Carmen Borgia's Treehouse

Treehouse Gig this Thursday

2010-11-10T07:50:00.001-05:00

Ah, fall is falling all around us! I've got a Treehouse gig on the Upper West Side at the P&G Bar this Thursday, November 11 at 6, stop by to enjoy some excellent tunes and a bit of a kickback as the dropping temperature chills us all like frosty beverages. And you can get a frosty beverage there too!

It's from 6-7:45pm, with the groop:
Carmen Borgia - Singing, guitar and ukulele
Evan Cassidy - Bass (if he doesn't have to work late)
Tom Wayland - Percussion, drums and harmonica

P&G Bar
380 Columbus Avenue at 78th street
Thursday, November 11th
6-7:45pm
No cover, no food, but you can send out or bring in.
http://pandgbar.com/

www.carmenborgia.com

Treehouse gig Thursday 10/14

2010-10-07T05:01:00.001-04:00

It's from 6-7:45pm, with the ever-tightening lineup of knuckleheads.
Carmen Borgia - Singing, guitar and ukulele
Evan Cassidy - Bass (if he doesn't have to work late)
Randy Hudson - Guitar
Tom Wayland - Percussion, drums and harmonica

P&G Bar
380 Columbus Avenue at 78th street
Thursday, October 14th
6-7:45pm
No cover, no food, but you can send out or bring in.
http://pandgbar.com/

Captain Beefheart will not be appearing with us, but I'm including some of his wizdom here to dignify the blog. Captain Beefheart's 10 commandments for guitar players:

1. LISTEN TO THE BIRDS That's where all the music comes from. Birds know everything about how it should sound and where that sound should come from. And watch hummingbirds. They fly really fast, but a lot of times they aren't going anywhere.

2. YOUR GUITAR IS NOT REALLY A GUITAR Your guitar is a divining rod. Use it to find spirits in the other world and bring them over. A guitar is also a fishing rod. If you're good, you'll land a big one.

3. PRACTICE IN FRONT OF A BUSH Wait until the moon is out, then go outside, eat a multi-grained bread and play your guitar to a bush. If the bush doesn't shake, eat another piece of bread.

4. WALK WITH THE DEVIL Old delta blues players referred to amplifiers as the "devil box." And they were right. You have to be an equal opportunity employer in terms of who you're bringing over from the other side. Electricity attracts demons and devils. Other instruments attract other spirits. An acoustic guitar attracts Casper. A mandolin attracts Wendy. But an electric guitar attracts Beelzebub.

5. IF YOU'RE GUILTY OF THINKING, YOU'RE OUT If your brain is part of the process, you're missing it. You should play like a drowning man, struggling to reach shore. If you can trap that feeling, then you have something that is fur bearing.

6. NEVER POINT YOUR GUITAR AT ANYONE Your instrument has more power than lightning. Just hit a big chord, then run outside to hear it. But make sure you are not standing in an open field.

7. ALWAYS CARRY YOUR CHURCH KEY You must carry your key and use it when called upon. That's your part of the bargain. Like One String Sam. He was a Detroit street musician in the fifties who played a homemade instrument. His song "I Need A Hundred Dollars" is warm pie. Another church key holder is Hubert Sumlin, Howlin' Wolf's guitar player. He just stands there like the Statue of Liberty making you want to look up her dress to see how he's doing it.

8. DON'T WIPE THE SWEAT OFF YOUR INSTRUMENT You need that stink on there. Then you have to get that stink onto your music.

9. KEEP YOUR GUITAR IN A DARK PLACE When you're not playing your guitar, cover it and keep it in a dark place. If you don't play your guitar for more than a day, be sure to put a saucer of water in with it.

10. YOU GOTTA HAVE A HOOD FOR YOUR ENGINE Wear a hat when you play and keep that hat on. A hat is a pressure cooker. If you have a roof on your house the hot air can't escape. Even a lima bean has to have a wet paper towel around it to make it grow.

