Over Christmas and afterwards, I read a couple of really interesting books. I’ve found myself coming back to them often to re-read passages.
Both the books, Heather Havrilesky’s What If This Were Enough? and Kurt Andersen’s book, Fantasyland: How America Went Haywire, keep delivering returns on reading time invested in each. What both drive home is that this period of time in America isn’t necessarily unique—at least in Andersen’s narrative—about how America’s need to indulge in fantasy and thinking untethered from science and intellectual rigor dates back to our founding and prior to that. 500 years, really (which is part of the book’s subtitle).
Havrilesky’s book is essay-driven, and while similar in terms of demanding something from readers like Andersen’s does, focuses more on the personal—as in, in a world where excess is the norm—how do we find that place of “happiness” that’s not plugged directly into the capitalist mindset of “things” and “devices.” Both offer more than enough to mull over and I’m sure I will be for months to come.
Then, there’s the constant reminder during my part-time work life of a society that’s been conditioned to constantly bleat the equivalent of “gimme, gimme, gimme,” in the context of healthcare and wellness. It’s all enough to throw one into an existential crisis. Continue reading →
It’s a rare day when I don’t spend at least 30 minutes with one of my guitars: whether it’s strapping on my electric or cradling my acoustic. Often, I’ll spend time with both. This has yielded improvement I never expected. Still, I have a way to go to play as well as I’d like to.
The internet is chock full of videos on all aspects of guitaring. But like all things interwebs, this plethora of information doesn’t always guarantee that you’ll learn things in a systematic manner. Also, you can spend more time searching for or simply watching videos rather time in the “wood shed” actually practicing your chops.
There’s a local musician I’ve been following. He’s had some measure of success and a few Saturdays ago, he was playing at a local watering hole. I decided to drive down to the beach and catch a set of his. I also had an ulterior motive—I was going to ask if he’d be game for giving me lessons.
We talked and he said to reach out to him via Facebook. I waited a week and sent him a note.
I’m an impatient person. When I didn’t hear back, I began looking for another teacher.
The problem once again with the internet is that it’s great for revealing information—it really sucks in terms of accessing what that information means.
On Monday I put Danny in the back seat in the midst of a snow squall and drove to South Portland. I pulled up outside a nondescript real estate office. I had no idea what door I was supposed to enter for my lesson. I texted the teacher: he came downstairs. We had our lesson. Continue reading →
Someone who I considered a friend once told me I couldn’t play guitar.
I’m playing and over the last month, I’ve written four songs and three of them now sit up on SoundCloud. I don’t think he’s got anything out there I can listen to.
Canadian singer-songwriter and guitarist, Bruce Cockburn, has a line in “Lovers In a Dangerous Time” that goes, “got to kick at the darkness ’til it bleed daylight.” Playing guitar and writing for the instrument is me, kicking at the darkness that nearly swallowed me, nine months ago.
Sunday, I read an excellent feature by Amanda Hess in the New York Times Magazine, on Rachel Maddow. I’d highly recommend you take the time to go through it.
I’ve been a fan of Ms. Maddow, or simply “Rachel” as I call her when I speak about her to Mary or others that share similar views on the state of politics in America. On Monday, I came up with some lyrics in my head, while swimming prior to work. I jotted them down on a legal pad and when I returned home in the middle of the afternoon, I had a song.
Then, I had to come up with a chord progression and I had that completed by dinnertime. I played it for Mary when she came home.
Tonight, I decided to record “Rachel, Rachel” before going to bed.
That’s how I roll these days. And I appreciate former friends who motivate me to do things that they said I couldn’t do—like play guitar and write songs.
Mark on the other hand would tell me, “keep doing what you’re doing, dad.” I keep that thought close to my heart, always.
There are people who validate—and there are people who criticize. From my vantage point, I’m of the opinion that there are more of the latter than the former—but there are certainly a significant number that live in that first category—they make building people up rather than tearing them down a priority.
I’m trying to spend more time with the validation crowd than with the critical set. I also know firsthand that being validated can carry you forward for days and weeks, while being criticized (whether valid or even offered in a constructive manner) makes you want to run and hide. It totally sucks and drains whatever energy you had at that moment.
I know plenty about laboring in obscurity while following my passion and rarely, if ever, receiving compliments or recognition. It’s what I’ve been doing for most of the past twenty years as a writer.
During that period, I think I can number on both hands the people that I’d consider real fans or people who’ve taken the time to routinely acknowledge a blog post I’ve written, or mention one of the numerous articles I’ve had published, or tell me they’ve read one of my books. One of these is someone who I don’t know very well. She’s also a wonderful writer and we see each other maybe two times a year. But a month ago she was in a town in Maine and walking by a book shop. She happened to see my Moxie book. She took the time to send me an email when she got back to Portland and let me know that and reminded me that she knew I was still out here. Continue reading →
I wrote another song. This one is a bit more up-tempo.
I’m sure the critics (who don’t write songs) will tell me that my recording process sucks, or that my chord changes are awkward, or that there’s too much fret buzz, or whatever the fuck that haters always manage to inject into everything.
I wrote this song a few weeks ago. The first verse came to me just before leaving for work. I came home and wrote the rest of it that afternoon. It’s about Mark and the epic journey he attempted, crossing America.
I recorded it using Audacity, an open source platform that approximates what I remember four-track recording used to be like using a Tascam Porta 02 I once owned back in the mid-1990s. This was what was referred to as a portastudio and was similar to the kind of recording equipment lo-fi bands like Guided by Voices were using at the time.
The recording isn’t perfect, but it’s a start. Next, I’ll probably hit some open mics this fall. I’ll also continue to write and record additional songs. I opened an account on SoundCloud, also.
