over the belly the emotions take a turn for the worst and the hatefest ensues. Before you know it, you are curled up in a ball with tears dried to your cheek and a slice of thick crust pepperoni and bacon consoling you. So I decided to get smart about it.

Mom: “Sweetie, what do want for Christmas, and I am not buying you CDs. I am tired of buying you CDs.”

Me: “Well, how about a DVD.”

Mom: “No…try again.”

Me: “Well, how about a gift card to the Big and Tall store (the need for clothes is still there, but this way I would be in control and could prevent the week of self-degradation)”

Innocent Pause

Mom: “But, you are just big, you’re not tall.”

Me: “Thanks mom. It is really big OR tall.”

Mom: “Well, sweetie, I am going to make a Short and Stout store.”

My mom meant no ill will by that statement. It was just her first experience with Big Boys-R-Us, and the reality is, she was right. The clothes at the Casual Male XL are really geared more towards tall people that are also big, rather than just Big Boys.

Flash forward to this week. I had a wedding to attend. Patrick, my musical chameleon from Pawnshop Testimonies, the Frontline, and now So Much Closer, got married last night, and I had a date to his wedding, not only a date, but a date with an extremely special girl, someone I have been pursuing for years…when you speak of me you will speak of my persistence.

I wanted to look cute for this event, hip, like all the thin 20 something hipsters at my office. I get this idea of sports coat, oxford, tie, and some nice dirty jeans, a look I wore for years when I was thinner and haunting the coffeehouses of San Diego. So, I busted out of work early one day to ensure I could get to the store on time. Casual Male XL knows they are our only real option, so there is no need for them to be accommodating with their hours. I rolled up in there ready to drop some serious coin on their ridiculously inflated prices and began the process. Two coats into it, and it was completely evident that while most of you are decedents of Chimpanzees, I evolved from the Tyrannosaurus Rex. Not one coat fit me. Not one. And I tried on every sports coat in there, even ones that I would never wear. Apparently with my shoulder to belly ratio I should also have arms that drag the ground. Seriously, there were times when I couldn’t even see my hands (Rachel, I promise if someone else was there to take photos, I would have shot them just for you). It was pathetic and saddening.

I went to the wedding sporting the standard Khakis, Blue Oxford, and Tie.


I know this is totally unrelated to the weight story, but it is about Christmas, and I wanted to stick to my poetry in every blog declaration.

Christmas in Arizona

The wind came in as jet wash
Cutting between Huachuca and Mule Mountain
The whistle and howl
Replaced by guttural growl
As if the underworld
Was trying to speak to the heavens
Tangled vines and thorns
Chase coyotes across common ground
While neighborhood dogs sound Centurion Alarms
Pacing fences with protector's strut and erect tails
Sinister clouds clothe a dawn sky
Like great cape of super hero menace
High Desert winter shower
Washes red dirt from exhausted buildings
Beat down by an oppressive sun
As the rains stop
Children emerge from deep dreams
Of sugar plum dances and wrapping paper
The wonder of twinkling lights
And bows reflected in innocent eyes
While parents pass out gifts
From Santa's workshop