There is a really great quote that I like from Self Reliance. I read it years ago, and I've been contemplating it ever since. It goes like this. "It is easy in the world to live after the world's opinions; it is easy in solitude to live after your own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude." So what does all that nonsense mean? It means its easy to be yourself when you're by yourself. But its hard to be yourself when the world is watching. Emerson said it. I agree. It sounds funny though, when you think about it. Its hard to be yourself. How can that be? It takes practice to be yourself?. At least for me, it does. See, I'm a people person. I like having people near by. I like having someone to talk to. I like feeling connected. The problem with that is that I also like seeing people smile. Making people happy. That was great when I was on stage. The desire and ability to figure out what people want and give it to them is a knack that not everyone has. But when you get off stage, you're supposed to turn it off. After a great performance, you get to walk back stage and unwind. You get to stop performing. That's the idea. But in life, the idea is to NEVER be performing. Even when you're "on", you're supposed to just be yourself. You're supposed to be just as comfortable with being yourself ON STAGE as you are back stage. That's what I've been working on.
But how do you do it? How do you have the nerve to go on stage, without the shiny suit, and play originals all night instead of covers? After all, if you're playing the songs they like, you know they at least understand what you're doing. Right?
So that's what I've been contemplating lately. How do I keep, as Ralph would put it, the independence of solitude? I wish I knew. I mean, I'd like to think that as the years go by, less and less of me is a performance. But old habits die hard. There's still that desire to see someone smile at me. The performer in me comes out now and then. It probably does in everyone. The trick is to eventually learn to be performing as little as possible. Like I said, I'm working on it.
One of my favorite lines to a song says, "Ah but when I sing, I can hear the truth auditioning." Well, I'm singin'. I hope they like it.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Friday, May 21, 2010
To be or not to be.....
As I near the final stages of this photography project that I am working on, I find myself at a familiar crossroads. Its exactly like the crossroads I came to with my record. I create my art for the love. There is no question there. But, what do I do next? In music, the question was, do I look for a deal? Do I go play gigs? Do I promote my art in all of the ways that a relatively shy and introverted person like myself hates to? (As I say that, I can hear my friend Angela saying, "You? Shy?!") See, for me, art is more of an outlet than an occupation. When I made my record, I honestly never figured anyone would like it. It was a bit of a shock when people did. But I made the record with the understanding that I had no intention of PROMOTING it. I just wanted to put a piece of me out there in the world. But things have changed since then. I have come to realize that my art is not JUST my outlet. The response I've gotten to my art has made me realize that I really want to give it to the world on a larger scale.
As an artist, there is a certain degree of selfish love that goes into the process. I make art for me. I don't do it for money. I don't do it for fame. But when the idea of making money through my art comes up, things begin to change. The business of SELLING art can often over shadow the the business of MAKING art. The independent spirit in me tells me to stay independent, just like I did with my music. Don't worry about record deals or publishing deals. Don't look for mass approval. Make art. If anyone likes it, great. But on the other hand, I also know the law of averages. If I expose enough people to my art, I am bound to find quite a few that like it. To do that, I'll need the help of those yucky business type people who sell things by marketing them and labeling them and making them appealing to the masses. While the process of releasing my record on my indie label was very gratifying, so was the moment I get national distribution and the moment I heard that I'd been put into rotation on a major radio station. Last time, those things happened almost by chance. If they had happened by design, its possible the outcome of that project would have been very different.
So here I am at the crossroads. Do I continue on my path as the independent artist, the backpack kid with a camera in one hand and a dream in the other. Or do I go for broke? Do I push to get my book published in the traditional sense and promote my work to the masses? And if I do, what happens if I fail? Ah. There's the rub. After all, one cannot fail at anything one does not try. Is my anthem of independence really just a cry of fear. Because I've been to this crossroads before, I'd like to say I know the answer to that question. Still, here I am pondering the question once again.
As an artist, there is a certain degree of selfish love that goes into the process. I make art for me. I don't do it for money. I don't do it for fame. But when the idea of making money through my art comes up, things begin to change. The business of SELLING art can often over shadow the the business of MAKING art. The independent spirit in me tells me to stay independent, just like I did with my music. Don't worry about record deals or publishing deals. Don't look for mass approval. Make art. If anyone likes it, great. But on the other hand, I also know the law of averages. If I expose enough people to my art, I am bound to find quite a few that like it. To do that, I'll need the help of those yucky business type people who sell things by marketing them and labeling them and making them appealing to the masses. While the process of releasing my record on my indie label was very gratifying, so was the moment I get national distribution and the moment I heard that I'd been put into rotation on a major radio station. Last time, those things happened almost by chance. If they had happened by design, its possible the outcome of that project would have been very different.
So here I am at the crossroads. Do I continue on my path as the independent artist, the backpack kid with a camera in one hand and a dream in the other. Or do I go for broke? Do I push to get my book published in the traditional sense and promote my work to the masses? And if I do, what happens if I fail? Ah. There's the rub. After all, one cannot fail at anything one does not try. Is my anthem of independence really just a cry of fear. Because I've been to this crossroads before, I'd like to say I know the answer to that question. Still, here I am pondering the question once again.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
chemistry
Chemistry is a funny thing. Not the kind you do in a science lab, although I suppose it works the same way. I'm talking about human chemistry. What is it that makes humans connect in such a way that some are more drawn to each other than others? It happens in every setting in which human interaction is key. I think about my days as a jazz musician. Think about a hand full of guys getting on stage not really knowing what's gonna happen next. Sure, there's a road map. But in jazz, you improvise. Anything can happen. Sometimes its good. Sometimes its magic. The magic happens when the chemistry between that particular configuration of guys goes beyond the skill of the players and factors in the way they compliment each others styles. The way they think. Their choices of when to play, when to pause. These things are all unspoken and happen instantaneously. So, it can't be about any academic type of skill. Chemistry is something different.
The same is true in photographing people. I'm currently working on a book of artistic nudes. I am always working with a different woman. I have to, in an hour or so, meet the model, come up with an idea for the shoot, form a rapport with her, and get the shot I need. Sometimes it just doesn't work. Maybe I can't find the words to get her to see my vision. Maybe she isn't feeing comfortable with the concept. It can be any number of things. But when it works, it just works. Its not that I say anything different. Its not that one model is THAT much better than the others. Its chemistry. Sometimes its just there. When I stare at a model through that lens, and I see her staring back at me, there is a moment when I know. I get a chill. I always know when she feels it too. I can see it in her eyes. Its that magic I was talking about.
Lately, because I'm back in the dating scene, I've been thinking a lot about this whole chemistry thing. I guess I'm fortunate in that I have been going on lots of dates. (I say that because I think of myself as kind of a big nerd, so I tend to be surprised when people wanna go out with me at all.) But this frequency of dating has allowed me to compare chemistry in a rather concrete way. Its pretty interesting. I think that, for the most part, I'm always being myself. Its all I know how to be. But sometimes, me being me creates a really fun and interesting dynamic with a woman. I like to talk. I like to laugh. I joke. I'm almost always bordering on inappropriate. I'm way too honest and open. So with some woman, that goes over smashingly. Then with others, it just doesn't work at all. So what is it? Why is it that some conversations seem so forced, while others seem as relaxed as old pals?
It doesn't happen often. I've experienced it only a few times. But now and then I meet a girl that I can talk to for hours even though we've never talked before. Its not lust. That happens just about every time. This connection is on a much deeper level. Kinda like hearing Miles play with Wayne, Herbie, Ron, and Tony, as opposed to hearing him sit in with some house band somewhere. Yeah, he's still Miles either way. One just feels better. I saw a video of Miles sitting in at a Prince concert once. I thought, "Who's idea was that?" Doesn't matter that Prince is amazing. Doesn't matter that they obviously had mutual respect for each other. You can't account for chemistry.
I guess my point in all this is, I've been sitting in with a lot of house bands lately. I'm looking to form my next great band. If you know a good rhythm section......
The same is true in photographing people. I'm currently working on a book of artistic nudes. I am always working with a different woman. I have to, in an hour or so, meet the model, come up with an idea for the shoot, form a rapport with her, and get the shot I need. Sometimes it just doesn't work. Maybe I can't find the words to get her to see my vision. Maybe she isn't feeing comfortable with the concept. It can be any number of things. But when it works, it just works. Its not that I say anything different. Its not that one model is THAT much better than the others. Its chemistry. Sometimes its just there. When I stare at a model through that lens, and I see her staring back at me, there is a moment when I know. I get a chill. I always know when she feels it too. I can see it in her eyes. Its that magic I was talking about.
Lately, because I'm back in the dating scene, I've been thinking a lot about this whole chemistry thing. I guess I'm fortunate in that I have been going on lots of dates. (I say that because I think of myself as kind of a big nerd, so I tend to be surprised when people wanna go out with me at all.) But this frequency of dating has allowed me to compare chemistry in a rather concrete way. Its pretty interesting. I think that, for the most part, I'm always being myself. Its all I know how to be. But sometimes, me being me creates a really fun and interesting dynamic with a woman. I like to talk. I like to laugh. I joke. I'm almost always bordering on inappropriate. I'm way too honest and open. So with some woman, that goes over smashingly. Then with others, it just doesn't work at all. So what is it? Why is it that some conversations seem so forced, while others seem as relaxed as old pals?
It doesn't happen often. I've experienced it only a few times. But now and then I meet a girl that I can talk to for hours even though we've never talked before. Its not lust. That happens just about every time. This connection is on a much deeper level. Kinda like hearing Miles play with Wayne, Herbie, Ron, and Tony, as opposed to hearing him sit in with some house band somewhere. Yeah, he's still Miles either way. One just feels better. I saw a video of Miles sitting in at a Prince concert once. I thought, "Who's idea was that?" Doesn't matter that Prince is amazing. Doesn't matter that they obviously had mutual respect for each other. You can't account for chemistry.