Here are the lyrics:
Walking Down the Road
Verse 1
Walking down the road alone, I saw a country lost at home
A mission of hope carried me forth, I lived each day for all it was worth
A president came while I was away, I planned to counter him every day
Hate and division won’t carry us forth, come together and be a force
Chorus:
I wish I had just one more day, I know I had so much more to say.
I love my dad, I love my mom. I’ll miss my friends forever yon
Verse 2
My family back home sent me their love, I wished I got back to give them a hug
We all know what we think we know, but can we strive for a greater hope
Friends I lost along the way, but still I walked another day
Saving earth was what it’s about, some of the haters would jump and shout
Chorus:
I wish I had just one more day, I know I had so much more to say.
I love my dad, I love my mom. I’ll miss my friends forever yon
Verse 3
One hundred days of joy and pain, my feet moved ‘cross the fruited plain
A dirty hippy or something more, why can’t they see my higher road
My face and words live on today, I often wonder what people say
I gave it all held nothing back, but in the end was it done in vain
Chorus:
I wish I had just one more day, I know I had so much more to say.
I love my dad, I love my mom. I’ll miss my friends forever yon
[Instrumental break]
Verse 4
Walking down the road alone, I saw a country lost at home
A mission of hope carried me forth, I lived each day for all it was worth
My family back home sent me their love, I wish I got back to give them a hug
We all know what we know, but can we strive for a greater scope
Chorus:
If I had just one more day, I often wonder what I’d say
It hurts my dad, it hurts my mom. Please remember them from where you roam
I wish I had just one more day, I know I had so much more to say.
I love my dad, I love my mom. I’ll miss my friends forever yon
Back before Al Gore (or whoever) invented the interwebs, retailers like Sears and Montgomery Ward produced thick, colorful catalogs laden with merchandise. The introduction of the latest catalog into a household was a big deal. Sometimes siblings might even fight over who got the first pass at such a rich treasure trove of goodies.
The traditional department stores (Marshall Field’s, Wanamaker’s) sold higher-end fashion, but Sears had made its reputation selling less expensive but necessary items: socks, underwear, towels and bedding, which helped keep sales going even during the Depression. Sears also sold house kits. Yes, you could actually buy a house from the catalog and from 1908 to 1940, Sears sold between 70,000 to 75,000 homes.
In 1968, the Sears & Robuck catalog boasted 225 pages of toys and 380 pages of gifts for adults, for a grand total of 605 pages. Included in those 600+ pages were musical instruments: specifically, guitars and drum sets. Continue reading →
With wry songs full of black humor, his band became an underground favorite in the 1990s, and a new group, Purple Mountains, was set to tour.
David Berman, the reluctant songwriter and poet whose dry baritone and wry, wordy compositions anchored Silver Jews, a critically lauded staple of the 1990s indie-rock scene, died on Wednesday. He was 52.
His death was announced by his record label, Drag City, which released music by Silver Jews and Berman’s latest band, Purple Mountains…A law enforcement official who spoke on condition of anonymity because he wasn’t authorized to speak on the matter said that Berman was found on Wednesday in an apartment building in the Park Slope section of Brooklyn, and pronounced dead at the scene.
A spokeswoman for the city’s medical examiner said that Berman had hanged himself, and ruled it suicide.
Another artist has left this world-David Berman [NY Times photo]
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To spend hours, weeks, months, and even years with people and then have them so profoundly reject you at the hour of your greatest need is demoralizing at the very least. The act of abandonment becomes deeply personal and affecting. You internalize it and adopt methods of moving through and beyond it. It leaves you scarred, however. Continue reading →
If you don’t know how I feel about people who sow hate and division (like our president), you’ve obviously never read more than a post in passing. I’m not going to bother to summarize my politics or ideological leanings. I’ve left plenty of bread crumbs to follow.
The recent move cut into available time I had with my guitars. I missed the familiar rhythm I’d cultivated over the prior nine months of playing nearly every day.
We’re settling into a new place that feels right for us. We like the neighborhood and being within walking distance of an ever-evolving-and-vibrant downtown district is another perk to being in Biddeford.
I’m in week three of a new job. It’s been awhile since I actually enjoyed reporting for duty. My co-workers have been welcoming. One of my managers is a music aficionado and we share a similar interest in bands/artists, including Deer Tick. She was actually impressed with that one.
When I worked at Moscow Mutual years ago, the “mentor” I was matched with was a lousy trainer. She was narcissistic at best. I swear to this day that she purposely sabotaged my training for whatever reason. At the most basic level, she wasn’t a very nice human being.
The woman who I’ve been shadowing and who I’ve spent the lion’s share of time with in my new position has been fantastic. She makes learning fun and she regularly catches me doing things right. She is also an empathetic person of the highest order with customers, both internal and external.
Enough of work and real estate. I’m here to talk guitar yet again. Continue reading →
Spring speaks to certain sense of rebirth—at least in places like Maine where inhabitants are forced to endure the bleakness that inevitably comes during winter. When life gets reduced to finding a way forward post-tragedy, then any extension of hope can serve as a stand-in for a talisman.
Writing as a central element dates back to 2002 for me. That’s when, in a job that I hated, I latched onto cultivating my craft as a writer. I wanted to become a writer and I was willing to put the work in.
After Mark was killed, writing was all I had to sort through the randomness and pain that a tragic death like his delivers to the father left behind. I initiated the process of using narrative as a tool to find a few shards of meaning from the randomness of what I’d been dealt.
For two years I’ve written and rearranged words in an effort to craft a story centered in grief and loss. I recognize that none of it provided much solace for the emotional agony I’ve been feeling. In fact, like has happened countless times over the past 17 years of writing, editorial arbiters either ignored my writing, or sent back notes that served as the publishing world’s version of the “thanks but no thanks” notice of rejection. Continue reading →
