And Tonight, Mr. Kite is Topping the Bill (part 2)

(this is part two, people. If you want to involve yourselves in my petty whining, and not have the super secret surprise ending that will shock and haunt you, read part one, "A Splendid Time...")

A sea of unblinking eyes in the darkness.

Every note feels over exaggerated and clumsy.

I'm counting the milliseconds till I have to open my mouth. Thinking that perhaps I could extend the eight bar intro, somehow, so I can mentally prepare more. I wish my friends were here now. My chair creaks like a steel girder about to buckle. Everything is a magnification of faults.

Right now, my soul is laid bare for the masses to tear asunder.

Music is rhythm. If I don't vocalize right now, I will stumble like a runner and not recover. the stones shift in my pocket and I think of Heather and Kim...

And I sing the first verse. I could hear the fear in my own voice, but i don't falter. I'm singing a song I sang fifteen years ago...the very first time I did this. It seemed a karmic choice.

First verse over, and now a four bar stanza. I take a moment to listen outwardly to the audience: Complete silence! Like the dead walked into a bar and sat down. I can hear random breathing and chair creaks. They were never this quiet when the other played. I am so bombing out.

Second verse. Okay. So be it. If I'm going to fail here, it's going to mean something. I let the audience melt away, and I fall into my own world. I'm doing this for me, it's only natural I really just do this for myself and at least enjoy the moment. Now I do the chorus, and it's for me. It's for the people who care for me now and in the past.

I take a moment to open back up to the world and watch the audience for a second. Screw them if they don't like this...Then I get a relevation! I finally clear my head of the fear and see it in their faces. I make eye contact and I make that unique connection to everyone out there. And there it is...whats happening here...

They aren't quiet because they hate me: They're listening. Intently listening. I took them in! They've understood that I'm just not doing a song just because I like the chords, or it's cool on the radio, or even that it's an easy song to play live. They are listening to my story. I've become vulnerable to them, and they welcomed me with open hearts. Becoming vulnerable in kind.

Well, crap! I wrap up the song in a nice bow! They deserve that. I hear the stones shift in my bag as I let the final chord ring out. Then...spontaneous heartfelt applause. Not the caned reaction when someone does a good job. A virtual pat on the back and a "nice try" emote. This is real. They are giving back. Oh Jesus, this feels like the best day of my life.

the owner of the place, or maybe he just puts these things together, shakes my hand as I leave the "stage". Turns out he was part of the husband/wife keyboard bass group earlier, and he does MC these things. He thought it was brilliant! And once again, I just don't know what to say but "thanks". As I start to clean off my reading glasses from the flop sweat, he asks me the casual question if I know some of the songs he's now mentioning. I do say I know a few of them. I'm actually quite well versed in many eras of music from the 60's through the 80's thanks to my sister, Diane. She was the perfect musical hippy sister. Devo, the Knack, Plimsoles, Pink Floyd, Cheep trick, even Frampton comes alive, all due to her being on the bandwagon at the start.

he says he might call me up, if that's okay for their traditional lil' jam session the close out the night with. How odd, I think. Hours before, I almost would do anything to avoid this place and night. Now, I'm actually anticipating with great verve, once again being on stage with others and making music!

They call me up to applause, and I feel 24 and back in California again! I remember one of my first live gigs I did with Mark and Len. I was scared then too, but the party loved us, and gave us tons o' beer after each song! That's a social badge of honor. And I got a wee bit drunk I think, Because I was told later that when I played the end to the Alarms song "Strength" I did a blistering long ass lead finally. Even did it one handed with hammer-ons and pull offs. I don't do blistering. I had to be inebriated!

And now it's Saturday night in Portland over a decade later. And once more, I step onto the stage and plug in with a full band. The feeling I had back then in California, I'm actually feeling now. There is no fear, only elation. And as I synergy of the group, I don't want this night to end.

Wish my friends were here, cuz I feel blistering.

A Splended Time is Guaranteed for All (part 1)

Saturday afternoon, I was at work, doing anything to not remind myself about that night.

Playing in front of a live audience...

Nevermind awaiting me at home was my polished and tuned (for the billionth time) 62' Rickenbacher in it's hardshell case. Inside there was an army of picks, 12 copies of lyrics to tape to the stage (or what would pass for a stage). My clothes laid out. My bag of centering stones Heather gave me. Various change in case i needed to pay for parking in Portland. Gas up and wash my Herbie. Supergule for my fingertips. Trying and failing to avoid stress acne. And Kimberlinas special stone I had in my car for me to be safe driving home in that hideous snow storm and I'd forgotten to give back.

