One year ago today: April 15, 2015, was I grumpy or what?
Five years ago today: April 15, 2011, handcuffed at wife’s funeral.
Nine years ago today: April 15, 2007, lawyer joke.
Random years ago today: April 15, 2010, is that Chernobyl?
MORNING
It’s going to be more of a critique than a review, but I was 90 minutes at the Two& (say “Two And”) club in Ft. Lauderdale last evening. It’s east of the tourist grounds, right on Las Olas with metered street parking only. It was an open mic featuring the ukulele. I’ve been around often enough to watch these fads come and go and they usually involved some similar mutation of the guitar concept. This show was agonizingly funny. The instrument, like the people who play it, has too many design limitations to ever be more than a distraction. I can’t be the first person to wonder whatever happened to old Hawaiian outrigger paddles.
Now, this could be the place I’m seeking. There are no comparable venues in my town and this is only a half-hour drive through the city. The show is still new and it is so bad that it is good. I described it in an e-mail to Trent as “a group of pseudo-musicians who got sold some toy guitars and are simply not willing to admit they got taken”. In fact, here’s the rest of that same paragraph: It is kind of old-folks night until around 10:00, as I was getting ready to leave. The brews are $5 a bottle, they have no Bud, just the dreaded Bud Lite. No PA system, they sing through a bass amp like I did back when I was twelve. The small group of regulars fancy themselves high-brow, right down to the Sinatra style powdered hatbands.
It did not go all my own way. I’m out of practice and it showed. I played and sang for ten minutes, dropping notes and forgetting lyrics. I desperately need a place to play. Who remembers the Hippie? Well, apparently he plays there since people who recognized me talked about the guy. Is he universally hated? Doesn’t anyone have anything good to say about the dude? They all report his violent mood swings and all I can say is I’ve only seen it once. Yet this many unrelated people can’t be lying.
They report he has been banned from many music stores, which in itself must be a bit of a unique exploit. I never knew such a thing was possible. So much for his high-falootin’ theories of how all really cool and serious musicians get along. Because they are so mellow, goes his theory. I will only state that I may consider the man to be a boring, unsophisticated, over-talented fringe case, but no, I don’t hate the guy. His only hope is to get me back playing bass so he can make something of himself. But that won’t happen because he’d have to get off his horse and do things my way.
Yes, the option is still open. The only other person I’d consider, Ray-B, I’ve given up on. He’s hit the guitar doldrums just like all the rest. That 35-55 age group who think they still have a shot. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: When you are dealing with a writer, the writer always has the last word.
As for the other musicians, no surprises. The hosts sang a variety of Elton John caliber tunes, adapted to the standard “Tiny Tim” ukelele strums. They were recognizable once the vocals began, though I stress it was all amateur fare. Don’t drive there expecting a concert. There was an a cappella singer lady, she was fine but a rigid stage figure. The guy before me was a professional guitarist, so I can’t really say why he was there. And he played guitar music, exclusively, which is nice but has only the prevailing impact on an audience any more.
The barmaid is a redhead Amazon. Well, I think it is red, a dark Irish red, almost brown. Standing over six-foot-three, she was wearing a miniskirt and not much else. So overflowing that one can’t help but to wonder how nice all that must have looked back when it was real. I like her, for now. She even lent me an amp out of the back. By next round, I hope to have the Fishman Solo, which would completely outclass the rest of that place.
As luck would have it, that same afternoon I had run through my guitar set. I only know the three basic strums, so I’ve been working on slight variations to keep things novel. Two& is a place I could cut my teeth on, I’ve only ever played guitar at private parties. Guitar strumming always gets better the longer you do it. This time, however, I don’t think I’ll wait. I learned to play bass on stage, not in my living room, and this could be an opportunity for the guitar.
Overall, yes, it was a good evening. A little expensive, but that’s Fort Laudie. If you get bored on the beach, it’s worth a look providing there is entertainment. Otherwise, I kid you not, the place is a bicycle shop.
Real crop circles.