I guess my point in all this is, I've been sitting in with a lot of house bands lately. I'm looking to form my next great band. If you know a good rhythm section......
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
The Renaissance Man and the Jedi Knight
Ever since I have been able to understand the meaning of it, I've been striving to be something of a renaissance man. That probably sounds a little bit pretentious, but it's true. I have always liked the idea. A man who seeks "to develop skills in all areas of knowledge, in physical development, in social accomplishments, and in the arts" seems like a pretty good dude to me. I guess its a lot like me striving to be a gentleman. I spend a lot of time talking about the idea of the old-fashioned gentleman, because I am teaching my son the ways of this lost art. With my pupil being but five years old, it is proving to be a hard fought battle. My son is quick to remind me that "being a gentleman is too hard!" He's probably right. Its not easy to open doors for women who don't expect doors to be opened for them. It sometimes leaves you standing there looking a little silly as you rush to grab a door a few seconds too late to hold it open for the girl that is now running away from the weirdo guy she thinks is trying to stalk her. The same is true of the whole renaissance man idea. It sometimes feels a bit like a futile endeavor. The acquisition of knowledge that no one cares you have doesn't always feel as noble as I had hoped it would.
I liken it to Luke and Han. (That's Luke Skywalker and Han Solo for you youngsters.) Luke is a young Jedi, learning the ways of the Force. He strives to use his mind. He strives to control his emotions. He uses a light saber instead of a gun. He speaks to his forefathers. Then there's Han. The money hungry pilot with the quick wit and the quick trigger. Who do the girls swoon for? Not the Jedi.
I always imagined that the Greek polymath would be a rather sought after lad. The Italian renaissance man, at least in my head, would be quite the catch. But when I look at recent history, I find that girls don't go for that. James Dean. John Wayne. Brad Pitt. These are not learned men. These guys are not known for their scholarly works. In fact, I'm having trouble thinking of a famous "renaissance man" that isn't 500 years back in our history. I guess I was born at the wrong time. Ancient Greek philosopher, perhaps. Knight in shining armor, maybe. But Jimmy Dean or John Wayne I will never be.
Still, even saying that seems wrong. Did I choose the path of the Jedi in order to be famous? Did I put down my gun and begin crafting my light saber in hopes of getting girls? Of course not. And such is life. The road less traveled is so named because most choose the other way. In choosing that path, one must accept his loneliness as his own doing. Its a hard pill to swallow. Its going down slowly.
As I teach my young padawan the ways of the Jedi, he constantly asks, "Why do I have to be a gentleman?" Sometimes I ask myself the same question.
I liken it to Luke and Han. (That's Luke Skywalker and Han Solo for you youngsters.) Luke is a young Jedi, learning the ways of the Force. He strives to use his mind. He strives to control his emotions. He uses a light saber instead of a gun. He speaks to his forefathers. Then there's Han. The money hungry pilot with the quick wit and the quick trigger. Who do the girls swoon for? Not the Jedi.
I always imagined that the Greek polymath would be a rather sought after lad. The Italian renaissance man, at least in my head, would be quite the catch. But when I look at recent history, I find that girls don't go for that. James Dean. John Wayne. Brad Pitt. These are not learned men. These guys are not known for their scholarly works. In fact, I'm having trouble thinking of a famous "renaissance man" that isn't 500 years back in our history. I guess I was born at the wrong time. Ancient Greek philosopher, perhaps. Knight in shining armor, maybe. But Jimmy Dean or John Wayne I will never be.
Still, even saying that seems wrong. Did I choose the path of the Jedi in order to be famous? Did I put down my gun and begin crafting my light saber in hopes of getting girls? Of course not. And such is life. The road less traveled is so named because most choose the other way. In choosing that path, one must accept his loneliness as his own doing. Its a hard pill to swallow. Its going down slowly.
As I teach my young padawan the ways of the Jedi, he constantly asks, "Why do I have to be a gentleman?" Sometimes I ask myself the same question.
Small Cigar
Dark brown skin
fits snug around a stiff
cylindrical form.
Only slightly smaller
than average in length,
but quite slender
in comparison to most,
it’s appearance is not at all
an accurate reflection
of it’s worth.
it’s stature,
less than inviting,
might cause one
to pass it by
in search of something larger,
perhaps more appealing.
But all who’ve experienced it
have found an extremely pleasurable,
and always satisfying
cigar.
fits snug around a stiff
cylindrical form.
Only slightly smaller
than average in length,
but quite slender
in comparison to most,
it’s appearance is not at all
an accurate reflection
of it’s worth.
it’s stature,
less than inviting,
might cause one
to pass it by
in search of something larger,
perhaps more appealing.
But all who’ve experienced it
have found an extremely pleasurable,
and always satisfying
cigar.
Monday, May 17, 2010
just for old times sake
So I was diggin' through the old music today. Its something I don't do often. Something made me wanna hear some of the music I made way back when. My life now is so far removed from those days that I often forget that I did that stuff. Its funny to say this, but I actually like the music I was making back then. Of course, one would hope that he looks back on his past and is pleased with what he sees. I just remember how hard it was for me to listen to myself back then. All I could hear was the mistakes. I was critical of every note, ever idea. But now I can just listen and enjoy. Its a nice feeling. So, for those who haven't yet...... http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/ruebenbrock.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
If I
There's a song I really like, by a singer I really love, that starts out "If I had the chance to change the past, shoot around the sun, unbreak the glass..." You know. Its a reference to Superman. That part in the original movie where Lois gets caught in an earthquake while Superman is busy doing other things. He arrives only to find his love buried under a pile of dirt. What does he do? He flies up into space real real fast and does a few hundred laps around the earth causing time to run backward just long enough to undo Lois' death. Every time I hear that line in the song, I think of that part in the movie. But it brings up a philosophical question that I've had in my mind for a really long time. If I could, would I?
I guess it's really a two part question, isn't it? First, if I had the power to change anything at all, would I use it? Superman was told not to. He ignored the warning. So, would I? Would you? Let's say for a minute that I would. The second, and more important question becomes, how far back would I go. Its one thing to go back five minutes to save a friend or loved one. I suppose anyone who could do that would. But then, life for me ain't been no crystal stare. There have been plenty of earthquakes. Which one would be the one to undo? Would I go back a year or so and pick my horn back up and finish that second record? Would I go back and push harder to make the first record more successful? Those seem like safe enough questions. But while I'm thinking about it, why stop there? In the grand scheme of my life, those moments were very small earthquakes. Maybe 2.5 on the Richter. What about the big ones. I've been through a divorce. I had a kid at age 17. Those were major moments. 6.0 at least. They were moments that, at the time, felt like things I couldn't handle. But I did. And what about the big one. That moment way back when I was seven, when it all changed forever. If I was superman, would I wind back time to a few minutes before that magical moment? That was a 9.5 on the Richter scale. The ripples are still being felt 27 years later. So would I undo it? And what would life look like if I did? After all, the further back you go, the less recognizable your life becomes. The path I'm currently on is a direct result of those earthquakes blocking other paths and opening the one I'm on. And I have to say, I like my path.
What I've come to realize about my life, thinking back on all my earthquakes, is that they shaped me. When the dust settled, I became a different person. I was stronger every time. I was wiser every time. And a few of those earthquakes brought amazing gifts with them. My teenage carelessness brought me my wonderful daughter. Can't undo that one. My rocky marriage brought me my son. Gotta keep that one. I go back a few years and focus harder on music and maybe I get a little further with that. Ok fine. But I do that and I'm probably not getting a ph.d in psychology either. Would I trade? I'm not so sure.
I guess the the point is, you can't have both. You can't have the parts of your life that you like and still undo the parts you don't like. The past is the past. It makes the present possible. What earthquake would I erase? Well..... you get the point. Now I wouldn't mind the whole flying thing.......
I guess it's really a two part question, isn't it? First, if I had the power to change anything at all, would I use it? Superman was told not to. He ignored the warning. So, would I? Would you? Let's say for a minute that I would. The second, and more important question becomes, how far back would I go. Its one thing to go back five minutes to save a friend or loved one. I suppose anyone who could do that would. But then, life for me ain't been no crystal stare. There have been plenty of earthquakes. Which one would be the one to undo? Would I go back a year or so and pick my horn back up and finish that second record? Would I go back and push harder to make the first record more successful? Those seem like safe enough questions. But while I'm thinking about it, why stop there? In the grand scheme of my life, those moments were very small earthquakes. Maybe 2.5 on the Richter. What about the big ones. I've been through a divorce. I had a kid at age 17. Those were major moments. 6.0 at least. They were moments that, at the time, felt like things I couldn't handle. But I did. And what about the big one. That moment way back when I was seven, when it all changed forever. If I was superman, would I wind back time to a few minutes before that magical moment? That was a 9.5 on the Richter scale. The ripples are still being felt 27 years later. So would I undo it? And what would life look like if I did? After all, the further back you go, the less recognizable your life becomes. The path I'm currently on is a direct result of those earthquakes blocking other paths and opening the one I'm on. And I have to say, I like my path.
What I've come to realize about my life, thinking back on all my earthquakes, is that they shaped me. When the dust settled, I became a different person. I was stronger every time. I was wiser every time. And a few of those earthquakes brought amazing gifts with them. My teenage carelessness brought me my wonderful daughter. Can't undo that one. My rocky marriage brought me my son. Gotta keep that one. I go back a few years and focus harder on music and maybe I get a little further with that. Ok fine. But I do that and I'm probably not getting a ph.d in psychology either. Would I trade? I'm not so sure.
I guess the the point is, you can't have both. You can't have the parts of your life that you like and still undo the parts you don't like. The past is the past. It makes the present possible. What earthquake would I erase? Well..... you get the point. Now I wouldn't mind the whole flying thing.......
