Overheard on the Rough Streets of Brooklyn

Ruffian #1: Listen, ma nigga! I'm tellin' you... AIN'T NUFFIN IN LIFE IS FREE, 'CEPT DEFF! ONLY DEFF IS FREE! AND THAS REAL---"
Ruffian #2: ---My cel phone is free.

A word with you, celtic rock

It's a science, knowing when to end a relationship. But for you, it's easy: immediately.

What's the Haps

I was stressed these last few days...
because the money is gone.
because my son is on the other side of the country.
because I have no car on this coast.
because I have no home or food on this coast.
because I'm behind schedule with this album.
because my cel phone expired.

But like a pollen storm it hit me square in the nose this morning:
I'm sleeping in a mixing studio,
and I'm waking up to the massive sounds that I've amassed these last two years
holding hands with each other and bobbing in time to my tempo,
exactly where I commanded them to bob. I'm hearing each instrument find it's home in the heavily populated neighborhood of each song that was once born in my head.
I'm thirty years old and I'm doing exactly the thing that makes me happiest in life.
At the end of each day I fall into bed (or couch, as the case seems to be) exhausted but full, as if every last cell was put to work.

How many people can say that?

06-24-2033: Zoey's 18th Birthday

Ok, I don't really know what to call Steve's behavior right now. I don't believe it's sexual harassment, because it's not designed to get me to do anything with him really. Truthfully, I don't know what it's designed for, but I'm sure that he derives pleasure from it.
Every morning while I'm trying to digest my bar he initiates what appears to be a wholesome conversation. He has this uncanny gift to steer the most flowery of subjects into a complete mud puddle of perversion. And every single day I fall for it; I take the bait, and end up subjecting myself to the vivid and detail-heavy depictions of his infidelity.
Take this morning: he opened up with, "G, you like music! Have you ever heard Brahms? I mean, really heard him?"
Now, I should've taken pause there because this is a man whose only allusion to the enjoyment of music is singing "Rock You Like A Hurricane" under his breath every time Nancy walks by his desk. But instead of proceeding with caution, I jumped headlong into what I thought would be a cultural conversation, "Of course! I really like---"
As is the case every day, all day, there is no time for my thoughts on the matter, because the air must be cleared for this:
"Do you have any idea how easy it is to get laid to one of his Variations For Whatever pieces? Jessa [his wife] left it in my car and I threw it on when I was giving Tina [in Copy] a ride home yesterday. I just wanted to throw her off, you know? Make her think I was that sensitive guy and she ate that shit up! G, I'm talking bloje in zero to sixty..." he continued to pantomime the sexual deeds dealt to him on the highway yesterday while I turned back to my screens. I was of course red and annoyed at this point, and trying to get my day started and embarrassed for being taken in again and trying to picture Tina doing those things.

When I first saw Steve The Greek verbally molest one of the office girls, I asked him outright, "Aren't you married?" and he told me that yes, technically he was, but that they were separated. When I pointed out that she was always calling him to see if she should make dinner and that he was wearing a wedding ring, he skipped the first observation and addressed the second in a whisper: "It makes them crazy. They want it more. The untouchable, man. The forbidden fruit, G."
I told him not to call me "G" anymore but the abbreviation stuck.

I don't know how to get moved to a different floor without switching my entire toolset. Hell, I can't even move out of this row because if I ask Athan to move me, he'll tell Steve I had a problem with him. Because they're both Greek, and Athan, like 90% of the women on our floor, has a crush on Steve.