NOON
May I have a quiet afternoon at home? Good, thank you. I went out for a massive store-bought breakfast, so I won’t be cooking the rest of today. This adds up to the prospect of music, real estate, building something, and a lengthy afternoon nap. These days, it is important to know how to relax. And let me tell you who besides my barber is stressing out. My motorcycle mechanic. Same as myself, they don’t recognize the warnings any more than I did.
I looked at the pie graph [below] to see what lies ahead. I can see right now I won’t be spending that much on housing. Right there makes for a happier time than most, one can readily see. According to that chart, old people only spend 5% of their income on entertainment. Jeez, they might as well just go back to work. I don’t see the category for music expenses. Unless it is hidden under “everything else”. But, but, in protest, I say I want everything else to become my biggest expenditure!
And on that note, I see that since the bakery sold, I’ve spent $177.15 on coffee (which includes newspaper expense). Rent is not included in any of my budget figures, although it appears in certain calculations. My gas budget has been $72.28 per month, which seems high until you remember I always pay for the gas in the truck. JZ does not know or care about the 11-1/2 cents per mile wear and tear.
Trivia. During its lifetime, more than 3,000 missiles are known to have been fired at the SR-71 Blackbird. It outran them all. This “famous” airplane was used for spying, the most shameful activity the United States has ever undertaken. All spy planes belong to some arm of the military and have zero peaceful usage.
AFTERNOON
My views on the economy. What’s this nonsense that the stock market is up? Twice as many stocks are down as up. And the term USSA is making the rounds. Since everyone is throwing in a date, I say the date for silver is April 19, the day for the dollar is May 28, and the real depression begins in November. The middle class is now a minority in this country and there is a plan underway to do away with car ownership, that is, you can only rent a car. And at last count, 85 people own more than half the world. And the Obama administration has dropped 20,000 bombs on parts of the world. Like the dying Roman empire, nobody has any guts anymore.
JZ called and that nagging sound that’s there for a moment at 55mph has finally centered on something wrong with the left front axle or wheel bearing. That means cancel any chance of getting out of town this weekend. I see now that I will have to make definite plans to get a reliable vehicle of my own, which could not happen at a worse time. Right when I am house-shopping. So, do I pump some cash into the batbike? The only remaining known trouble is the aging electrical system. House prices upcountry are still falling at $145 per day. We lose little by waiting, but we do lose by not being there to check for what we should be learning to avoid.
Did I word that right? We need to keep up the momentum of learning what not to buy. We have not met one person or found one proper agent in the months we’ve now been looking. Everything important, we had to learn the hard way. True, we know people who have bought houses, but their premise of signing a mortgage and vastly overpaying doesn’t equip them to do any real investigations or comparison shopping. Listen to me, I’m serious about that.
Serious that most of the people who bought houses around us have no idea how to research a title, or have even climbed a ladder to look in the attic. To a one, they trusted others to do that for them and paid dearly for it. Compared to what we’ve done, such people don’t know squat about what’s involved, yet they consider themselves experts on the topic. Strange, innit? Glorified renters who have no concept of paying cash consider themselves qualified to dispense advice to me.
MSN reports the Fed saying 47% of Americans could not meet a $400 crisis. So that must include a wide swath of these big shot mortgage holders. Imagine, somebody who can’t cough up $400 telling JZ and I how to go about buying a house.
NIGHT
Tonight begins with a Seattle-grade rainstorm. That’s where it starts Friday just as you get off work and rains straight through until you pull into the company parking lot for work Monday morning. Nothing like a quiet weekend at home, especially when you had other plans. I got to looking through the 2019 course guide for Princeton. I’d read that American universities no longer teach American history, only African, Asian. It would appear to be true. The general history course probably has a few lectures on America.
This doesn’t surprise me, the same pressure was applied back when I entered university at 17 years of age. There was always an elitist Liberal element on campus and the pressure was constant from the school administration. It was that everybody was equal but it went much further than that. I concluded at that tender age that it was a smokescreen. Because anybody who didn’t think everyone was equal obviously needed more education. And the school just happens to have the courses.