Monday, May 10, 2010
Mind, Body, & Spirit
I have long been interested in the old notion of a balanced life. I'm not even sure where it originated, but many ancient philosophers and societies valued the balance of the mind body and spirit. I have read that the Greeks believed in sharpening each point of the delicate triangle in order to achieve a degree of enlightenment. I have always liked this idea. It is only in the past few years that I have attempted to live it. Still, its not easy.
Physical strength is easy enough, for me. I work out on a regular basis, and aside from my constant struggle to gain a few pounds, I think my body is doing okay. I'm not gonna say I'm a specimen of health. I tend to not eat my veggies as often as I should. I consume more sugar than most kids I know. But, I'm in shape. I can run a mile without breathing heavy. I can knock out 50 push-ups without major injury. Strong body: check.
My mind is probably my most prized possession. I've always been a thinking man. Perhaps to a fault, I have cultivated my mind. I can think my way out of problems that most people don't even recognize as problems. When most guys jump to use their bodies, I find a way to use my mind instead. It has rarely failed me. (I say rarely, because it did quit on me once, but that's another talk altogether.) Statistically speaking, I'm more educated than just about everyone. When you consider the fact that only about 3% of our population has a terminal degree, the quest I'm on puts me on pace to be more educated than 97% of the folks you're likely to meet on any given day. More importantly though, I'd like to think that my life experience has taught me a thing or two. I've been around the block. On the way around, I paid attention. So at the risk of sounding rude, I'll say this. Strong mind: check.
That's two thirds of the triangle. That's pretty good, right? Only thats not enough. You ever see a three legged stool? Try taking away one of those legs and see what happens. A friend of mine brought an interesting question to my attention. He did so in the form of a comment. He commented on the rantings of my blog by saying "....the intense yearning for expression of the artist can not be consumated thru artistic expression, but rather in spiritual expression." There's that third stool leg.
I've always seen my art as my connection to God. My art is my sanctuary. I guess it makes sense. When I was young, we listened to jazz on Sunday mornings. It was like worship. I studied music religiously when I was coming up. Art is my higher power. When I am away from it, I feel empty. When I am in it, I feel whole. When I went away from playing music for a time, someone approached me and said, "God gave you this gift so you'd use it." That really hit me. Its a gift from God. It is my spirituality, if you will. So here's my question.
I don't hide the fact that God and I have not always seen eye to eye. I don't like church. I have, at times, felt a bit lost there. I have, at times, felt lost period. But God and I seem to agree on one thing. The art thing works for me. I give him credit for having it. He keeps the ideas flowing. It seems like a fair deal to me. But is my friend right? Is that not enough? Do I owe the Creator a greater thanks for my creativity? And if so, what? Is the expression of art, in and of itself, not my spiritual expression? Will I somehow find that enlightenment and fulfillment that I seek through some OTHER kind of expression? Because I love and respect the friend that planted this thought in my head, I'm gonna give my mind time to process it. In the mean time, I better go hit the gym.
Physical strength is easy enough, for me. I work out on a regular basis, and aside from my constant struggle to gain a few pounds, I think my body is doing okay. I'm not gonna say I'm a specimen of health. I tend to not eat my veggies as often as I should. I consume more sugar than most kids I know. But, I'm in shape. I can run a mile without breathing heavy. I can knock out 50 push-ups without major injury. Strong body: check.
My mind is probably my most prized possession. I've always been a thinking man. Perhaps to a fault, I have cultivated my mind. I can think my way out of problems that most people don't even recognize as problems. When most guys jump to use their bodies, I find a way to use my mind instead. It has rarely failed me. (I say rarely, because it did quit on me once, but that's another talk altogether.) Statistically speaking, I'm more educated than just about everyone. When you consider the fact that only about 3% of our population has a terminal degree, the quest I'm on puts me on pace to be more educated than 97% of the folks you're likely to meet on any given day. More importantly though, I'd like to think that my life experience has taught me a thing or two. I've been around the block. On the way around, I paid attention. So at the risk of sounding rude, I'll say this. Strong mind: check.
That's two thirds of the triangle. That's pretty good, right? Only thats not enough. You ever see a three legged stool? Try taking away one of those legs and see what happens. A friend of mine brought an interesting question to my attention. He did so in the form of a comment. He commented on the rantings of my blog by saying "....the intense yearning for expression of the artist can not be consumated thru artistic expression, but rather in spiritual expression." There's that third stool leg.
I've always seen my art as my connection to God. My art is my sanctuary. I guess it makes sense. When I was young, we listened to jazz on Sunday mornings. It was like worship. I studied music religiously when I was coming up. Art is my higher power. When I am away from it, I feel empty. When I am in it, I feel whole. When I went away from playing music for a time, someone approached me and said, "God gave you this gift so you'd use it." That really hit me. Its a gift from God. It is my spirituality, if you will. So here's my question.
I don't hide the fact that God and I have not always seen eye to eye. I don't like church. I have, at times, felt a bit lost there. I have, at times, felt lost period. But God and I seem to agree on one thing. The art thing works for me. I give him credit for having it. He keeps the ideas flowing. It seems like a fair deal to me. But is my friend right? Is that not enough? Do I owe the Creator a greater thanks for my creativity? And if so, what? Is the expression of art, in and of itself, not my spiritual expression? Will I somehow find that enlightenment and fulfillment that I seek through some OTHER kind of expression? Because I love and respect the friend that planted this thought in my head, I'm gonna give my mind time to process it. In the mean time, I better go hit the gym.
Sowing Seeds
I always say that there aren't many things that have been in my life longer than music. I've loved music since I was about 12 years old. I loved it and it loved me. You see, my father had planted seeds in me that I didn't even know where there until I got to be a teenager. He sat around on Sunday mornings and played old jazz records all day. My siblings and I would lay on the floor and listen. I'm sure we didn't WANT to listen. What five year old really wants to listen to John Coltrane? But when you're five, what choice do you really have? And so the seeds were planted. When I was seven, my father died. With his passing went those Sunday morning jazz experiences. But the seeds had been planted. They started to really grow when I was around 12 or so. By age 14 they had sprouted into a full grown love affair.
Like I said, there aren't many things that have been in my life longer than music. In fact, there's only one thing that I've ever wanted MORE than to be a musician. Even stronger than my desire to be a musician was my childhood desire to be a dad. Strange, right? Who does that? Who grows up wanting to be a dad? When you're dad dies at age seven, I guess maybe that's the normal reaction. I wanted to grow up and give some kid the stuff I never got. I never tossed a baseball in the backyard with my dad. He never saw me play. Mind you, I loved baseball. Loved it with all my heart. But round about the time when raw talent is supposed to meet polished skill, I stopped being good enough. I always theorized that it was my dad's fault. I would watch my buddies out on the field on Saturday afternoons with their dads. They practiced after practice. They talked about the games. I just went home with my mom. So, as a senior in high school, when played my final year of high school ball I vowed to have a son and teach him to play. I wanted to be the father I never had.
Flip to several years later. Music is more of a passion than a profession. Two kids. One ex-wife. I can't say things have gone according to plan. What I can say is that I was right. I love being a dad. Last year my son turned just old enough to play t-ball. I had, of course, bought his ball and glove when he was two. He finally fit into it. I took him out into the back yard and began to teach him how to toss the ball. I remember this warm feeling coming over me. I had kept my promise. I got to play catch with my son. He's now in his second season of t-ball. We can actually go out in the yard and play a little ball with confidence. I help coach his little league team, and I'm convinced I have way more fun than he does. But that's okay with me.
I tell you what though. Even more powerful than tossing the ball with my son is the feeling I get when I see my kids make music. I don't know that I can describe it. A few years ago my daughter was in the school play. It was Aladdin. She didn't wanna do it, but her mother made her. She wouldn't practice her parts in front of us. She wouldn't tell us much about it. So on opening night I had a bit of anxiety, to say the least. When her part came and she opened her mouth to sing, it was like all had been made right in the world. She sang. I cried. One of my old teachers came up to me after the show, obviously noticing that I was shocked. She asked, "Well, what did you expect? She's your kid."
The other day I came downstairs to find my son writing music. Mind you he's five. He had taken some paper out of my printer and drawn lines on it to make "music paper." He was writing lyrics on the lines. He had done the same thing the week before, so I knew what he was doing. At first it made me laugh. Then it almost made me cry. Now, do I think either of them will grow up to be superstars? Maybe not. Do I hope they stick with music or the arts? I honestly don't care about that. But when I see it coming out of them as naturally as it comes out of me, it warms my heart every time. I think to myself: My dad planted those seeds. I'm so glad I'm here to watch them grow.
Like I said, there aren't many things that have been in my life longer than music. In fact, there's only one thing that I've ever wanted MORE than to be a musician. Even stronger than my desire to be a musician was my childhood desire to be a dad. Strange, right? Who does that? Who grows up wanting to be a dad? When you're dad dies at age seven, I guess maybe that's the normal reaction. I wanted to grow up and give some kid the stuff I never got. I never tossed a baseball in the backyard with my dad. He never saw me play. Mind you, I loved baseball. Loved it with all my heart. But round about the time when raw talent is supposed to meet polished skill, I stopped being good enough. I always theorized that it was my dad's fault. I would watch my buddies out on the field on Saturday afternoons with their dads. They practiced after practice. They talked about the games. I just went home with my mom. So, as a senior in high school, when played my final year of high school ball I vowed to have a son and teach him to play. I wanted to be the father I never had.
Flip to several years later. Music is more of a passion than a profession. Two kids. One ex-wife. I can't say things have gone according to plan. What I can say is that I was right. I love being a dad. Last year my son turned just old enough to play t-ball. I had, of course, bought his ball and glove when he was two. He finally fit into it. I took him out into the back yard and began to teach him how to toss the ball. I remember this warm feeling coming over me. I had kept my promise. I got to play catch with my son. He's now in his second season of t-ball. We can actually go out in the yard and play a little ball with confidence. I help coach his little league team, and I'm convinced I have way more fun than he does. But that's okay with me.
