When a Trinity Exists: Show Reviews

The concert season is upon us. Well, if you are me, there is no season. It always is, just a matter of how cold you are willing to get while waiting in line. I am kind of built for sub-zero line-standing, so I complain less than most.

Earlier this week I got to see the Fray, thanks to my friend Liz. I had seen them before at Riverport and really enjoyed the show, so the thought of seeing them at a smaller venue, the Pageant, was pretty exciting. I will say they put on a fantastic performance; however, I do not think they did a great job of acclimating to their environment. They are used to big venues with big production, and at times I felt they overwhelmed the Pageant, turned her up to eleven when she should have stayed on four. Instead of giving us some really intimate moments, they gave us a spectacle, and I had already seen that from them.

Tonight, I got to witness something totally different, an icon, a legend, and a huge influence on me as a songwriter, performing in a very small venue, comparatively speaking. Amy Ray, member of the Indigo Girls, came to St. Louis to play the Old Rock House, a stage I have played many times, and I was there to witness it. I don’t think I can do this experience justice in prose. I mean, in my opinion, Amy Ray probably has the best female rock voice, ever. And I, subconsciously, jacked more shit from the Indigo Girls than any other band. When I was first learning to play guitar and transition from poet to songwriter, there were a few bands in constant rotation: Edwin McCain, Duncan Sheik, and the Indigo Girls.

Rather than dribble on about the evening, I will speak the way I know best…

When a Trinity Exists

She moved me

Like a child

Moved by first experience

Her ten fingers

Overwhelmed six strings

And I

Felt her sincerity

Heard the urgency in her flat pick

And when she sang

I remembered why I sing

Why I crave the stage

Like most crave sex

Why I sacrifice lower order needs

To self-actualize

In rare moments

When a trinity exists

Between

Music

Me

And you

Before I end, I do have to mention Larkin Poe. They opened for Amy Ray. This was my second time seeing them, and both times I have been totally impressed. Also, at the Fray show I got to see Dia Frampton open, and that was actually the cooler moment. She did a great job of capturing it for me, well all of us in attendance. Liz and I are in the purple box.

 

#MicroPoetry Recap: March - April (2012)

May is upon us, which means Summer is close, and that makes me happy. It also means it is time for me to pull together all my #MicroPoetry posts from March and April. 

I learned something very valuable over the last two months, poetry, words really, are an integral part of who I am as a person. When I do not feel like myself, I cannot find them, the words, like they are affixed to the real me, the pure me, the core me, and when that me is lost...well, so are his words. There was a two week period after surgery when I was just not myself, fighting to see daylight through the haze of anesthesia, fighting to gain clear thought while trapped in the cage of a hospital, fighting to feel an emotion that was stronger than the pain my body was feeling. In those moments, I lost me and with that, lost my words. Luckily, when I found myself, my words were happy to see me.

#MicroPoetry: March - April (2012)

