Music Rant

From the journal of Keegan Valentine dated March 20th, 2007:

A new day, time for new changes. I woke up this morning to find that my girlfriend had snuck out in the middle of the night. I tried calling her, but there is no response. I’m getting the strong suspicion that we are over, but it was kind of already headed that way. She introduced me to her parents and well, lets just say they didn’t take to kindly to me. To be fair I didn’t really make it easy for them. I’m tired of all the bourgeois older people trying to tell the younger generation how to live. We all have our own paths and mine doesn’t fall into any of the old categories. But I know for a fact I’m happy. I can support myself and want for very little else. Why do older people feel the need to insist that my life choices are wrong, or not getting me anywhere?

Enough of that, I wanted to put down some thoughts I’ve been noticing about the local music scene, and people in general. It’s sad that recently people seem to be hiding away in their homes and don’t go out to be sociable like they used to. You can watch the old movies, or read old books. People were social creatures, they went out and talked and enjoyed life. Now it seems everyone is hiding away and watching TV in the safety of their homes. Bet recently it’s really hit me in the area of music.

I have noticed that people in general don’t seem to care about music like they used to. It’s not about rights to songs and listening to them all cooped up in your room feeling like no one understands you. Music is there for people to connect. To share feelings that have no words to express them. It’s supposed to be an aggregate facilitating a coming together of minds and bodies. Sure musicians like to be paid for playing music. How do you think they are able to continue doing so? Most musicians I know work one or two jobs and then find time to be creative and write songs that inspires us all.

I understand we all are not made of money and can’t be expected to shell out five to ten dollars every night. But trust me if more people did go out you would find all kinds of groups of musicians that are very talented and worth listening to. I guess the biggest thing that needs to happen is people need to go out more and interact with other people face to face. Find new bands make this city something worth being in. Make it a cultural center. A place where people from all over the country say, “wow, did you know that the local music scene is kicking?” It would help us all, musicians and non-musicians alike. If we have an awesome scene, more bands you do want to see will come as well as the cream of the crop from around the country. I’d like to really have something going for this city other than the normal what have yous that every other city has.

People need to connect. And they need to start doing it soon, before it’s too late and we are all stuck inside our homes afraid of every sound that happens outside.

-V-

Gorta Mor (Part 5)

Go to Part 1

Jenny watched as the brothers sped down the road away from her. She thought that at least following these guys would keep her mind off her starving children. So she followed them down the road.

“Wait up!” She called after them. The both stopped dead in their tracks and once she was with them they set off at a steady pace. After a few hours of travelling the trio find a field that is only half ruined. Feeling that they might be able to glean something from this sight they all rush into the field.

“What do you suppose is causing the blight?” Shamus asked.

“Only half of this field is gone, perhaps we will find out.” Darbish answered.

Bent over in the middle of the field they could see a demon talking to the potatoes. He seemed to have lost control of his mental faculties and is damning each potato individually. As he put his curse upon each potato, it would wither away and die. The three travelers all feel the horror at once.

“What are you doing?” Yelled Darbish at the demon.

“What am I doing?” The demon turned away from his work and gave an appraising glance at the travelers. “I’m fixing a problem. Ireland used to be a wonderful and lush land to live in. The animals thrived, the plants blossomed and bloomed plentifully, the sun shone down on the land and in return it smiled back at the sun. This expanse used to be astonishing and remarkable. All my brethren loved to spend time here. Then one day, the despicable and detestable humans came along. They tore at the loam. They ripped at Erin’s heart. They forced more spuds, taters, and tubers into her and made her use her life force to sustain them.”

“Yeah, but we didn’t do any of that.” Shamus said dismissively.

“You!” The demon seemed enraged at this interruption, “You absolutely did do this, you and all of your kind. I can hear her weeping at night. I feel her pain as you plough and pull and till.”

“We are just like any other animal here,” Jenny threw in, “we all deserve the right to live off of the land. Who are you to tell us otherwise?”