I tell you what though. Even more powerful than tossing the ball with my son is the feeling I get when I see my kids make music. I don't know that I can describe it. A few years ago my daughter was in the school play. It was Aladdin. She didn't wanna do it, but her mother made her. She wouldn't practice her parts in front of us. She wouldn't tell us much about it. So on opening night I had a bit of anxiety, to say the least. When her part came and she opened her mouth to sing, it was like all had been made right in the world. She sang. I cried. One of my old teachers came up to me after the show, obviously noticing that I was shocked. She asked, "Well, what did you expect? She's your kid."
The other day I came downstairs to find my son writing music. Mind you he's five. He had taken some paper out of my printer and drawn lines on it to make "music paper." He was writing lyrics on the lines. He had done the same thing the week before, so I knew what he was doing. At first it made me laugh. Then it almost made me cry. Now, do I think either of them will grow up to be superstars? Maybe not. Do I hope they stick with music or the arts? I honestly don't care about that. But when I see it coming out of them as naturally as it comes out of me, it warms my heart every time. I think to myself: My dad planted those seeds. I'm so glad I'm here to watch them grow.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Perks of the Job
If I added up all the time I've spent on artistic endeavors in the past 2 years, the vast majority of it would involve photography. Most people who know me personally don't know this, but I spend a pretty good amount of time on artistic nude photography. It always seems odd to me that it comes as a shock to them. It seems to me that the idea makes perfect sense. I love art. I am quite fond of naked women. This is a no brainer, really. But that tends to be the problem. I don't hide the fact that I really like naked woman. In that sense, I'm probably just like the average guy. So, when people hear about my artistic nude project, they tend to think its just a plot to get girls naked in order to fill some sexual need. That couldn't be further from the truth. I truly love art. Almost more than I love sex. It might seem hard to believe, but when I've got a camera in my hand and I'm staring at a beautiful naked girl, sex is the furthest thing from my mind. Okay, maybe not the furthest, but really really far.
The hardest part about being an artistic nude photographer is the perception. No one mistakes a jazz musician for a poser. If you've taken the time to learn anything about jazz, whatever personal gains it affords you are just fair game. The cool sax player who learned to play like David Sanborn might get lots of girls, but then again he deserves to. Right? The drummer in the rock band that gets panties thrown at him every night is just being a rock star. No harm, no foul. Those mysterious poet guys at coffee houses undoubtedly get the college girls at the poetry readings pretty hot and bothered. No one complains about that. Its just a perk of being so smart and artistic. But a nude photographer can't do that. It seems unfair. After all, the girls I run into while I'm working are already naked and staring into my eyes for an hour at a time. That's pretty intimate. It can even be an arousing experience. So, for me to then try to close the deal, so to speak, seems a bit like cheating. That poet would have to get the girl's Ramones t-shirt and her skinny jeans off of her before he's anywhere near what I get to see five minutes after I meet my subject. But is that my fault?
I guess I say all that to say this. Its just not fair. I get the worst of both worlds. I get blamed for doing what I never ever do. I don't get to do what any cool artist in any other medium gets to do if and when he wants to. I kinda feel like I'm getting the short end of the stick here. Then again, I do get to create art while staring a gorgeous naked women on a pretty regular basis............ Okay nevermind. I'm good.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Island Paradise
No man is an island. That's what they say, right? No man is an island. But what does that mean? No one can survive on their own? Everyone needs someone? So shouldn't the saying go: no man SHOULD BE an island? There's a big difference. I mean, what if you ARE an island? Seems to me that it's possible. I don't know that it's anyone's first choice. Me, I'd rather be landlocked. Totally surrounded. Even a peninsula has some connections. I could deal with that. But if you're the island, do you really have a choice? Think about Tom Hanks in that movie where he's stranded. I'm quite sure he'd have been happy to have a boatload of folks swing by and pick him up. Heck, come visit. Anything. But what say does he have in that?
I guess I've always been kind of a lonely soul. I mean, I make friends okay. I get along with people just fine. Most people are shocked when I say I'm shy. People see me smiling, and they assume I'm this happy-go-lucky guy. But its a trick. Its a front. Just behind that smile, just past that big laugh, there's always been a scared kid who really just wants to go home. But where's home? Hence the whole island thing.
The thing I love about music is that it makes me feel okay about being stranded. Still on the island, but at peace with it. Standing on a stage with my horn in my hand, I always felt like I was standing in the right spot. When I'm in the attic, writing music, its almost like I forget that there's water all around me. Like it somehow doesn't matter. The problem is I spend 99% of my time NOT on stage or in my attic. I spend an awful lot of my time walking the halls of the psych department. Or at little league with my son. Or driving my daughter around. Or out on dates. Or hanging with my friends. I gotta say, all I see is ocean for miles and miles.
I guess I've always been kind of a lonely soul. I mean, I make friends okay. I get along with people just fine. Most people are shocked when I say I'm shy. People see me smiling, and they assume I'm this happy-go-lucky guy. But its a trick. Its a front. Just behind that smile, just past that big laugh, there's always been a scared kid who really just wants to go home. But where's home? Hence the whole island thing.
The thing I love about music is that it makes me feel okay about being stranded. Still on the island, but at peace with it. Standing on a stage with my horn in my hand, I always felt like I was standing in the right spot. When I'm in the attic, writing music, its almost like I forget that there's water all around me. Like it somehow doesn't matter. The problem is I spend 99% of my time NOT on stage or in my attic. I spend an awful lot of my time walking the halls of the psych department. Or at little league with my son. Or driving my daughter around. Or out on dates. Or hanging with my friends. I gotta say, all I see is ocean for miles and miles.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Revelations
One year of doctoral training in the bag. One step closer to this new goal. This year has taught me a lot. I've come to realize something about myself. There's something that I always knew, but wasn't ready to acknowledge until now. I chose to leave the music scene behind. I made a decision, at some moment in time, that the cost of being a full time musician was too much for me to pay. I don't remember the moment exactly, but I know that there was that moment. Maybe it was way back in music school when my improv teacher told me it would take several more hours of practice everyday in order to get to the next level. I knew I liked practicing, but not that much. Maybe it was when my wife got sick and quit working. I shut down the record label I was running at the time and went to work at a psych hospital in order to feed the family. Maybe it was when I was in grad school and I started to actually like helping people as much as I liked creating music. At some point, plan B became plan A. But, until this year, I didn't know what that meant for me. One year of training toward the goal of becoming a psychologist has taught me one thing. It taught me that that decision was a good one.
I used to be a jazz trumpet player. I loved to play the trumpet. I wanted to be Miles Davis. I wanted to be Clark Terry. I loved the trumpet. Then I heard Paul Simon and it rocked my world. I realized that I just loved music. I began writing and producing music. Not just jazz, but all kinds of music. I wasn't a trumpet player. I was a musician. Then, on a whim, I studied a little bit of photography and poetry. Once again, world-rocking revelation. I'm not a musician. I'm an artist. I love creating art. Any art. All art.
That's where I was for a really long time. Until a few months ago, I suppose. In my years in social service, I kind of went through my work posing as a helping professional. It wasn't my identity. I liked it, but it wasn't "me." I was, after all, an artist waiting to get back to his art. But this year something changed. Somewhere along the past year, I figured it out. There's a reason I left music behind. There's a reason I love photography as a side job. There is a reason that plan B always seems to work and plan A always goes the way it does. Its because plan B was supposed to be plan A all along. I was born to do what I'm doing. The creativity in me is my built in defense against the crazy making experiences I've had.
When I look back on the crazy set of events that has been my life, I can come to only one conclusion. I'm supposed to be helping people. I've walked through the fire. I've been crazy. I've been poor. I've come out on the other side. And now I'm supposed to show folks the way. Thats my job.
The thing that I always loved about music and art is that it stimulated me in a way that nothing else did. My brain tingles when I am being creative. When I'm making music, or snapping pictures, or writing, its like I'm talking to God. As a psychologist, I'm in the unique position to be creative while also helping people. I get that same tingly feeling when I'm researching self-efficacy among black teens. I get it when I'm in the room with a client and I can see them making a break through. When I am presenting at a conference, I get the same rush I did on stage with my horn in my hand.
There's that world-rocking revelation again. I'm not a jazz trumpet player. I'm not a musician. I'm not an artist. I'm not even a psychologist. I don't think I fit in with the nerds in the psych department any more than I did with the artsy folks at music school. And maybe thats the thing. The stuff inside me is God's special formula for something. I'm not yet sure what. But a year of doctoral training has taught me one thing. Whatever it is that I'm about to do, I'm ready for it. And I think I'm gonna like it.
I used to be a jazz trumpet player. I loved to play the trumpet. I wanted to be Miles Davis. I wanted to be Clark Terry. I loved the trumpet. Then I heard Paul Simon and it rocked my world. I realized that I just loved music. I began writing and producing music. Not just jazz, but all kinds of music. I wasn't a trumpet player. I was a musician. Then, on a whim, I studied a little bit of photography and poetry. Once again, world-rocking revelation. I'm not a musician. I'm an artist. I love creating art. Any art. All art.
That's where I was for a really long time. Until a few months ago, I suppose. In my years in social service, I kind of went through my work posing as a helping professional. It wasn't my identity. I liked it, but it wasn't "me." I was, after all, an artist waiting to get back to his art. But this year something changed. Somewhere along the past year, I figured it out. There's a reason I left music behind. There's a reason I love photography as a side job. There is a reason that plan B always seems to work and plan A always goes the way it does. Its because plan B was supposed to be plan A all along. I was born to do what I'm doing. The creativity in me is my built in defense against the crazy making experiences I've had.
When I look back on the crazy set of events that has been my life, I can come to only one conclusion. I'm supposed to be helping people. I've walked through the fire. I've been crazy. I've been poor. I've come out on the other side. And now I'm supposed to show folks the way. Thats my job.