Still

The haze

Thick

Uninterrupted I

Lost

Beneath fog

Preventing

Complete thought

I found your freckles

Softly exposed

Beneath spring’s sunshine kiss

They

Like your smile

Reflect silent personality

I

Beat

Loudly

THUMP-thump resonates within inner ear

While silent mind counts beats-per-minute

Proving you excite me

You rode them like a jockey rides a thoroughbred

Your fear of movement

Announced to the world

Via red light SOS message

I saw them

Pre-parade crazies

Green haired and shamrock stickered

Pushing carts filled with Leprechaun cookies

I took hungry bites

Allowing food to fill my mouth

While prayers still rested on my lips

Tasseled hair and librarian smile

You move me with gentle fingers

Effortlessly

Wires from limbs to horizontal control

I dance on command

I never saw you until I felt you

Your cold hands always under my undershirt

The ten finger tickle that made you infamous

I dreamt of you

Silent and sweltering

Spread out in sacrifice to early summer

Your chest glistening as it rose with calm breath

Slept soundly

Cocooned by blankets and pillows

Drunk on exhaustion and fermented fruit

Nose exposed

Cold

Dreams

Locked on childhood

Kids clamber to find colored eggs

While parents eat peeps with prayers on their lips

He has risen

I want that comfortable feeling

Where we can tackle afternoons from the couch

You laying on me in silence

I remember when it was seedy

Before the neon facade

Drunken grab-ass and woo-girls

When the music meant something

When it was the pinnacle of each moment

Woke-up from old wood trembling

Found myself in an arcade

Paying pennies to watch peep shows of us

Just stills and primitive movement

Reminding me of what it felt like to be inside of you

Sunburn months

Create high-noon mirages

Images of you with sand in toes and hair

Freckled cheeks

Interrupted by sunshine smiles

Covered in youth

She said beauty and sadness

I paused to reflect on the omnipresent pillars

On how they often reveal themselves in tandem

On the beautiful smile of a sad-eyed clown

You came to me

When rise and fall was calm

Steady

Rhythmic

You hijacked moments not controlled by conscious thought

And I welcomed the invasion

Oxblood on vintage linoleum

Morning shuffle's creaks and moans

Sit below the constant clack of a restless search

She is the exclamation point in my sentence

In her absence

My world is a series of dangling modifiers

Actions affecting false objects

She danced between shadows

Stood there

Sunlight on her face

Seeking answers

He hid in dark corners

Hoping to remain unnoticed

Hands toward heaven

Hearing the same silent response

One thing that I love about this collection is the purity of thought. There is truly no external influence placing pressure on these words, as I haven't dated anyone during this time period, so the "she" and "you" is really my mind creating an ideal.  

6 String for 30 Days

Hopefully by now you are all as obsessed with TED as I am. For those that just thought I switched teams and have the hots for Ted Danson, please go check out the TED site. I have yet to watch a video from TED that I did not get something out of. Recently my friend Sara posted this video:



After posting the video she declared that she was going to do a 30 Challenge to workout to some dance/cardio videos she purchased. You know me, I love a good challenge, so I was immediately on board, but instead of workout videos, I decided I was going to play guitar every day for the next 30 days. To some of you that probably seem pretty easy; but, for me, it is a challenge. 

I almost never play my guitars. You have to remember I am a singer. The guitar is kind of a means to an end. Don't get me wrong, I love that I can play guitar and am still pretty shocked when I can pick one up and make it sing to me. Very few people that learn to plan an instrument at 21 have any success, but I did. Still, it is not my first love. That is singing, followed by writing. So, when I don't have a band, and I am not writing a new song, they line the walls of my jam spaces, staring at me with neglected string. Even when I am playing solo shows, I don't practice for the shows until the day before shows. I do not recommend this, by the way. 

I had intended to wait until May to start this challenge, so at least I could be relearning songs, since I will be able to sing again, but Sara was a little more aggressive and kicked hers off on Thursday. Now, you know this did not sit well with my OCD leanings. I mean start something in the middle of the week, well that is preposterous! But, I manned up and decided to follow her lead. This makes the challenge even harder for me because for 10 of the days I will not even be able to sing while playing, just playing for the sake of playing -- insert noodling here. But, I figured, if only through Facebook, we could hold each other accountable. I also decided I would take pictures of whatever I played, as proof and way to document my 30days. 

Day one I used the same guitar from my last post here. It is the one that sits out by my desk, so it will get a lot of attention during the next 30 days. Day two was Friday, and I knew I probably wouldn't be home all day, so after my morning workout, I sat down with my Taylor 412, and practiced some finger picking. It was like 5:15am. I am pretty sure my neighbors appreciated me not ripping into some blistering leads with amps on 11.

On Saturday, I had some time that was unaccounted for, so I cranked up the live rig which consists of a split amp between a 2x10 Clara V-Verb and a 15" Peavey Delta Blues. The Peavey gets dry signal, and the Clara gets it wet. I realize I lost all but three of you, but those three appreciated the details. I started with a nice finger picked loop and then just built chaos on top of it. At one point, I am pretty sure every pedal on my board was in use. I was playing my modified Epiphone Sheraton, and she sounded lovely. 

Today has probably been my favorite day so far. In direct opposition to yesterday, I went totally minimalist, using the cheapest gear I have which is a Epiphone Valve Junior I bought for $100 from my buddy Corey and a project kit Strat I bought off CraigsList for $200. The guitar has Lipsticks in it, which was a tone I did not have in my arsenal, so I snagged it. The amp is 5 watts of tube tone, an 8" speaker, and one volume knob. What is not to love about that? What made today fun was I was laying leads on top of songs from a playlist I have on iTunes. It is always interesting to work the guitar around the other instruments and vocals.

At this point, I have not mapped out what each day will bring, but I know I will play a guitar every day, and I am looking forward to May when I can sing while playing.

The Giver of Guitars...