Zoey has her eighteenth birthday in three weeks. She's employed her agent Sarah to "grease the wheels" in regards to the acquisition of funds for this Mexico trip with her friends. I'm not sure which is more insulting: that they think I'm not aware that they are constantly working in collusion to get our little princess whatever her spoiled rotten heart desires, or that my wife's version of "greasing the wheels" is to offer to cut back on her own personal spending (of my money). My beautiful bride actually tries to sell me the postponement of a single spa appointment (rest assured, it is not a cancellation she had in mind) as a personal sacrifice. Unbelievable. I'm serious; she climbed into bed, put her hand on my chest (which she hasn't touched since she bought Zoey that wretched Honda) and says, "Listen, we should really help Zo out with this Mexico thing. I do think this could be a growth experience for her [my wife uses the term "growth experience" for anything with a cost exceeding $3000]. We both do, but we don't want her going alone. So I think the right thing to do is to make sure we send Shannon and Tella with her. I know it's a lot, but she's turning eighteen... and if you can take care of getting those tickets booked, I'll make sure she has the right accommodations. Hell, I'll use my spa funds to make sure she has a good time on this one."
I guess I should point out that my wife's "spa funds" are a euphemism for the portion of my paycheck that she rations out for her weekly spa visit. And yes, yes, I DO want her to live comfortably, obviously, that means everything to me. But I don't like the fact that she thinks I can't connect the dots. And that she's acting like we're working together, when it's very obvious which team she plays for.
Anyway, the reason I bring up my little Zo is because in just three weeks she will become the legal prey of guys like Steve The Greek. And I've started having nightmares again. Sarah upped my medication just so I could sleep through the night. She says my anxieties have nothing to do with Zo's safety and everything to do with my own guilt for having once "swooped" on an 18 year old (I can only imagine how often that would come up if I'd told her that Keta was actually 17 when we first started dating... *shudder*). I don't understand why she is not afraid of setting her daughter loose in this world; not a day goes by that she doesn't make reference to the "seedy minds of men," but she seems fully confident that Zo will navigate the hormone tornado and emerge unscathed. As if she didn't have any of my DNA...
Steve just spoke loudly with his wife on the Vid, told her he would be home "a little late." Then he winked at me.

Mixing References

thought somebody might find this amusing... this is the mix CD I made for Rob Pemberton to prep him for our rigorous mixing schedule:
DJ Shadow - What Does Your Soul Look Like Pt. 4 (for bass tones in track 9)
The Beach Boys - God Only Knows (for bass and guitar tones in tracks 2 and 10, and general mix)
Jeff Beck - Led Boots (for drum tones in track 8 and 11)
D'Angelo - Chicken Grease (for bass and drum tones in track 4)
Massive Attack - Angel (for drums and general mix in track 7)
Michael Jackson - Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough (for mix, guitar tone and general attitude in track 5)
Portishead - Glory Box (for guitar tone in tracks 4, 10, and 11)
Spoon - You Got Your Cherry Bomb - (for guitar, drums and bass tones in track 2 hooks)
Amy Winehouse - Rehab (for female vocal mix and drum tones in track 2)
Magnet - On Your Side (for male vocal mix and general mix)
Goblin - L'alba dei Morti Viventi (for track 1, 6, and 13 and general vibe)
Mars Volta - Eriatarka (for ballistics in track 9)
Billy Joel - Movin' Out (for drum tones in track 1, 8, and 11)
Ratatat - Seventeen Years (guitar tones in track 5, 6, and 12, and attitude of the track 5 hooks)
Queen - Death on Two Legs (vocal mixing and guitar tone in track 5 and 10)

Stasis

Here's where I've been for three weeks:

Home Sessions: Day 24 - Grand Piano

Last weekend I recorded a luscious Boston Grand Piano at my Aunt and Uncle's house in Albany, OR. I stayed in a small one bedroom apartment below their home for three weeks: editing, recording grand piano, and editing. They graciously cooked dinners and put up with my odd hours. The album would not be near completion without their hospitality, and I am eternally grateful. Here is some footage from the piano sessions:

Driving West

Here's some peaceful footage from our drive west:



Also, here's an article about a recent show my trio Ebu Gogo did in Providence.

Uncle Alpha

My sister Lorna finally let me babysit the boys for the whole day. It was a wonderful learning experience, and I feel like, with these kid things, you just really have to establish yourself as the alpha and show them love, and the rest works itself out.

The New Bill Harley

Friday morning, I'm awoken by my favorite sound - two tiny brothers loudly trying to stay quiet so as not to wake me up. When they hear me do my morning groaning, they invade the living room, where I slept. Sage and I play Wiggly Mountain, whereupon he must scale my knees while they seizure uncontrollably under my blankets.
Then we build a castle out of cardboard and tape. Sage is excited about the ramparts I cut into the two towers, but to my horror, feels they are more useful when removed and taped to the drawbridge. Instead of bursting into a red hot boiling rage, as I'm wont to do when my structures are compromised, I quickly learn and employ one of the most important parenting techniques of our time: the bait and switch. Instead of explaining to him their usefulness in defending the castle from advancing enemy Lego men, I just tell on him for using the big boy scissors.
After lunch we walk to the park and throw a ball around for Lumas. Sage insists on holding the leash but also insists on letting it go should it ever get taught. Sage refuses to use the monkey bars, despite my insistence that he is known as the legendary Monkey Boy in this park.