The thing that I always loved about music and art is that it stimulated me in a way that nothing else did. My brain tingles when I am being creative. When I'm making music, or snapping pictures, or writing, its like I'm talking to God. As a psychologist, I'm in the unique position to be creative while also helping people. I get that same tingly feeling when I'm researching self-efficacy among black teens. I get it when I'm in the room with a client and I can see them making a break through. When I am presenting at a conference, I get the same rush I did on stage with my horn in my hand.
There's that world-rocking revelation again. I'm not a jazz trumpet player. I'm not a musician. I'm not an artist. I'm not even a psychologist. I don't think I fit in with the nerds in the psych department any more than I did with the artsy folks at music school. And maybe thats the thing. The stuff inside me is God's special formula for something. I'm not yet sure what. But a year of doctoral training has taught me one thing. Whatever it is that I'm about to do, I'm ready for it. And I think I'm gonna like it.
Falling
can you see hands holding,
hearts tangled, locked
one with the other
lips kissing,
souls touching, gently
a sweet caress
can you hear music playing,
spirits dancing, slowly
to one hearts rhythm
lovers singing, softly
harmonizing love’s melody
can you feel fire burning,
two souls snuggling, close
by passion’s flame
arms hugging,
lives embracing,
molding into one
hearts tangled, locked
one with the other
lips kissing,
souls touching, gently
a sweet caress
can you hear music playing,
spirits dancing, slowly
to one hearts rhythm
lovers singing, softly
harmonizing love’s melody
can you feel fire burning,
two souls snuggling, close
by passion’s flame
arms hugging,
lives embracing,
molding into one
12/28/09
I'm back at it again. The creative juices are flowing. You would think that to be a good thing if you didn't know me. But I know me. I create when I'm hurting. That's the pattern. I've learned from my work in mental health that depressed people stop taking their medication when their medication is working. Why? Because when the medicine works, they feel better. When they feel better, they don't think they need the medicine anymore. So they stop taking it. But what happens next is pretty predictable. They get worse because they haven't taken the medicine that makes them better. Then they feel bad again and remember that they need the medicine. Then they start over. That's me and my art. My art is my antidepressant. It makes me feel good. It makes me feel alive. When I let life go so long that I feel like I'm just going through the motions, my art kicks in and I start creating again.
I realize that what I would tell my therapy clients is that if the medicine helps, keep taking it. By that reasoning, I should probably learn to sustain my art even in good times. But I don't. When things are going well, I go off and live my life as a counselor. Right now I'm, a psychologist in training. Its funny. At the beginning of every course I take, we go through this meet and greet session. Everyone introduces themselves and talks about what they've done and what they want to do. There is always this conflict within me. I want to say, "I'm Rueben. I'm an artist. I've done...(insert artistic accomplishments)..and I hope to one day publish a book of photography. I also hope to release another record one day. But I don't. I say, "I'm Rueben. I've been in social services for 12 years......" But it hurts my heart to say it. Every time. And when enough time passes and life gets me down, I go back to what I know best.
There's a song I love called "How the heart approaches what it yearns". Its so true. The heart pulls itself closest to what it wants most. The mind can play its tricks and try to convince us of what makes most sense. The heart wants what it wants. So when you see me around, if I look like I need a hug, just do me a favor. Tell me to take my meds. I'll know what you mean.
I realize that what I would tell my therapy clients is that if the medicine helps, keep taking it. By that reasoning, I should probably learn to sustain my art even in good times. But I don't. When things are going well, I go off and live my life as a counselor. Right now I'm, a psychologist in training. Its funny. At the beginning of every course I take, we go through this meet and greet session. Everyone introduces themselves and talks about what they've done and what they want to do. There is always this conflict within me. I want to say, "I'm Rueben. I'm an artist. I've done...(insert artistic accomplishments)..and I hope to one day publish a book of photography. I also hope to release another record one day. But I don't. I say, "I'm Rueben. I've been in social services for 12 years......" But it hurts my heart to say it. Every time. And when enough time passes and life gets me down, I go back to what I know best.
There's a song I love called "How the heart approaches what it yearns". Its so true. The heart pulls itself closest to what it wants most. The mind can play its tricks and try to convince us of what makes most sense. The heart wants what it wants. So when you see me around, if I look like I need a hug, just do me a favor. Tell me to take my meds. I'll know what you mean.
10/26/08
I was browsing the web and stumbled onto some guy's top ten list. It reminded me of the days when a buddy of mine and I would sit around making top _____ lists. It might be top five for this moment, top ten all time, current playlist, etc. It was fun taking inventory of our favorites. So, I'm making a list. This one's my top 10 most influential albums. (That's influential to me, of course.) These records made me who I am, musically. If you check out this list, you'll see how I came to make the music I make and love the music I love. If you go listen to any of these records, you're just way cool to me. If you can't find any of them, stop over. You can borrow mine.
10. Kenny Rankin Album - Kenny Rankin
My dad used to listen to music on Sunday mornings. Coltrane. Stevie Wonder. Oscar Peterson. And this. I was so young that I couldn't recognize much of what I was hearing. But Kenny Rankin's voice stayed with me. Years after my father passed, I went looking for that sound that was stuck in my head. This was it. But while I dug through all those dusty records, I rediscovered Coltrane, Miles, Oscar, and my love for the music that had been planted in my soul. So this record is heavy for me.
9. Ten Summoner's Tales - Sting
I was a non believer at first. Still pretty stuck in my jazz ways, I had a hard time seeing that a pop/rock guy could make good music. I was young and stupid. My friend played this album all the way through while we drove somewhere. When it was over I asked him to play it again. Then I went and bought everything Sting had ever done. It's that good. His lyrics. His musicianship. It's heavy, but its fun at the same time. This guy paved the way for guys like John Mayer. I could put the rest of his collection on the list too, but that would just be unfair.
8. Greatest Hits V.1 - Earth Wind & Fire
To be fair, this isn't an album. Its a best of. Thats like cheating, I know. But I couldn't ignore the old soul/r&b influence my mother put into my head after my father passed. The whispers. Luther. Marvin Gaye. The list goes on. And instead of leaving them all out, I had to pick the record I heard the most. That's this one. But they are all equally important to my development. I would need a separate list to do them all justice.
7. Songs in the Key of Life - Stevie Wonder
This is one of my really early influences along with the jazz my father listened to. I feel like this music is in my blood, I heard it so much. This is one of Stevie's best works. Its more like a movement than an album.
6. Thriller - Michael Jackson
This album really needs no speech. You know the record. Everyone does. This album did to me what it did to everyone else. Quincy Jones. Young MJ. Enough said.
5. Porgy and Bess - Miles Davis w/Gil Evans
My very first Miles exposure was this record. Crazy right? I know. But it was in my dad's old records and I gave it a shot. There is a solo on a song called Gone, that I played until the record broke. Then I went and bought the cassette. Porgy and Bess is beautiful music on its own. But Miles playing it with a jazz orchestra behind him, well you can imagine.
4. We Get Requests - Oscar Peterson Trio
I wish I could explain how important this record was to me. If I did, I'd probably be in tears at the end. My dad used to listen to this record. A lot. I was too young to know what it was or that I liked it really. He was gone by the time I was seven years old. So from age seven to age 14, I didnt hear this record once. But when I found it again, I still knew every line and lick on Days of Wine and Roses. Okay, maybe not every line. Oscar plays way to fast to say that. But it was carved into my brain. This record is just three guys playing standards and show tunes. But take a listen if you don't believe me. Its amazing.
3. On the Sunny Side of the Street - Ella & Basie
This was the beginning. This is where the love affair started. My freshman year in high school, my band director told me to go buy some Basie. I chose this one. I listened to it every day on my paper route. I learned every note, every word, every phrase. I learned what it meant to swing. Basie was so laid back in the pocket that they used to say he was playing yesterday's charts. I was introduced to Clark Terry through Basie. I was introduced to ELLA FITZGERALD through Basie. I learned you didnt need a lot of notes to play a nice solo from Basie. This is a record I bet you've never heard. Go fix that.
2. One Trick Pony - Paul Simon
This is a relatively unknown Paul Simon record that was actually a soundtrack to the movie with the same name. The movie starred the band on the record. The movie was good. The album changed me. It was honestly the end of my love affair with jazz, if there ever was one. I was, before that point, a jazz head. A die hard. My friend Dave hit me with this album, and for about a year, I literally couldn't listen to anything else. I tried. I really did. But I kept coming back to this album. It was pure, raw, emotion. It was the life of a musician poured onto wax. Not to mention Steve Gadd, Richard Tee, and the guys. I remember being in my apartment in Philly, laying in bed listening to Steve Gadd licks on repeat, with tears in my eyes. And Paul Simon's voice. His clarity. His soulful simplicity. It made me stop wanting to play jazz and start wanting to just make music. It led to so many things. Not good for all those people that loved hearing me play trumpet. But, wonderful and freeing for me.
1. Kind of Blue - Miles Davis
This is the big one. It killed me. It took over my world. I was about 15 when I heard it. I had just finished diggin' on Porgy and Bess. I needed a fix. I happened onto this. Little did I know it was recognized the world over as some of Mile's most groundbreaking work. Early Coltrane. Cannonball. So What. (If these phrases mean nothing to you, find a link to Amazon.com and just buy it. Trust me. ) Everyone digs So What, and I'm not going to disagree, but for me it was Freddie The Freeloader. I studied that solo like I was being tested. I learned where to breathe. I learned how to phrase a solo. I learned to play the trumpet from Freddie. But over all, this album is just perfect. It has emotion and introspection. It has meat and energy (see Cannonball Adderly). If I wasn't sure, before this record, that I loved music more than life itself, Miles closed the deal.
10. Kenny Rankin Album - Kenny Rankin
My dad used to listen to music on Sunday mornings. Coltrane. Stevie Wonder. Oscar Peterson. And this. I was so young that I couldn't recognize much of what I was hearing. But Kenny Rankin's voice stayed with me. Years after my father passed, I went looking for that sound that was stuck in my head. This was it. But while I dug through all those dusty records, I rediscovered Coltrane, Miles, Oscar, and my love for the music that had been planted in my soul. So this record is heavy for me.