Campus liberalism was impossible to measure and the various faculties loved that. They could keep on selling generation after generation on the whole Liberal scheme of things. I early spotted all kinds of issues with that but my focus was education as a tool to get a good job. I did not know that even with the degree, unless you had connections you just started at the bottom of a different shit pile. I also noticed that the permanent cadre of middle-aged liberals on campus had a weird definition of equality.
The meant that others should, if necessary, take a cut somewhere if need be, to enforce the matter. The less than equal need not be uplifted where it was possible to debase the more than equal. A simple philosophy that appeals to simple minds and finds its greatest expression in the structure of our income tax laws. To see the sparks fly, suggest maybe a Liberal should pay for something themselves, or have their morality examined before listening to their speils. Liberalism was always the most successful sales pitch of an intangible the post-secondary schools ever invented. Invented or contrived. And remember how Margaret Thatcher put it. The problem with Liberalism is soon or late, other people run out of money.
ADDENDUM
Sure, there was more to the show at the Two& last evening. I’ll get right to it. You want my analysis of how my set fits into the picture. Well, you’ll have to put on your thinking cap because live music does have its complexities which include the impossibility of accounting for taste. I said the ukelele show was elementary at best and the guitarist, I still can’t figure out why he was there instead of out gigging. He’s by far good enough, but that also made him the competition. But that in turn makes me the competition. See, your thinking cap is getting tighter around the ears already.
The picture shows my mini-guitar. I’ll get to that in a moment.
First, he is highly polished and studio trained. I caution the reader that in my parlance, that is more of a neutral observance than a compliment. Would you drive across town to hear such a guitarist play the exact same show as any other guitarist? Not me, I would not even zip up to Ft. Lauderdale. So yes, he did a fine job, and even had a modicum of audience participation. Like by the time he paused the second time, they chanted “Benny and the Jets”.
He was also a guitarhead. Constantly concerned with how he sounded, mentioning repeatedly over the mic how he had “never played acoustic through a bass amp before”, which is patently false. And apologizing that his guitar was an “Indonesian” make—but a lot of people mistook it for a Gibson sound. This me-me angle consumed 90% of his conversation, both over the mic and offstage, and there is nothing unusual about that. For a guitarhead.
Contrast, my show is totally concerned with the audience, not the music or the brand of amp or guitar. The amp I borrowed as distorting and by bass cable cut out twice. But I had the bar and the crowd singing from start to finish. The whole song, not just the chorus here and there. The old ladies spun around in their chairs to catch every moment. I cannot wait to get my Karaoke mics into a show like that. Every tune, every note of my act is geared toward audience participation. See how easy it is to forget I was not playing a guitar, but just a solo electric bass.
It would mean diddley that the bar asked me to return, since everyone has a standing invite with the possible exception of you-know-who. No, wait, I saw his poster on the wall. Anyway, a standing invitation isn’t the same as being personally asked. Yes, everyone saw that. I am willing to team up with somebody though I am fully aware that being stood up even mildly by a lowly bassist is a nightmare curse to most guitarists. Much less, God forbid, a guitarist sharing the limelight with one of “them”.
I can’t say how it went from the other guy’s viewpoint, but no guitar player is ever the exclusive star of the show when I get on the same stage. This may have been a case in point, it depends on whether he was participating or auditioning. The way it happened, I got up right after his slot, which was unambiguously intended to be the show-stopper. I never place the crowd in a position where they have to sing along to be polite. So, while no word was spoken, if the other guy had planned to sit back and bask in the warm afterglow of success, my turn kind of stifled that.
There. Your peek into what happens behind the scenes at an open mic, warts and all. If I return, and I plan to, next time I will be prepared. For now, keep an eye on this new place. I got the heads-up from Ray-B.
And before I go on-line for real estate, there is one eentsy item. Who remembers that mini-guitar I picked up for ten bucks, the little one? Well, it would appear that it has the same form factor (a computer term, sorry, but it fits) as the ukulele. But it has been modified for six strings. Hmmm, you know, that crowd last evening was not all that musically leading-edge, nomsayn? And I can already play the mini.
Last Laugh
(This one you can see coming.)
Return Home
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