One year ago today: November 17, 2018, Redding, CA
Five years ago today: November 17, 2014, oh no, he used “power”.
Nine years ago today: November 17, 2010, my original Taurus.
Random years ago today: November 17, 2002, probably redacted.
I had a little trouble deciding what to write for today. I don’t want to describe the events because in isolation, they seem trivial. I base a lot on tips as a measure of effective performance, but getting paid to play is something utterly different in my books. Anybody could show up in Tennessee and play guitar, it’s the set of circumstances that count for me. Essentially, I crossed a personal milestone. And here is a symbolic picture. This is the Cumberland. Whenever I’ve seen it, the flow is nearly imperceptible. This gif is speeded up to give the impression of movement. Because today for the first time in my life, I walked across the bridge to downtown Nashville, pausing to record this view.
To my mind, there is a juxtaposition, that what is happening at my age so closely resembles what the world will relate as my showing up 50 years too late. But yeah, sure, I admit that’s what it looks like. I hiked across the river with a guitar case slung on my back, heading for Printers Alley in downtown Nashville. Some pretty girls smiled, one car honked his horn. If you want mystery, I’ve never been that far west of Broadway but I instinctively found the right bar without asking directions. It was one of fifteen places along the alleyway, a holdover from Prohibition days. What they really need to outlaw is fat people.
So, without further ado, or maybe just a little ado, here’s how the day went. For further symbolism, call it my birthday this year, because last year I was in Bakersfield on this day, and the year before at the Grand Ole Opry, and the year before at the Salvadore Dali, etc.. Maybe November 17 likes me? Today was totally music, except for the work I did in the morning, and what a beautiful Tennessee autumn morning. The guitar player I bumped to the top of my audition list showed up at noon. This is the guy whose song list paralleled mine—and for many of the same reasons. (He, too, hates “Hotel California” because of overplayment.)
It’s too early to talk the actual music, but I was right about the circumstances. For years I’ve told how all I needed was a guitar player to take and chance and try things my way. Folks, that just happened because it didn’t happen. The guy’s natural playing style was already congruent to my bass lines. That is, he caught on instantly without having to be asked. We also quickly covered a couple aspects of presentation that I’d learned and explained how they worked, this is important in a moment. This audtion I need to get in writing before the music gets complicated. And it probably will now. Here goes.
He plays the classics, but from the perspective of somebody half my age who likes the music, but doesn’t hear it the same way. The guy is sharp, where he doesn’t remember lyrics, he can spin them out on the spot and keep the motif on track. Right there he would get a good report card from me. He plays the music in a rather loose fashion, you get that from people who solo. But he does it at predictable spots, Glen, and I can work with that. He’s also learned that when another musician is included, you can’t generally play the same as you would soloing.
So we hit a contrast that worked, his playing is, what’s the word, impetuous and my bass playing is structured. When he has that solid foundation, he picks up the rhythm and the music almost leaps out of the situation. Did I finally meet somebody who tried it my way? Yes and no. He did it pretty much without trying, and explained enough to show he had derived a lot of the same lessons I had around the same age. Which is about 35, although that might be a stage age.
My stage age is 61 because 59 and 60 are too suspicious.
Houma Intracoastal waterway tunnel.
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We breezed through enough songs to realize the project is worth giving a stab. It’s bar music, alright. His guitar chops prove I was right about that part of it, are you listening, you 80-odd guitar ass-clowns in Florida who either would not even try or said it was impossible. I presume when I get back there, you’ll all be sitting around still saying the same thing. BWAAA-ha-ha-ha-ha. Here’s a quick gif of this dude, who I will call the Kaiser, strumming at Alley Taps a few hours later. He’s almost as skinny as I was at that age. Dang, that Alley Taps logo is right across his face so you can’t really ID the guy. If the project flies, you’ll have plenty of time for that later.