9. Ten Summoner's Tales - Sting
I was a non believer at first. Still pretty stuck in my jazz ways, I had a hard time seeing that a pop/rock guy could make good music. I was young and stupid. My friend played this album all the way through while we drove somewhere. When it was over I asked him to play it again. Then I went and bought everything Sting had ever done. It's that good. His lyrics. His musicianship. It's heavy, but its fun at the same time. This guy paved the way for guys like John Mayer. I could put the rest of his collection on the list too, but that would just be unfair.
8. Greatest Hits V.1 - Earth Wind & Fire
To be fair, this isn't an album. Its a best of. Thats like cheating, I know. But I couldn't ignore the old soul/r&b influence my mother put into my head after my father passed. The whispers. Luther. Marvin Gaye. The list goes on. And instead of leaving them all out, I had to pick the record I heard the most. That's this one. But they are all equally important to my development. I would need a separate list to do them all justice.
7. Songs in the Key of Life - Stevie Wonder
This is one of my really early influences along with the jazz my father listened to. I feel like this music is in my blood, I heard it so much. This is one of Stevie's best works. Its more like a movement than an album.
6. Thriller - Michael Jackson
This album really needs no speech. You know the record. Everyone does. This album did to me what it did to everyone else. Quincy Jones. Young MJ. Enough said.
5. Porgy and Bess - Miles Davis w/Gil Evans
My very first Miles exposure was this record. Crazy right? I know. But it was in my dad's old records and I gave it a shot. There is a solo on a song called Gone, that I played until the record broke. Then I went and bought the cassette. Porgy and Bess is beautiful music on its own. But Miles playing it with a jazz orchestra behind him, well you can imagine.
4. We Get Requests - Oscar Peterson Trio
I wish I could explain how important this record was to me. If I did, I'd probably be in tears at the end. My dad used to listen to this record. A lot. I was too young to know what it was or that I liked it really. He was gone by the time I was seven years old. So from age seven to age 14, I didnt hear this record once. But when I found it again, I still knew every line and lick on Days of Wine and Roses. Okay, maybe not every line. Oscar plays way to fast to say that. But it was carved into my brain. This record is just three guys playing standards and show tunes. But take a listen if you don't believe me. Its amazing.
3. On the Sunny Side of the Street - Ella & Basie
This was the beginning. This is where the love affair started. My freshman year in high school, my band director told me to go buy some Basie. I chose this one. I listened to it every day on my paper route. I learned every note, every word, every phrase. I learned what it meant to swing. Basie was so laid back in the pocket that they used to say he was playing yesterday's charts. I was introduced to Clark Terry through Basie. I was introduced to ELLA FITZGERALD through Basie. I learned you didnt need a lot of notes to play a nice solo from Basie. This is a record I bet you've never heard. Go fix that.
2. One Trick Pony - Paul Simon
This is a relatively unknown Paul Simon record that was actually a soundtrack to the movie with the same name. The movie starred the band on the record. The movie was good. The album changed me. It was honestly the end of my love affair with jazz, if there ever was one. I was, before that point, a jazz head. A die hard. My friend Dave hit me with this album, and for about a year, I literally couldn't listen to anything else. I tried. I really did. But I kept coming back to this album. It was pure, raw, emotion. It was the life of a musician poured onto wax. Not to mention Steve Gadd, Richard Tee, and the guys. I remember being in my apartment in Philly, laying in bed listening to Steve Gadd licks on repeat, with tears in my eyes. And Paul Simon's voice. His clarity. His soulful simplicity. It made me stop wanting to play jazz and start wanting to just make music. It led to so many things. Not good for all those people that loved hearing me play trumpet. But, wonderful and freeing for me.
1. Kind of Blue - Miles Davis
This is the big one. It killed me. It took over my world. I was about 15 when I heard it. I had just finished diggin' on Porgy and Bess. I needed a fix. I happened onto this. Little did I know it was recognized the world over as some of Mile's most groundbreaking work. Early Coltrane. Cannonball. So What. (If these phrases mean nothing to you, find a link to Amazon.com and just buy it. Trust me. ) Everyone digs So What, and I'm not going to disagree, but for me it was Freddie The Freeloader. I studied that solo like I was being tested. I learned where to breathe. I learned how to phrase a solo. I learned to play the trumpet from Freddie. But over all, this album is just perfect. It has emotion and introspection. It has meat and energy (see Cannonball Adderly). If I wasn't sure, before this record, that I loved music more than life itself, Miles closed the deal.
6/29/08
My house flooded yesterday. Well, I should say my house flooded for a few days. My friend and I went to Michigan, to see her sister. I came back to a broken water pipe and a flooded office/studio. Yup. I said studio. As in music. Every bit of music that I was working on, dreaming of making another CD, is gone. Every old song that I wrote. All of my equipment. Luckily my main instrument is trumpet, and you can't really "flood" a trumpet. But my keyboard and drum machine and all that stuff flooded very nicely.
So here I am, trying to reframe. A fresh start maybe. A chance to get my equipment updated. A chance to remodel the house. (Its pretty well destroyed.) These are all the things I was thinking yesterday, when I walked in the door. I was working hard to save what I could, and I guess I didn't have much time to stop and think. So, I was stuck in positive mode. You know, look at the bright side. That was yesterday. Today, when the thought woke me up at 6am, it was more like someone had died.
Of course I know no one died. I'm healthy. My old CD collection made it. My books made it. My trumpet will pull through, I think. Honestly, I don't care about the equipment. But, the music. The ideas. The songs that I'd finished and hadn't recorded yet. The little ideas that I hadn't started to develop yet. The first songs I wrote, when I was 18. Those have all gone on to glory. No amount of remodeling will bring them back. And so, I say good-bye. God bless.
I'm gonna need a moment.
Okay, moment's over. Didn't last long. I've gotta fix my house. I've gotta figure out where my kids will be staying until I do. I've gotta get my work done. I have papers to write for class. And yet, there's my music. Dead in the water, like the dude at the end of Titanic. And as I yell for help, looking back broken hearted at the loss of my love, I think to myself. Why is it that my music is always the one that gets left behind?
So here I am, trying to reframe. A fresh start maybe. A chance to get my equipment updated. A chance to remodel the house. (Its pretty well destroyed.) These are all the things I was thinking yesterday, when I walked in the door. I was working hard to save what I could, and I guess I didn't have much time to stop and think. So, I was stuck in positive mode. You know, look at the bright side. That was yesterday. Today, when the thought woke me up at 6am, it was more like someone had died.
Of course I know no one died. I'm healthy. My old CD collection made it. My books made it. My trumpet will pull through, I think. Honestly, I don't care about the equipment. But, the music. The ideas. The songs that I'd finished and hadn't recorded yet. The little ideas that I hadn't started to develop yet. The first songs I wrote, when I was 18. Those have all gone on to glory. No amount of remodeling will bring them back. And so, I say good-bye. God bless.
I'm gonna need a moment.
Okay, moment's over. Didn't last long. I've gotta fix my house. I've gotta figure out where my kids will be staying until I do. I've gotta get my work done. I have papers to write for class. And yet, there's my music. Dead in the water, like the dude at the end of Titanic. And as I yell for help, looking back broken hearted at the loss of my love, I think to myself. Why is it that my music is always the one that gets left behind?
9/8/07
I'm feeling rather creative these days. I've noticed that, at least in my life, the creativity seems to pour out at the times of greatest termoil. When life is crazy, and I'm as frustrated as I can be, thats when I get inspired. When life is smooth sailing, I just go fishing a lot. I guess thats a good thing though. My art is my release. It kicks into overdrive when I need it most. If it were the other way around, I'd be writing like crazy during the good times, and during the bad times, I'd jump off some bridge. That wouldn't really work out so great.
I've enjoyed getting back into my poetry. I always neglect my poetry. I don't write like I used to. I used to carry around a book, and I'd write in it all the time. I was like one of those........well, nerdy writers. Back pack and all. Now I rarey write. Even when I do, I usually dont share it with anyone. That is, until now. I've been using this blog to air out the poetry book a bit. I thought, since its taking me way too long to finish my new album, I'd satisfy my attention fix by putting up some poetry for the world's review. Only thing is, I forgot the fundemental difference between my poetry and my music. I love music because it can't so much be misunderstood. There are no words to interpret. You either vibe to it or you dont. With poetry, there is a meaning to be found. And believe me, people will find a meaning. The hard part is, I don't get to control what meaning they find in my words. Hence, my frustration.
Don't get me wrong. I love it that people are reading my work. I love it that they bother to tell me what they think. But, hearing people interpret my thoughts is something that will take some getting used to. So, keep the comments coming. I need the practice.
I've enjoyed getting back into my poetry. I always neglect my poetry. I don't write like I used to. I used to carry around a book, and I'd write in it all the time. I was like one of those........well, nerdy writers. Back pack and all. Now I rarey write. Even when I do, I usually dont share it with anyone. That is, until now. I've been using this blog to air out the poetry book a bit. I thought, since its taking me way too long to finish my new album, I'd satisfy my attention fix by putting up some poetry for the world's review. Only thing is, I forgot the fundemental difference between my poetry and my music. I love music because it can't so much be misunderstood. There are no words to interpret. You either vibe to it or you dont. With poetry, there is a meaning to be found. And believe me, people will find a meaning. The hard part is, I don't get to control what meaning they find in my words. Hence, my frustration.
Don't get me wrong. I love it that people are reading my work. I love it that they bother to tell me what they think. But, hearing people interpret my thoughts is something that will take some getting used to. So, keep the comments coming. I need the practice.