“Who am I? You ask,” the demon seemed to take Jenny in for the first time. He sat a moment and pondered if it was even worth his time to convey his name to the filth that had become his enemy. “I am Gorta Mor. I look after Erin and protect her from the likes of you. I will destroy the consumption that you have created in her, and happily take you with it.”

“I’m afraid we can’t let you do that Mor.” Darbish forcefully explained to the demon. This caused Gorta Mor to sneer at the misuse of his name. “We need these crops to survive, we will not die like this. We will endure and carry on, and you won’t be able to stop us.”

-V-

Read Part 6

Confused Feelings

From the journal of Adrian Baldovin dated April 5th, 2010:

Today I woke up and I think it’s finally starting to fade. If you take too long to decide I have to basically turn it off. I’ll respond, but I think I’m done being active… I just need to get through next weekend. If no flame kicks off, then I think it is time to let the embers go out and not bother stoking or blowing on the fire anymore. I’m in such a weird place right now.

I could really teeter either way, if she stopped being cold and just showed me that she actually wants more, I’d go that way. If not, I’m more than likely going to just see her less and less until we don’t really talk. The funny thing is, with life and experience, we start to see these patterns earlier and know when they are coming and how to deal with them.

I mean it’ll still hurt, but at least I know one day it won’t hurt so bad. And as always, I get sucked back in a little. I don’t think she respects her mother all that much, but she informed me that her mother yelled at her for the five minutes claiming that her and I should be together. I don’t know what that means. I just don’t know.

I have no plans to see her, and it feels kind of weird, we usually have a time set up to see each other every day. It’s almost like being lost.

And then I teeter back and forth. Complete willingness to let go, and a diminishing desire to make things work. Who knows, in one week, all might be forgiven or gone. I don’t know if I really care all that much anymore.

I’m going to go back to looking to hang out with random people again. It’s much more fun than trying to deal with this shit. I am really getting tired of every television show I watch coming back to the same situations that I’m currently experiencing. It’s as if the universe won’t let me get away from thinking about it.

I doubt she does nearly this much thinking on it. I wonder who all has put a bug in her ear about me. I know where most of my friends sit. They all think that this is an exercise in futility. I just keep holding on. I saw a glimpse of what could have been. I need to really let go.

Hanging out with Yvonne yesterday would have given me some seriously needed perspective. It’ll happen next week anyways. I need to not think about what’s going on anymore. I need to let go. I need to be myself. I need to figure out where I want to be, and be there. I need to stop needing things. I need to quit trying to figure out what I need.

I think I really just need to read a book and escape what all is going on in my life. I like having it to give me one more non-girl related thing to think about in my life. But that so seldom works. Oh well. We all move on I suppose.

-V-

Fumpsy (Part 2)

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“My name is Gromus, and yes a badger is not normally found around these parts.” Gromus said, as he sidled to the left. “I have been travelling for days now in search of a particular healer.”

“A healer?”

“Yes, you see I was wounded in the great battle to the north, and I am in need of repair.”

Fumpsy looked hard at the dejected badger, and found that he was gripping haughtily at is side. The fur was matted and covered in dried blood, mixed with remnants of mud as a poultice. Fumpsy examined the rest of the beast, Gromus was at least twice the size of Fumpsy, and his fur was a drab gray. It looked, however, that he used to have a bountiful dark shimmering coat once. His eyes were a blued-gray that hinted at a creature who had seen many indelible acts, most likely dubious in nature. Gromus' brow furrowed as he noticed that Fumpsy was intently studying him.

“You look as if you’ve never seen a badger.” Gromus stated.

“Well…” Fumpsy replied, “I have, but never up close. To tell the truth, only in pictures that my father used to show me before the great famine.”

“Great famine?” Gromus inquired.

“Yes, about five years ago, the soil stopped giving decent fruit, and the streams and lakes became poisoned with disease. Margus, the sage owl, explained to us that the lands were unhappy, something was creating a division within her breast.”