Yeah, nevermind that. I packed for a war. Which is ironic, because superglue was invented as a field dress bandaid in world war two. Now I use it to avoid blisters on my fingers.

No one knew were I was going, and at the time I preferred it that way. last thing I needed to worry about was my friends watching me potentially bomb out. At least with a sea of people I didn't know who think I suck, I can just be forgotten.

And I hate Portland downtown. It's crazyville, a mass on one way streets and old blue haired ladies in big cars with eternally blinking right turn lights rolling into bus benches. God, I fear driving there. But, i needed to do this. So I braved the hell that is earthbound: paid parking lots with hourly rates. It's were you take cars to scare them straight.

So, I park and pray for the health of my beetle, then remove my guitar case and walk the few blocks to the coffeehouse's open mike night. It would be so easy to turn away. How cool would it be if the place was just shut down by the health board for way too much rat feces? I'm really grasping at straws now and each step is getting harder. I am so hating life and hating being alone here.

And yet me and the Ricky make it to the place: A small business with a pseudostage, various chairs and table, and lots of P.A. equipment and mini 40 watt amps the size of a box of CherrieO's. They even have a keyboard and drum set. The place smells of caffeine and smoke, and I sign in at the counter...one of five names.

Whew! At least it'll be a small crowd right? So, I wait and look around the guitar shop next door. Looking at the forest of pretty pretty guitars and basses, and frolicking with the treble clef faries. Faries. Damn, i starting to wish Heather and Kim were her to give me some support. I'm starting to get nervous. Time to get back to the coffeehouse and just play that one song to the probably two tables of people. there for their lattes.

What the Crap!!!! The place is packed!!! WAY to many people! Wait..wait...wait...what happened... Lets see...Awwww crap. Five people playing tonight. And these people probably have families that pushed them for a career in music, so their whole family and/or friends are here to see lil' Johnny's debut. There's like 30 people here! 30 people all intently watching the open mike night.

30 people to judge my soul.

Okay, dooooon't panic. I'll just ask to be last, on the grounds that i'm using an electric guitar so i need more time, YEAH, that's it, more time to prepare! Then, these people will filter out when their little boy is done with his piece. I'm a genius!

I'm an idiot. I just watch the previous four acts, three acoustic sets and an interesting keyboard/bass husband and wife combo. And all of them played cover songs...i'm going to be the only dork playing an original. Playing something no one has ever heard, or would have no interest in. And when it's time for me....no one had left...

I'm starting to rethink the not having friends idea. Big time.

I've unpacked my guitar, and realize I forgot to bring the strap. Figures. I borrow one off the guy who did the Nirvana cover. I go out on stage to the scattered polite clapping and spend way too much time adjusting the mike for my height. I even cause some feedback: Nice beginning.

Oh god. I wish I wasn't here. My throat is dry, I feel dizzy. I wish I didn't bring my glasses so I can make out the staring faces in the audience. I decide to tune the guitar one more time right here as I clear my mouth of the cotton and try to come up with another stalling tactic.

And I can' t think of any. Time to jump in feet first...

I play.

(end of part one)

Naked for the Masses

In little over 18 hours, i'm going to do something that is scaring me to death.

I'm going to lay myself, my soul, bare to an anonymous audience.

Y'see, I had a lunch, well coffee, date with my very good friend Kimberlina, and among all the various topics we discuss, we started to talk about creativity. I love my chats with her, as she has such a deep essence and vibrancy. We'll start a talk about a comcept, and we almost finish each others sentances, filling in thoughts when words fails one us. Her spirit is illumination, and I enjoy spending time with her...even though I loathe coffee...even the smell!

Anyway, we were saying that creativity comes from pain as much as happiness. It's what you do with it all that makes some creative, or simply bitter. She told me of the joy of painting, and I, of playing and writing music, like i used to almost a decade ago. I haven't since, for various factors: life, work, time, being trapped in untalented land, and...fear.

Because having an art show, acting on stage, and even singing a song of yours, is like getting naked on stage. Totally vunerable. Or, like I say, it's hanging a bullseye on your soul. And the very real fear of somebody rejecting that very inimate part of yourself. Creativity IS pain as much as happiness, huh? And you can't tell what it'll be till you let yourself fall, and hope someone catches you.

I wanted Kimbers to be creative with her life, and she paints, so I bought her for her birthday, everything you would need to paint with acrylics: canvases, brushes, tons o' paint tubes...and hopefully, my love and friendship for her as a muse. I even scribed upon the box "Raindancer, you're pandoras box is within..."

Oh yeah, I call her "Raindancer". Thats what I think of when I see her. Someone in a storm, twirling in the rain with a smile on her face.