Just Me
If I could be, anyone
who would I choose to be
look in the mirror, at my face,
what would I likely see
and would I like me, then
this me I'd be
in the absence of
the truest me
or would reflection
on this newest face
bring me to that solemn place
where dreams become reality
and I can't choose
but have to be
just me
who would I choose to be
look in the mirror, at my face,
what would I likely see
and would I like me, then
this me I'd be
in the absence of
the truest me
or would reflection
on this newest face
bring me to that solemn place
where dreams become reality
and I can't choose
but have to be
just me
Proximity
When you're gone
I wonder if you miss me.
When you're gone
I wonder if you think of me,
Because I think of you,
Always.
When we're apart
I want you near to me.
When you're near to me
I want you closer.
When you're close to me,
I'm smiling,
On the inside.
I wonder if you miss me.
When you're gone
I wonder if you think of me,
Because I think of you,
Always.
When we're apart
I want you near to me.
When you're near to me
I want you closer.
When you're close to me,
I'm smiling,
On the inside.
Wisdom of Loneliness
Wise men say, "Do your own thing"
And "Men must do what men must do."
Wiser words were never spoken
and none were ever more untrue.
"Stand on your own two feet"
and "You must follow your own heart"
is what your friends will tell you
but they're leaving out a part.
The path less traveled looks so noble
when they point to it and smile.
I can assure its not that way
once you've walked the path a while.
For friends and wise men will not tell you
in their wise collective drone
that if you walk unbeaten paths
you'll be walking them alone.
After all, they are less traveled.
No one really knows the way
so when you're on that lonely path
no one will have a thing to say.
And "Men must do what men must do."
Wiser words were never spoken
and none were ever more untrue.
"Stand on your own two feet"
and "You must follow your own heart"
is what your friends will tell you
but they're leaving out a part.
The path less traveled looks so noble
when they point to it and smile.
I can assure its not that way
once you've walked the path a while.
For friends and wise men will not tell you
in their wise collective drone
that if you walk unbeaten paths
you'll be walking them alone.
After all, they are less traveled.
No one really knows the way
so when you're on that lonely path
no one will have a thing to say.
True Story
Black Man, Blue Jeans, T-shirt, Short Cropped Hair
5/19/07
Black man, blue jeans, t-shirt
And short cropped hair
That's the description that I apparently fit
Like some unlucky lotto I'd suddenly hit
Black man, blue jeans, t-shirt
And short cropped hair
Just a bit of my time, and a photo ID
That was all they would need and again I'd be free
Oh, just one minute more, sir,
'til my partner arrives
I'm sure once he sees you you'll be on your way
With sincerest apologies and have a nice day
But one after another
More backup arrived
Enlightenment, I guess, made me think to stay cool
For the wise man must, now and then, suffer the fool
Had my smile turned to anger
It would have been different
But, flanked and surrounded, I gave them no cause
For cold looks and cold steel must give men pause
And eventually released
By Krupke and crew
The description they gave made me ponder the question
Was it "T-shirt" or "blue jeans" that got all that attention?
Black man, blue jeans, t-shirt
And short cropped hair
(Sad to say this really did happen to me last week.)
5/19/07
Black man, blue jeans, t-shirt
And short cropped hair
That's the description that I apparently fit
Like some unlucky lotto I'd suddenly hit
Black man, blue jeans, t-shirt
And short cropped hair
Just a bit of my time, and a photo ID
That was all they would need and again I'd be free
Oh, just one minute more, sir,
'til my partner arrives
I'm sure once he sees you you'll be on your way
With sincerest apologies and have a nice day
But one after another
More backup arrived
Enlightenment, I guess, made me think to stay cool
For the wise man must, now and then, suffer the fool
Had my smile turned to anger
It would have been different
But, flanked and surrounded, I gave them no cause
For cold looks and cold steel must give men pause
And eventually released
By Krupke and crew
The description they gave made me ponder the question
Was it "T-shirt" or "blue jeans" that got all that attention?
Black man, blue jeans, t-shirt
And short cropped hair
(Sad to say this really did happen to me last week.)
2/16/07
Lots of people might not know this, for as much as I talk about music, but I don't much think of myself as a musician anymore. I mean, I make music. I love music. But, I'm an artist. I didn't always know that, but I do now. I figured it out when I put down the trumpet a few years ago. I thought I was putting it down to focus on writing music and producing. What I realized was that there are other things that I love just as much as making music. Generally, I just love art. I don't particulary care what the medium is.
My latest obsession is photography. With photography, I'm still in those early stages, where it's all I can think about. I've made so much music, at this point, that it's not quite as surprising to me when I do it right. Still exciting, but not a shock. With photography, every idea is a new idea. Every well executed shot is, well.......usually luck. But I love it. And so I've been spending a good bit of time on it lately. My hope is to one day be equally accomplished at both art forms. I should point out, to whomever might wonder, that this shouldn't be a surprise. I did study photography (along with fiction, poetry, and music). I like to remind people of that, when they refer to me as a musician. I'm an artist. Music is my first love, not my one and only.
I say all that to say this. If you see me wandering the streets of Pittsburgh with a camera in my hand, don't give me strange looks. Just say cheese.
My latest obsession is photography. With photography, I'm still in those early stages, where it's all I can think about. I've made so much music, at this point, that it's not quite as surprising to me when I do it right. Still exciting, but not a shock. With photography, every idea is a new idea. Every well executed shot is, well.......usually luck. But I love it. And so I've been spending a good bit of time on it lately. My hope is to one day be equally accomplished at both art forms. I should point out, to whomever might wonder, that this shouldn't be a surprise. I did study photography (along with fiction, poetry, and music). I like to remind people of that, when they refer to me as a musician. I'm an artist. Music is my first love, not my one and only.
I say all that to say this. If you see me wandering the streets of Pittsburgh with a camera in my hand, don't give me strange looks. Just say cheese.
2/4/07
It should, and probably does, go without saying, but I really love making music. It amazes me, everytime I think about it, how it makes me feel everytime I write something new or get on a stage.
Tonight I sat in with a friend of mine at a local cafe. I played a couple tunes. Nothing big. But it felt so good. It's like that every time. Same feeling. I've heard that drugs loose their strength after a while and you have to use more and more in order to get the same feeling you had the first time. The same is true with alcohol. Even sex, after the first couple (hundred) times, stops being a novelty. It's still fun and everything, just not like that first time when you're like "Man, a can't believe I'm actually doing this!" That's what music feels like to me. Every time. After all these years, I still get that feeling.
Now if I could just figure out a way to play my horn with one hand.
Tonight I sat in with a friend of mine at a local cafe. I played a couple tunes. Nothing big. But it felt so good. It's like that every time. Same feeling. I've heard that drugs loose their strength after a while and you have to use more and more in order to get the same feeling you had the first time. The same is true with alcohol. Even sex, after the first couple (hundred) times, stops being a novelty. It's still fun and everything, just not like that first time when you're like "Man, a can't believe I'm actually doing this!" That's what music feels like to me. Every time. After all these years, I still get that feeling.
Now if I could just figure out a way to play my horn with one hand.
1/24/07
It all happened so fast. I guess I just didn't see it coming. I picked up a part time job a few weeks ago. By part time, I mean maybe ten hours a week. I did it just to make sure I'd have money in my pocket on a regular basis until the gigs start coming. It's TSS work, so the hours are kinda odd but relatively flexible. For me, it was perfect. ....
So anyway, things were going pretty good for me. I was just getting used to this artistic life. Stay up late. Wake up when you wake up. Be creative all day. Repeat. This life, for me, is interrupted only occasionally, by the necessity of grad school and this part time job. These interruptions are what I'd equate to the occasional jab to the forehead.....
You ever see a heavyweight fight? A superior boxer fighting a lesser fighter. The good fighter expects to get hit sometimes, right. He just knows its coming, so it doesn't hurt that much. He's prepared. That was me. Every now and again, though, he gets caught. ....
The boss calls me. Mind you, this doesn't much bother me. When you work only seven to ten hours a week, the boss doesn't have much power over you, right? So he calls and asks me to take a new client, in addition to my old client. This new client is 26 hours, on top of the ten I work already. He really needs me to help him out on this one. I just started, you know. He'll hook me up down the road. ....
And there it was. As if the confidence I'd gained from eating those jabs from my "lesser opponent" had made me just a bit too slow. For a split second, I dropped my hands. He knew it. Instead of the jab, he threw the straight right, caught me on the chin, and that was that. There's me, on the canvas, wondering how I got there. Don't get me wrong. I'll get up. I know I will. Maybe not right away. I'm sure the idea of a full pay check will be reason enough to stay down for six or seven counts. But I'll get up. It's funny, though. Why is it that every time I feel like I'm winning the fight, something puts me on my............
So anyway, things were going pretty good for me. I was just getting used to this artistic life. Stay up late. Wake up when you wake up. Be creative all day. Repeat. This life, for me, is interrupted only occasionally, by the necessity of grad school and this part time job. These interruptions are what I'd equate to the occasional jab to the forehead.....
You ever see a heavyweight fight? A superior boxer fighting a lesser fighter. The good fighter expects to get hit sometimes, right. He just knows its coming, so it doesn't hurt that much. He's prepared. That was me. Every now and again, though, he gets caught. ....
The boss calls me. Mind you, this doesn't much bother me. When you work only seven to ten hours a week, the boss doesn't have much power over you, right? So he calls and asks me to take a new client, in addition to my old client. This new client is 26 hours, on top of the ten I work already. He really needs me to help him out on this one. I just started, you know. He'll hook me up down the road. ....
And there it was. As if the confidence I'd gained from eating those jabs from my "lesser opponent" had made me just a bit too slow. For a split second, I dropped my hands. He knew it. Instead of the jab, he threw the straight right, caught me on the chin, and that was that. There's me, on the canvas, wondering how I got there. Don't get me wrong. I'll get up. I know I will. Maybe not right away. I'm sure the idea of a full pay check will be reason enough to stay down for six or seven counts. But I'll get up. It's funny, though. Why is it that every time I feel like I'm winning the fight, something puts me on my............