P&G gig this Thursday, 9/16

2010-09-12T17:58:00.000-04:00

It's from 6-7:45pm, with the usual suspects.
Carmen Borgia - Singing, guitar and ukulele
Evan Cassidy - Bass
Randy Hudson - Guitar
Tom Wayland - Percussion, drums and harmonica

We'll be doing purely amazing covers from the big orange book, songs by cb, and some from South. Come one, come all! Tim Werenko's review from the last gig: "Gleeful misery!" Come get some!

P&G Bar
380 Columbus Avenue at 78th street
Thursday, September 16th
6-7:45pm
No cover, no food, but you can send out or bring in.

Treehouse at the P&G Bar this Thursday

2010-06-29T21:14:00.000-04:00

There are gigs and there are gigs. Some gigs are just about showing up and hitting play, not the play button on your ipod but the play button in my mind. This gig will not be like that. Forget all of my previous gigs, and all other known gigs, this gig is different. Yes, it is at a bar, as so many other gigs have historically been, but this gig will be elevated, and not in a subtle manner either. This gig will be singular, unique. Yes, I shall be playing songs from the book, as I played at my last P&G gig and numerous gigs previous, but don't worry your pretty little head about that, we've kicked it up a notch. Maybe two. Let me assure you that this gig will be more than a gig. It will be an engagement.

I will wear a nice shirt and a comfortable hat. I've purchased a new guitar tuner, and I shall be using that to carefully tune my guitar. I may be playing electric, I may be playing acoustic. This gig is so profoundly innovative that I am not sure I will even know myself which instrument I will play beforehand. I can't know even that fundamental piece of information, the kind of thing that basic pre-planning and rehearsal ordinarily demands, this gig is so outside the box.

Randy Hudson. Evan Cassidy. Tom Freaking Wayland. And, of course, me, Carmen Borgia. We got your guitar, we got your ebow, we got some other guitar, we got your bass and drums. We got 'em right here. For you. Come, attend, be there, be free. It's free. No drink minimum, but they do assuredly have drinks, and there is no drink maximum either. You get to decide for yourself; this groundbreaking option of choice is only one of the many refreshing aspects that define this gig. It's early, catch us after work and get home in plenty of time to chill out with a movie or a plate of artisanal cheese. You see, this is not like other gigs, those that are so frequently later or drinkier or expensiver.

This gig will be a game changer.

P&G Bar, 380 Columbus Avenue at 78th Street

Thursday, July 1st, 6-8pm

No cover

http://pandgbar.com/

How did your gig go?

2010-05-11T06:55:00.003-04:00

Pencil sketch by Chris Niosi.

So, you ask, how did the gig go? This is what I have to say about that.

8 hours of workday work on 55th street. This means arise in the morn at 6:30 or so, rise, roust, get up, get it on and roll out of the sacred allnight bed and get a move on! Shower, shave and all all the rest and get cookin'! Wake myself, wake the missus and book my sorry ass out of bed, out of the bedroom, off of the weather check and the email check and the internet and the living room and out of the house...out the door, down the hill, up the steps, onto the subway and into town. Now!!!

Do we live for work? No. Do we live for paycheck? Sort of. Do we live for coordination of this day's project? Absolutely not! We live for music.

Music.

So, do this. Get through the day. This is imperative. Get through, you get through, just like always. Plow through, stagger through, blaze through, and at the end of it all...I'll be through! Do it! Do the thing! Persevere! Maintain! Get! Through! It! Now!

The day: Scheduling. Managing. Fretting. Wheeling, dealing. Dealing. A lovely birthday party for Bob with salmon grill by Gloria, dropped into the middle of the day like an parachuted care package. Better than not bad, very good, excellent! Then back to the work part.

Some hours pass, a blur, a race. And at 5pm? Pack it up! Quick, cymbals in the case, guitar to the car, grab that amp, where is Randy? Quick, grab a cab! Get uptown. It's just a few blocks!