“Five years you say?”

“About five, yes. It was after the first year that my father passed. I was disheartened, but I have a family to take care of, so I had to be strong. We have survived on what we can find, but sometimes that almost isn't enough.”

“What name do you go by, young hare?” Gromus questioned.

“I am Fumpsy. I’m a simple rabbit.”

“Well, Fumpsy if you help me out, perhaps I can find it in me, to help you. You have no idea what I can do for you, but just know this; my word is as good as any real thing you'll ever find anywhere. What do you say?”

The hare considered the question. The badger could be a great asset to him, Gromus was strong and large, and at the very least he could be intimidating if the situation ever called for it. But why should he trust him? Fumpsy was unsure. He felt that perhaps it would be in his best interests to ally with the badger, what was the worst that could happen?

“Gromus, I think we can be allies. What is it you need for me to do?”

“I heard you mention a sage owl… Margus?” Gromus said with a raised eyebrow. “Would it be possible to fetch him? I have a feeling he will know exactly how to patch me up.”

“Yes, I can certainly do that! I know exactly were he is at this time of day. I’ll be right back.” Fumpsy turned and hopped off into the forest heading towards Margus’ home.

-V-

Gorta Mor (Part 4)

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Jenny had just been walking through the field looking at the devastation that had been wrought upon it; all of her crops were dead or dying. The tears welled up in her eyes as she considered what this meant for her family, without food her children would starve. While considering this she saw what looked to be a viable plant and rushed over to it for further inspection. But when she got close enough she saw that the potato has been exposed to the sunlight and turned green, thus making it poisonous. She looked up to the sky and screamed for guidance, or anything really that will get her through this impending doom. She found herself hunched over with her face in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably.

When the McDerbin brothers got closer to the field, Jenny looked up tears in her eyes and gave a solemn nod to the two passers. Darbish does a double take, and Shamus is left with his mouth gaping open. Jenny was the picture of beauty. She has long curly flowing red hair to the small of her back. Her eyes reflect the pale blue of the skies above. And to say she was shapely would have been an understatement; her form was reserved for goddesses. She was what every woman wished they looked like, and the brothers both saw and felt it right away.

“Hello, My name is Darbish, and this is my less distinguished younger brother, Shamus.” Darbish quickly said before his brother could speak.

“Ah yes, as my geriatric brother has already said, my name is Shamus. I would do anything for you, just name it, and it’s yours.” Shamus said as he stepped in front of his brother.

“My name is Jenny,” she replied wiping tears from her eyes. The antics of the brothers seemed to lighten her mood for a moment. “You’ll have to forgive me. You see the farm my family owns is being destroyed by this famine, and I don’t know what to do. I have children to feed, and my husband is long since passed.”

This news elated the brothers. Jenny was single! Sure she had some kids, but weren’t they both just discussing how a family might be nice. And one that’s already started is a quick and easy place to start.

Jenny started to figure out what was going on, it had been so long since she had anyone vying for her affections. When her husband had died she became very introverted in that respect and only took care of her children and her farm. Romantic endeavors were not something even considered.

“I tell you what. My children mean the world to me, and I can see that you both are very nice and kind men. I’ll happily marry the man who can end this blight and assure me that my and our future children will never go hungry.”  She said thoughtfully.

The brothers looked at each other, then at Jenny, and once again back at each other. A smile grew on their faces as the both in unison turned back to Jenny and simultaneously said, “You got it!” They both then rushed off down the road tripping over each other to be slightly in the lead.

-V-

Read Part 5

After the Show

After thanking the audience a final time for their show of appreciation. We exit the stage with our gear and do our regular self-deprecation session that the common show-goers never see. Each of us replays the entire show back in our own head, we pick apart each and every note we played, and we question our every action. Did it work? Was I late on the last refrain? Why was there lackluster applause after that song? The best we can hope for is genuine love of our craft. But as artists we can never be completely satisfied with it. I felt if I ever had the feeling of completeness with my music it would be time to move onto something else. That little bit of longing and missing piece is what I strive for, knowing in the back of my head it is not possible to reach. A labor of love if you will.