1/17/07
When I did my first record, four years ago, I did it for me. I had produced a couple of records for some other artists, and I was anxious to make something that I could call my own. I just wanted to make some music. I did it to satisfy my own curiousity about what it would feel like to be the artist. I never thought about how anyone else would react to it; at least not while I was making the music. I didn't even expect for many people to hear it, let alone like it. And further more, I didn't care.
This time is different. After years of doing the day job thing, I've decided to make music my career. I've determined that I'd like nothing more than to make my money by making music. So, this time, people liking that music is pretty darn important. I must say it changes the thought process. I used to say, "I'm not doin' that" every time I'd come across an idea that, while going against my creative instincts, might help sell the music. I equated these notions to "the glitter suit." It's that proverbial sell out move that marks an artist's descent into making money instead of making art.
I've given it some thought. After far too many hours sitting behind someone else's desk or doing some mindless work for very very little money, I've come to this conclusion...........................
I'm getting fitted for my glitter suit tomorrow.
This time is different. After years of doing the day job thing, I've decided to make music my career. I've determined that I'd like nothing more than to make my money by making music. So, this time, people liking that music is pretty darn important. I must say it changes the thought process. I used to say, "I'm not doin' that" every time I'd come across an idea that, while going against my creative instincts, might help sell the music. I equated these notions to "the glitter suit." It's that proverbial sell out move that marks an artist's descent into making money instead of making art.
I've given it some thought. After far too many hours sitting behind someone else's desk or doing some mindless work for very very little money, I've come to this conclusion...........................
I'm getting fitted for my glitter suit tomorrow.
1/11/07
So I've begun working on my new record. I say that as if I started today. I started writing it months ago. To me, a project doesn't really begin until you think about the end. You know, all the money stuff, and the headaches, and the timelines. Until then it's just writing. I do that for fun. So anyway, I started working on my second album this week. I did the first one so long ago that I had forgotten how much fun it is to make a record. I guess because I don't have a big record label and a bunch of fans to please, it's still fun to make records. I mean, I've got like twelve or so fans, but I'm almost positive I'm related to all of them. So they'll probably cut me some slack if I stray artistically from what they expected after my debut. Still though, it's kinda scary. The repsonse I got from the first one was actually pretty good. It makes for a bit of pressure. You don't want to lose any fans, especially when you have twelve. If you have a million fans and you lose half of them, you still have enough for a gold record. I could live with that. But, to have twelve fans and end up with six. Man that would suck. Then again, I could afford to treat all of my fans to dinner. So I guess that would be cool.
1/6/07
It's been a long time since I put out my record. It's been even longer since I've been on a stage under my own name. So, I've almost forgotten what it's like. But now that I've found this myspace thing, people have started to hear my music again, and once again, I'm experiencing this strange phenomenon. I remember feeling this way when I put my record out. When I did the record, I didn't really expect anyone to "dig" it. I don't know why. Maybe because I did it for me, and didn't really think about what others might think. So when people started telling me how much they liked it, I guess I was a bit surprised.
And so here it is again, this strange feeling. People on myspace, who never heard my record, are contacting me about how much they like my sound. That sounds funny to me. MY SOUND. Miles Davis has a sound. Stevie Wonder, Basie, Coltrane, they all have a sound. Me? I just play. That's the crazy thing about art though. Once you make it and present it to the world, it's no longer yours. It belongs to the world. The people get to decide for themselves whether it's good or not, no matter what you (the artist) think.
I hope you dig it.
And so here it is again, this strange feeling. People on myspace, who never heard my record, are contacting me about how much they like my sound. That sounds funny to me. MY SOUND. Miles Davis has a sound. Stevie Wonder, Basie, Coltrane, they all have a sound. Me? I just play. That's the crazy thing about art though. Once you make it and present it to the world, it's no longer yours. It belongs to the world. The people get to decide for themselves whether it's good or not, no matter what you (the artist) think.
I hope you dig it.
1/3/07
Back in the USA, and I've gotta say I'm not all that happy about it. I could get used to this life. Jetting off to far away lands. Sitting in the sun. Partying into the wee hours of the night. Playing my horn in front of worshipping fans. Okay so they didn't exactly worship us, but a guy can dream.
It's funny. In the week since I left my day job, I all of the sudden got a hand full of new job offers. I don't know how or why. People that I'd contacted months ago just started calling me. And let me tell you, it's not easy to pass up a job offer when you don't have a "job" in the first place. It's especially hard to tell your WIFE that you've turned down a job when you don't have a job. I must say, I struggled with it. My brother says it's the universe's way of asking the question "Are you sure?".
After the week I've had, the answer is undoubtedly YES.
It's funny. In the week since I left my day job, I all of the sudden got a hand full of new job offers. I don't know how or why. People that I'd contacted months ago just started calling me. And let me tell you, it's not easy to pass up a job offer when you don't have a "job" in the first place. It's especially hard to tell your WIFE that you've turned down a job when you don't have a job. I must say, I struggled with it. My brother says it's the universe's way of asking the question "Are you sure?".
After the week I've had, the answer is undoubtedly YES.
12/29/06
So tomorrow I go to Cuba. Big, right? It's big because most people I know don't get to go to Cuba, but it's also big because I'll be playing my horn. This will be my first gig since my Declaration of Independence. It's nice to get things started with such a great gig, but it's a bit anti-climactic too. I mean, it's hard to follow up a week in Cuba with a night at The Rhythm House in Bridgeville, Pa. Don't get me wrong. I'll be happy if The Rhythm House, or any of the clubs around here that like to actually pay people to play music, decides to call me for a gig. But I'm afriad that there aren't that many experiences that compare to what I'll be doing tomorrow. At least not ones that I'll be getting called to do anytime soon.
At any rate, tomorrow will be a good day. Let's hope there are many more to come. If you see me on a stage, whether it's in another country or down the street, you'll know I'm doing just fine. See you at the show.
At any rate, tomorrow will be a good day. Let's hope there are many more to come. If you see me on a stage, whether it's in another country or down the street, you'll know I'm doing just fine. See you at the show.
12/25/06
Someone asked me, yesterday, what my best Christmas present ever was. That's too easy: my horn. I was in like ninth grade. I was still playing on a beginner trumpet that we'd gotten used in fourth or fifth grade. It's the kind of horn your parents get you when they're not sure if you'll still remember where it is in six months. But I knew. In ninth grade, I knew music was gonna be my life. And I wanted that horn so bad. It was a silver Getzen Eterna. I didn't know whether it was good or bad, but the book said it was a professional model, and it sure looked good in the picture. My mother assured me that $400 (or whatever it cost back then) was way out of our budget, and I knew it was. But I hoped.
Christmas morning, there it was. It was all by itself, of course, because it pretty much took up the Christmas budget. But it was there. When I told my wife the story, she said my mother didn't have much choice. It was my passion. But my question is this: how did my mother know? It could have been a phase. I could have sucked. She didn't HAVE to trust me at 14 years old that I knew where my life was going.
I'm glad she did. Merry Christmas mom.
Christmas morning, there it was. It was all by itself, of course, because it pretty much took up the Christmas budget. But it was there. When I told my wife the story, she said my mother didn't have much choice. It was my passion. But my question is this: how did my mother know? It could have been a phase. I could have sucked. She didn't HAVE to trust me at 14 years old that I knew where my life was going.
I'm glad she did. Merry Christmas mom.
12/23/06
A wise man once told me that you're not successful until you're making money in your sleep. Well, I just woke up, and I can assure you that there was no business transacted on my behalf in the past few hours. So, I suppose I've got work to do. But, I did find an old friend last night. So I woke up broke but happy. I can't complain.
It's a funny feeling, though. This freedom I found myself with this morning. No work waiting at the office for me monday morning. No sucky job to complain about. Now it's on me. It's kinda like when you're driving along some back road, and you realize you're lost. You turn around and choose another way. But when you first turn around, you know you're not gonna see anything familiar. You just have to keep driving and hope you made the right call. That's me right now. If you see me on the road, feel free to give me some directions.
It's a funny feeling, though. This freedom I found myself with this morning. No work waiting at the office for me monday morning. No sucky job to complain about. Now it's on me. It's kinda like when you're driving along some back road, and you realize you're lost. You turn around and choose another way. But when you first turn around, you know you're not gonna see anything familiar. You just have to keep driving and hope you made the right call. That's me right now. If you see me on the road, feel free to give me some directions.
12/22/06
Freedom feels good. That's what I kept thinking all day. People kept asking me why I was smiling so big. (Does the phrase 'happy as a run away slave' mean anything to you?) The workaholic in me wouldn't let me leave that pile of papers sitting on the desk for the next poor soul. But, luckily, the artist in me made provisions so that on Monday it will be some OTHER poor soul. Mine will be at home. In tact. As I walked out of the office, an hour later than scheduled and not a minute too soon, the Emperor, I mean the Executive Director said, "You'll be back. I'll suck you back in."
Perhaps. But today was mine. I handed in my badge and my keys and my company cell and rode off into the sunset. As I faded into the distance, I could hear Paul Simon singin'........"It's been a long long Day"
Perhaps. But today was mine. I handed in my badge and my keys and my company cell and rode off into the sunset. As I faded into the distance, I could hear Paul Simon singin'........"It's been a long long Day"
12/21/06
Tomorrow I get my freedom. After yet another heart wrenching battle for my soul, I shall officially declare victory over the current 9 to 5 that was barely feeding my family while waging a viscious attack on my spirit. Tomorrow at noon, I'll be a starving artist. I'm an artist right now. Always have been. It's in my blood. Music, photography, poetry, being more than a little bit crazy; it's all in there. Sometimes I fight it. The conformist inside me convinces me now and again to go be a workaholic like my father before me. He was an artist too. But he lost the war for his soul when I was very young. Kinda like Anikan, the dark side was a bit too strong for him. But not Luke. Not today.
I'll keep you posted.
I'll keep you posted.
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