Arrive at P&G Bar, I'm alone, meet with TJ, all is good. Plug in the amp. Plug in the guitar. Strum, signal, yes! Alison shows up. Then Randy and Tom. Set up guitar 2, set up drums, place mics, yes! CB strums the strings, Randy strums the strings, Tom taps on the skins, monitors, mains, audio! People arrive, order drinks, they are there, off on the edge, over there but why we're here!

So, the playing, the show!

I think Chris took this picture as well.

The gig, she was good. Fun and warm, covers up front, cb songs in the middle, a few covers at the tail. High points: A little bit of Lyle Lovett - Since the Last Time, always dig me some Secret Agent Man, Randy and Tom jamming out on Back East, Michael D'Emidio dropped in to Zep out on This Magic Bone, and Eli requested Two Headed Boy from the back of the room. The best part was an unexpected feeling of rejuvenation as the set progressed, feeling more awake as it went along. I do like the singing and the playing, I do like it a lot.

Generally speaking, a happy groove of a night.

P&G Bar gig

2010-05-03T06:19:00.001-04:00

Carmen Borgia's Treehouse at the P&G Bar.
It's at 78th and Columbus
Friday, May 7th, 6-8pm
No cover
They don't have food there, but you can send out.

I'll be playing songs from the cover book and some of my own. I'll be joined by guitar genius Randy Hudson and Tom Wayland will display his fine and varied percussion talents. Songs by Lyle Lovett, Johnny Rivers, Macy Gray, 10cc, Zappa, Cohen, Neutral Milk Hotel and, of course, Borgia.

Breathing

2010-02-28T22:31:00.004-05:00

Sleeping more lately, re-disorganizing, napping...
Winter is waning, we'll see what's next.

Thursday shall rock once again.

2010-02-24T08:18:00.002-05:00

Last Thursday for awhile!!!!

Come on down to the Dixon Place Lounge for a warm and toasty evening of tunes and hospitality.

It's been a fun run of my favorite tunes. Come down to catch the last one, it will be a toasty evening of music and hospitality. I'll be joined by the amazing Randy Hudson with some tuneful ebowness.

Last show for now!

Thursday, THURSDAY! Music starts at 7pm.

I'll be at:
The Lounge at Dixon Place
161 Chrystie Street
7 till 10, more or less
Thursday 2/25
No cover, no begging, no catch, naturally!

2010-02-10T17:15:00.002-05:00

Post Blizzard Happy Hour!!!!

Come on down to the Dixon Place Lounge for a warm and toasty evening of tunes and hospitality.

Perhaps you were trapped at home for two days, you colored the book and played hide and seek with the children until you practically bled. Or maybe you're getting a touch of cabin fever with your mate or solo. Bring the family and Carm will rock out for the grownups and do Animal Fair for the kiddies. If need be we'll send out for pizza. Carmen plays until you can't stand it, just like always.

I'll be joined by the amazing Randy Hudson and Anthony Liberatore on guitars and singing. Three way? Or just a trio?

Don't miss out, don't despair, don't disappear! Only two more shows to go for now. Be there and be square! Be fair! Be aware! Whatever!

Thursday, THURSDAY! Happy hour 6-7. Music starts at 6:30.
Come early for drink specials.... Happy Hour 6-7pm: $1 off everything, plus $5 special cocktails!!!

I'll be at:
The Lounge at Dixon Place
161 Chrystie Street
6:30pm until 9:30, more or less
2 Thursdays left - 2/11 & 2/25
No cover, no begging, no catch, naturally!

Thursday is the new Friday

2010-02-03T14:00:00.000-05:00

Work is a workweek work is a blind slide that startsonmondaystopsonfriday if i'm lucky, life is a workweek, life is life, life is a big fast car flying down a one lane blacktop, flying, swooshing, sighing by like a thing you did but don't clearly recall, like a memory you haven't had yet, just yet, life is the car, destiny is the road, work is the engine, money is the fuel

At night not every night, some evening, not every evening there is a thing, a pause, a RECALIBRATION a stutter, a skip in time, a break a THEFT...