I am not saying we played as a duo at this time. Careful, that statement is exact to a fault. But I did point to a few things in the room and he caught on I was referring to the presentation methods mentioned earlier. People were not paying attention. He gave my approach a try and within moments, the room was rocking along, singing along, and every song got the thumbs up. I’d also explained earlier why I would not be interested in any band larger than a duo. He got a first-hand demonstration of how that worked—because I described exactly how it would happen. The other musicians in the room were surrounding the stage by end of the set, pressing business cards into our fists and asking for auditions.
The Kaiser, recalling my words, politely declined. Following protocol, we left that joint and walked up the alley to a type of lounge with no music that day. I bought three rounds as we ironed out a short-term plan. We know we are on to something, but must rule out beginner’s luck. We need to gain some insight into how much work and how long, the business end of the cycle.
We came up with we each do ten songs of our own choosing, that’s on top of the core music we both already know. This gives us a chance to meld our styles. He’s keen on my mostly-music presentation and has learned I cannot be thrown off course on stage, peeps, that’s the secret ingredient of stage work if there ever was one. My rule of 88:1 is still in force until we find out if our strong points can be meshed into a solid three-hour show. That’s the ratio in my life of how may musicians I go through before finding one that makes it to stage. However, that includes the ones I only talk to before metaphorically showing them the door.
The going rate for a two-hour show in Nashville is $50 for a solo. Those three rounds cost me $45 plus tip.
ADDENDUM
How about these new guidelines or whatever they are calling them with Google and Youtube? It’s another step backwards from the premise of Internet freedom. You can’t publish what you want if some faction decides it is hate speech. All too often that is how the weak-minded lash out toward opposing points of view. A lot of the material is still there, but now you have to dig for it or “confirm” your age and close windows with idiotic warnings stating somebody, somewhere might be offended. I was looking for some documentaries with recently released (since 2005) early assault gun design.
No matter how you slice it, the German designs embodied all the important features used to this day. It was maddening to see how factual reporting of their performance was repeatedly called “Nazi” and such. Youtube has no problem applauding Allied weapons, but German products are oh so evil. I had intended to follow how the German production facilities put the armored superstructure of the Pkzkw IV assault gun (it was not a turret) on the chassis of the Mark III. How unfortunate that a weapon that was used so effectively has barely any historical coverage.
In late war battles, applying lessons from the Russian Front, the Stug (say “Shtoog”) assault guns had the 48 caliber 75mm cannon and were used by anti-tank units. Originally designed for infantry support, this proved to be a remarkable defense weapon. Three could be built, it was said, for the same price as one tank. After 1943, it was increasingly a war of numbers. German quality against Allied quantity. Some of the results are spectacular. German assault gun crews decorated for destroying 15 and 20 tanks in what is basically a very uneven contest in favor of the tanks.
I found combat footage of the Stugs picking off Sherman tanks in the West. Fantastic. The Allies avoid telling how the German guns had longer range and could blast the snot out of American and the acutely bad British tanks. Time and again, you see Shermans with a single shot hole in the turret completely destroyed by an internal explosion. You also see many pictures of late-war German infantry toting one-shot anti-tank rockets, collectively known as Panzerfausts. But very rare is footage of these weapons hitting their targets.
No wonder. They don’t want you to know. These were incredibly potent weapons whose chief defect was it required a lot of nerve from the soldier as they were best used at short range. The backblast kicked up a lot of debris and the wise did not stick around for a second shot. The effect was devastating. The warheads were far more powerful than needed and a direct hit would smother a Russian IS-2 like a tinker toy. I was unable to find any pictures of what these did to the inferior tanks of the western allies. Not one single picture. If you ask me, that could be because when hit, there was nothing left to take a picture of. Target not just destroyed but obliterated.
What a pity if the lack of coverage is due to Internet policy. The trend toward censorship is lamentable. The people responsible for this decline are truly pathetic individuals. In a sense, it is like pornography. If you don’t like it, don’t look at it. But once again, it is not about content, it is about the power to dictate what others are allowed to do. And that has left-wing written all over it.