A few weeks ago I had the opportunity to go to a fundraiser for an amazing local restaurant, Farm Haus. As is par for the course at a fundraiser, there was a 50/50, so I kicked in my $10, got my 15 tickets, and commenced to eating my crawfish boil and drinking some delicious local beer. A couple hours later, they did the 50/50, and I won. It was $158 or something like that. Without consideration, when they came to give me the money, I told them to give it to the restaurant. Now, I am not a rich man by any means. I make a decent living...I am comfortable. I don't want for much, and I am thankful for that every day. This gesture just seemed completely natural to me. I didn't need that money when I got there, and they did. Why would I not give it to them? Oddly, there seemed to be a genuine sense of surprise by patrons and the employees.

This morning, while my laundry was in the rinse cycle, and my computer was rebooting, I picked up this guitar.

Like most of my guitars, this bad boy has been heavily modified. The pick-ups have been swapped for Vintage Vibes which are my go-to pick-ups. I added Sperzel tuners, swapped the three way pick-up selector for a five-way rotary knob which allows for more tonal combinations, and had the finish on the neck sanded and oiled so it plays faster. Essentially, I turned an adequate $500 guitar into a pretty amazing $800 beast. While it was in my hands and I was banging out a blues lead, I knew, one day, I would give it away, probably one day soon. Note, I did not say sell it.

This is not the first time I have done this. 

I had purchased a used guitar from a buddy with the intention on relicing it out, basically beat it up, make it look old, weathered, like me. And we did. I replaced pick-ups, tuners, added a bigsby, like normal, and then had it reliced. When I got it home I realized I was being ridiculous. I already had two guitars with similar body styles, and one of them was an actual 1974, so why did I need this third guitar? I didn't. So I gave it to Patrick Swan. Pat and I were just starting So Much Closer, and while he had a couple guitars, he didn't have what I considered to be a "good" guitar. I am a guitar snob, what can I say. He was recently married, so I thought it would be a cool wedding gift. And, I think, if you ask Patrick, it was. 

The second guitar went to Tawaine Noah. I met Tawaine through Patrick, and the kid has never ceased to amaze me. While I am probably a more deliberate writer, probably consciously use more poetic devices, incorporate all the things my father taught me, all the things my professors taught me, he is better. There is something in his soul that is able to escape to the paper in a way that makes me wish I had written it. Here are a few of my favorite lines...

I go to parties just so I don't feel alone. My girlfriend likes me, so she waits until I'm gone...to cheat on me.

Sometimes in your car, it feels we're going faster than we really are, but I focus on the scrolling bars below and realize we are taking it slow.

Your coffee is bitter like I, at least its got an excuse. Like you it's cold and tastes like scotch...

He just moves me. So, when I saw him scramble around on stage to get a replacement guitar when his guitar would not stay in tune, I knew he was getting my SG. Like the others, I had purchased a mid-grade SG, upgraded the crap out of it to make it a pretty amazing beast, but it felt like a toy guitar on this big body. I have loved SGs for as long as I can remember and always wanted one, but when a guitar doesn't feel right it ends up spending time in its case when it should be being played. So I gave it to him. To be honest, I don't think I have ever seen anyone more appreciative. What I didn't know was Tawaine had recently been obsessing over SGs, and now he has his very own. So worth it for me. 

To be honest, I am not sure why I am this way, why I give the way I do, why I place no value in money above what I need to be comfortable, but I am glad I am. Both my mother and my father have these tendencies, so while there were no direct discussions about being a giver, I am sure I got it through osmosis or maybe it is genetic. I can remember getting birthday money as a kid and rounding up all my skater buddies so I could take them to Pizza Hut. I reckon guitar giving is just a continuation of the pizza party.

Nameless; the Beauty of Dancing as a Woman

I can't recall if I have talked about this or not, and frankly I am too lazy to search my own blog, but I have season tickets to the Dance St. Louis season. I have for the past three or four years. I am completely enamored with dance, the artistry and athleticism. It just amazes me. 

That being said, the industry is not free from fault. The pressure they place on dancers to obtain an unrealistic body image is unnecessary. I remember the dancers in college, who were already thin, constantly dieting to get skinnier, and girls with breasts being berated because of their boobs. I definitely understand that a slender person makes a better line, but once slender becomes emaciated the boney ridges of a gaunt arm or torso or leg can distort the line. It seems as though female dancers are forced to lose their femininity to pursue their passion. As an ardent supporter of women that look like women, this crushes my soul, just a bit. 

Luckily, there is usually the one standout. The girl that somehow fought the system and won. She manages to steal my focus every time. Last Saturday, I took my dad to the Joffrey Ballet, and she showed up, only for the first piece In the Middle, Somewhat Elevated, but she was there. And not only did she look like a healthy woman, she was a ginger in a sea of dark hair fading into dark curtains. So I wrote this for her, whoever she is.