After a while all these shows start running into each other. Some have highlights that stick out in your mind, but for the most part they all seem to be one long journey. You start questioning if you are even getting better at playing music, writing new songs, being able to convey feeling across the gap that is created by the floor monitors in front of you. The notes and chords all seem to be the same patterns over and over again. Is it really anything new?

I polish my bass guitar with the rag a good friend gave to me once after a particularly good show. The sweat and dust around the frets always bothers me. I find it best to focus on small things one has control over or else you will easily become overwhelmed with the massiveness of what cannot be controlled. After I get my guitar cleaned up and put away in its hard case I walk out into the front of house and look around. It’s my time to feed on the audience directly. I’m not going to lie; it feels good to have people congratulate you, even if you know they are lying. But all too often what one expected and what one gets differ greatly. The adoration and applause received on stage is melted and you become a no name face again. I can’t describe it fully. Not that anyone owes me anything, I mean they probably already paid their tax to be here and they applauded after each song, why should they have to keep on praising what I just did.

Dejected I sidle up to the bar and order a beer. At least that will never fail me after a performance. Usually cold and always accepting, I’m sure I have a friend at the bottom of the bottle if I look hard enough, I’ll find them. And hey, if I don’t find them, I usually don’t care too much after searching a while. The next day can suck, but with a little more searching even that can be rectified.

-V-

Repeating Night

I sat backstage with an unlighted cigarette pressed between my lips. Lighter in hand, I was just about to strike the flint. Bob stumbled in, guitar in hand, and looked at me, “Looks like it’s going to be a good show out there. I think there are fifty people out there.”

I’ve never once had stage fright. I have always felt completely natural in front of people’s searching eyes. Playing music incites a certain state of calm over me. A feeling that can hardly be described directly. Indirectly, it has in the past been able to make me feel completely well, even in the throws of the flu, clearing my sinuses while I play, only to have them get clogged up again as soon as the magic has faded minutes after the last note is played. It’s almost a religious experience, if I knew what that feels like, I can only assume. I looked back at him, set down the cigarette and lighter and responded, “Let’s get to it then!”

Walking out on stage never feels the same, every room; every person in the room makes it feel slightly different. Move one person from the back of the house to the front and the entire evening could be changed. Whether or not people cheer as you walk up to your guitar on stage, or it’s a sea of silence. I’ve found the best thing to do is to ignore the audience and play the music for oneself.

Can this really be done? Honestly in a word, no, not for a second. We, the musicians feed off of the crowd. And likewise, the audience steals our verve on stage. It’s like two vampires sucking at each other, but more aimed at amplifying each other’s enjoyment of the evening. Not so much taking from each other, but more giving to each other. I honestly feel sorry for people too afraid to get on stage and pass this energy back and forth.

Luckily this stage has the lights turned bright on us. I like to imagine that there are hundreds to thousands of people in the audience here just to enjoy the music I created with my friends. Whether it’s true or not doesn’t really matter much to me. I just wish as many people as possible could enjoy it. I look over to Bob, then to Joe to assure that everyone is ready, and started playing the opening line to our first song. Each note carefully plotted to reach out and get people moving.

The remainder of the show is a blur of random stage communication, highs, lows, missed notes, happy mistakes, and every once in a while a new way of playing learned on the spot. I could describe the experience as being similar to being on a dissociative drug of some sort. You are there totally in control of what is happening on stage, but at the same time you’re not really there, kind of in a higher place watching it from a completely different vantage point. The strangest part is that you will never know what it’s like on the other side of the monitors. I’ve had brilliant shows on stage where everything up there is mixed like a dream and I can feel my own bass notes vibrating through my body, and the vocals edge on the divine, only later to find that the house mix blew and people come up to me telling me they have seen better.

-V-