Later, while Lorna and Eric are out viewing Iron Man, the kids and I have a mo'. Sage asks me to play "Scared Scared Scared from the 'puter." Sage has often mentioned this song in the last few months, and I'm completely psyched and intrigued (due to it's depressing content) by his affinity for it. I sit down at the piano with Jude on my lap and start to play it for them. Sage gets nervous and giddy in the front row for this private concert and so I am a little nervous too.

After the first chorus:
"But I am scared scared scared of bein' alone..."
he interjects, "but... but... Gavin, what were you scared of?"
I keep the chords cycling while I put on a thinking face, "Well, I guess I was just scared of being alone, Sage. We all get scared sometimes don't we?"
He pondered this, and then nodded. It was acceptable. I continued on to the second verse, "Before bed, when I pray...
I don't ask for anything.
I give thanks
for shorter days
and making sure that Lumas stays"
He interrupts again, "but... but, Gavin, where were you? When you were sad?"
I loop the chords again. It occurred to me that this was turning into a Bill Harley performance; a little Q and A mixed in amidst some heavy minstrelry. I knew the right thing to do was to adopt an ol' timey drawl, "Well, lil' Sage, I gayess I wuz at m'house. Ma ol' house in the woods in Rhode Island."
He considered this, then nodded. My heart was so at home in this.
The spell was broken halfway through the final refrain, "But I am scared scared scared... scared scared ----" when Sage grabbed my arm and said,
"Gavin... Gavin? Do you like oranges?"

02-19-2031: If My Hands Can Forget

2031

Sarah bought Chris a guitar for his birthday
it kind of pissed me off because he's 17 and he doesn't even have his own Tablet yet,
and his Dad works for Ebay
I said that and she was like, "well, whose birthday is it? Yours or his?"
I said, "Whose wallet is it? yours or mine?"
but she gave me that look so I resigned

Never argue with a smiling teen -
it's like seeing an eclipse or something.
You just stare and take pictures
thank your lucky stars that you were there to bear witness

At first it was nice, to see him practicing - actually using the gift
he'd bring it to the table, choke down the bare minimum, then sit and play a bit
but I got kind of tired of hearing him play those same three funk and blues riffs
and when he got himself an amp there was nowhere in the house to get away from it.

When I came back upstairs one night, after forcing him to turn it off and go to bed
Sarah leaned up on one elbow and asked why I didn't get the keyboard down instead
I laughed too quick and told her I wasn't about to encourage this assault on our senses
but the truth is I couldn't play a song if my pension depended on it

In the attic
in the corner
under sheets
I found my keyboard
put my fingers
on the right keys
but couldn't find
a single chord
and
if my hands can forget all the songs that they wrote and the parts that they played in the albums they made
who's to say that they won't just forget everything
one day
can't cook
can't code
can't feel
my job, my skills demand
my hands
all wrong
paycheck
all gone.

it was quarter to eleven, we were already in bed on a Monday night
I must've heard him play Kashmir fifty times but never once got it right
maybe I came into his room 'cause I was looking for a fight
or 'cause I couldn't bear to sit by while he wasted away the education paid for with my own life

he stopped calling me "Dad" - started calling me "Gavin" when I raised my voice
I asked him to PLEASE put the guitar down for one damn minute
I don't know if the noodling was a conscious thing or if his fingers just did it
but he wouldn't get the message 'til I yanked it away from him, and put my foot in it

Finally for once - EVER - Chris looked scared
he bolted out the door and downstairs.
Sarah came up to see what all the fuss was about
when she saw the guitar she started freaking out,
telling me how I'm taking my own life out on my kids.
She was calm when she said,
"You won't be happy until nobody is."

In the attic
in the corner
under sheets
I found my keyboard
put my fingers
on the right keys
but couldn't find
a single chord
and
if my hands can forget all the songs that they wrote and the parts that they played in the albums they made
who's to say that they won't just forget everything
one day
can't cook
can't code
can't feel
my job, my skills demand
my hands
all wrong
paycheck
all gone.

2031