She loved it, and i thought, why I can't I hang a bullseye on my soul as well?

In comes my friend, HeatherJean (Faeriejean to the new people to arrive late...shame on you for missing the beginning!). I love my friend and trust her opinion so much. She'll tell me in a flat minute when I'm acting like an ass (and I try to do the same to her), and she's the person I feel safest with when i'm at my most unguarded with my emotions. She is simply the most beatutiful energy I know.

And, she's the first person I let listen to my old demo tapes of songs I recorded with other groups, and even the scratchy reel to reels I recorded in my bathroom...

Yeah, yeah...the bathroom. It has a nice echo, and it's easy to keep a clean sound. With the door closed and a few candles, it feels like a warm place to gestate ideas freely. Try it sometime! Write in there with the toilet as a desk. recite poetry to the medicine cabinet. I even once had a drummer place his stripped down drum set in the tub.

Heather loved the songs I showed her, she was even moved by one! She said, it had a zeal! That moved me. Something I did could do that! And she asked, why don't I do this? Why don't I get back into music?

When the two people who matter, who you know love and respect you ,tell you this, it causes you to think about things.

Tomarrow, I'll be in a place in Portland, a small place, on an acoustic open mike night, playing one of my songs. I told Heather in person yesterday, and I called Kim tonight, but I also told them I can't invite them. I need to do this without any distractions. I'd love to see them, but i'm scared shitless as it is. I have to not pussy out and just do this.

And I'm so frightened, I can bearly sleep. I've written the lyrics a billion times in all different forms. I've tuned, retuned, and re-retuned my guitar. I have clothes layed out. I bought a gazzilian picks in case my fear of loosing-a-pick-phobia while playing overtakes me. Printed out directions in triplicate. And avoid thinking if I screw up the vocals. Oh god...I just reminded myself...

I could so back out in so many ways at any time...

But when I saw the smile and excitement on Heathers face when I told her...the fact I was doing something whith what I've got...took me out of the fire, brushed off the embers and put me back in the frying pan. She even sauted' me with a fine wine sauce till I was golden brown and extra crunchy. Okay, give me a brake, i'm hyper-nervous and I can't think of any good metaphors right now.

So, i'm doing it. I'm taking a deep breath. And, I'm thinking of the warmth of friends who value me that much. I'll be alone, but I really wont be.

Wish me luck. Screw that, wish me talent!

I'll tell you all about the artwork later *wink*

The Tooth Crazy

I have always said, that everyone has a great true story in them. It so happens, that even dentists do as well! Here's the one my dentist told me today, to distract me and calm my nerves:

One day, my dentist was working on a very strange patient. There was just an odd vibe about him. An uneasiness. Hard to define, but it was there. But, there was a mouth to work on, so he set about working on the examination of a bothering tooth. The cavity was bad.

The patient was informed of this, and he asked what can be done about it. The dentist said he'd have to extract it. This made the patient more twitchy...

"How are you going to do that?"

"er...the old fashion way..."

"wait...", the odd patient asked, "you don't use lasers?"

"Um...we...er..don't use lasers, I use my tools..." the patient started to look a bit agitated, and my dentist decided to make a small joke. "...becuase I can't afford the Tooth Teleporter"

The patient sat up in all seriousness, with beady eyes afire, "you have a tooth teleporter?"

"well no, they haven't invented that yet..." the dentist stammered, seeing that the patient didn't know that was a joke, and he set about to extract the tooth.

After a few minutes, the patient held his hand up franticly and desperatly asked for a piece of paper and a pencil. He was handed such, and in a very scratchy script, wrote the following:

Reaserch and develop Tooth Teleportation Device.

At this point, the dentist was told he had an urgent call. it was the mother of the patient, which he took in the next room. The patient's mom asked if there was any trouble...

"no...no ma'am. should there be?"

"oh I'm so glad," the old lady said, "He's prone to bouts of violence. I don't want him to be arrested again. He gets so angry for no reasons at all, that he's told he can't take the bus anymore. Do you think perhaps you could pass pulling his tooth today? He doesn't like dentists."

"well, I'm kinda commited now!", and the dentist set about, very cautiously, pulling the tooth, and keeping an eye on the phone, in case he needed to call someone in the get this wackjob off his throat. Great, kind of wish there was a tooth teleporter now. My dentist said during the operation, he jumped each time the patient moved an arm. It wasn't the safest place in the world to be yanking out the tooth of a psycho with a hair trigger.

I have to remember next time I go there, to ask about their lasers that i know are burning my brain and the awesome power of the tooth 'porter. Perhaps he'll be a bit more gentile?