Nameless 

You 

With angry hair 

Tamed 

Steals focus 

Even when moving in unison 

You 

Eclipse her 

Like moon hiding sun 

Allowing but a rim of light 

While your milky radiance 

Illuminates dark corners 

Then 

You 

Reach center stage 

Full breasts and soft skin 

Your smoldering movements 

Force eyes upon you 

To bear witness to woman

I could not find a photo of her, in this piece, on-line, and I did not want to distort the image by providing a picture of someone else, but I did find a snippet of the piece performed by another dance company which I thought might help you get into the mood.  

Within Her Arms: Recalling the Movement

The day before I went in for my surgery I had the pleasure of seeing Hubbard Street Dance Company, out of Chicago, perform with the St. Louis Symphony. It was the merger of so many passions, exploding through each of my senses, leaving me mind numb and in love, as all great art should do. 

What the wonderful haze of anesthesia made me forget were the notes I jotted down during the performance. One dance, Twice (Once), choreographed by Terence Marling and set to "Within Her Arms" by Anna Clyne, had a powerful affect on me. There is something about hearing the dancer's breath that always moves me, but this piece went to the next level. The music was inspired as was the movement. After finding the notes, I wrote a little something in response to my experience.

Feather Light

Their breath rose above bowed bass drone
Exhaled in unison
While moving in opposition
Counter balance
Fabric
Sheer
White
Innocent
Released
Effortless as limbs launched into air
First flight
Controlled by extension of hands on waists
Now draped over grounded limbs
Stage right light shadowed statues
She
Feather light and shallow breath
Resolved independently
Within her arms 

While I was unable to find a picture of the exact moment I tried to capture with my words, I thought this shot would help you to see what was in my head while writing.

Micro Poetry: January – February (2012)

March 2nd and already Mother Nature is reeking havoc in the Midwest. This morning found me eyes open and ears alert to the sounds of hail and thunder. 

Before I can turn my pen towards these wonders, I wanted to give you my #MicroPoetry recap for January and February. As always, there may have been some slight modifications since the original post but most should be familiar to those that follow me on Twitter or are my Facebook friends. 

 

Micro Poetry: January – February (2012)

We greeted midnight

Wearing our birthday best

Lips and legs locked

Hands roaming

We paused to welcome it

Exhaustion

Sits heavy on tired bones and body

Mind

Restless

Removes surface images

Focuses on true joy of your smile

I have been here before

Separated from heard

Wolves circling

Teeth gnashing

No longer a fawn

I use my rack to escape

I sat in silence

Stunned

Tracing words with eyes

Like they formed a picture

Not a paragraph

Alone

Empty

And I

Trapped in a sensory montage

Bury emotions

Silence the heart

Clamber for awakened thought

Fingernails track forearms

Cold sweat shivers

Life patterns disturbed

Rocking

Comforts a soul

Fixated on quitting you

I lay

In black morning silence

Staring at a vacant pillow

Waiting for a sunshine that never came

I loved you since I first feared you

God like grumble chasing explosions in the sky

Had me counting distance

Waiting for your arrival

Thought about you

As I massaged your abandoned lotion into my skin

It smelled of late night laughter and hot kisses

Chased the black snake

Through pre-sun morning

Watched it disappear into fog

Like an ancient magician

Laying in bed

Listening to Grace

Clutching pillow close to chest

Craving the sensation of your skin on mine

Fought the buzz

Silenced it with one swift punch

It waited 540 clicks

Then retaliated with a vengeance

Forced neurotransmitters to cross synapses

Seeking clarity of creative thought

Clouded by life's what-if white noise

Slow movement morning

Another physical reminder of youth's fade

Like the grey threatening to overthrow the brown

I found him

Hiding behind toxic eyes

Love drunk

Gazing at the world with malcontent

Like a dog staring at his cage

Descending from heavens

Mechanical Angel lands sharply

Allowing God's children to put feet to soil

Vacation coffee

Opens senses wide

To experience new morning

Spanish moss

Hangs from limbs

Like ghosts of witches

Long ago persecuted

Live Oak leaf

Solitary

Spins through atmosphere

Like bird with broken wing

Still trying to

Having deflected arrows with potioned points

I am alone

Neither wanting nor content

Just alone

Silent

Reflective

I giggle when I think of you

Return myself to shared experiences

And conversations about nothing

That meant everything