The email is abandoned, the duty lost, the phone as if ripped from the socket on the wall in a horror film, the life, the way, the assumed thing is torn from existence

A nylon bag, black, obscure, ignored in the corner of the day.

A box, vinyl clad, dusty, harsh in its promise.

The box plugged in, the bag unzipped, a stand, an instrument, a guitar!

Plugged in, placed in the stand, stand, the last. Stand.

And then:

Music, possibly. Tentative, shy, people are leaving the building, I pick up, I hold, I pick, the pick...

Open the book, flip pages back, forward, deliberating, act of choosing and then...music, really.

The hand searches, the hand strums, with pick or sans pick. A familiar scale, an intimate riff, the warm up, the approach. And then a little voice. Shy, tentative, air crawling gently over chords, vocals, voice ashamed of itself, voice and then voice with guitar. Song. Songs! Familiar songs from the place, the home, the nest, the book. Singing more rightfully now with the guitar, a song, another song, another and another and now let's play the harmonica too. Simple and there.

Music filling up, life making way, music coming in, music occurring. It's Tuesday, let's work it, it's Wednesday, let's practice it, it's 10pm, we can stop now. It's ok, we can stop, its midnight, we can pause. I can stop today, even though its not today anymore.

Pack it up now. Carefully, each harmonica in it's little case, the rack folded and stowed, the picks and capo in the little knit bag, the tuner and the bag and the rack and the encased harmonicas in the zipper bag on the outside of the case, the guitar in the case, the cable in the other zipper bag, the amp turned off, the guitar in the bag in the office, the light's turned off, the door closed, the brain turned off, the subway ride home, alone, reading to distract, distract productively, without my guitar and without my amp, they are parked and undeployed in my office, ready for any thing, ready for tomorrow.

Tomorrow is Thursday.

I'll be at:

The Lounge at Dixon Place
With Randy Hudson joining me on guitar.

161 Chrystie Street

7pm until 10, more or less

Three more Thursdays - 2/4, 2/11, 2/25

No hat, but I may pass the cover

Thursdays

2010-01-26T03:59:00.014-05:00

Three gigs so far at Dixon Place, three completely different nights.

Night one: Ellie and some old friends popped in, true Dixon Placers from way back. I came in ready for covers and they requested my own songs, a pleasant surprise. Bill and Hil came and Alison as well. It was a perfect starter evening, the downstairs show was lightly attended and the night felt personal and special. I love playing for friends.

Night two: The last weekend for the show playing downstairs, and they had a great crowd. By 7pm the lobby already filling up, I dug into it on the electric. I left a copy of the book out and got two requests, Mister Green Genes, Zappa, and something else. I kind of chewed up Green Genes, first time playing it in public, but got a positive nod from the requester. Ramped up the song energy as the crowd gathered and then the room emptied out for the downstairs show leaving three older gentlemen at the bar. I took a brief break then came back with the baritone uke, which they liked. By 8:30 all wrapped up. Decided to play some house music from the ipod for the crowd exit, which matched the main show and was cool.

Night three: Packed house downstairs, which means packed in the lounge. The first set was fun and efficient. Jim Takacs came by, a really pleasant surprise, as well as 3 film students from Montreal I'd met earlier that day at work. When the crowd thinned out I got to chat with everybody. The downstairs show was short, or the time went fast, but suddenly the crowd let out and hit the bar. Really loud, energized crowd. I grabbed my uke and hit a few of my more high energy tunes, and then switched up to electric and just sang into the crowd, they were like a great fresh wave. They were not about me but I felt with them. Loud, drinky, good. I got to crank up the Princeton a bit for the first time and leaned into the mic. Lately I've been fearful for my hearing, conservative. It was a great relief to be in a loud room, grinding out some stupid and fun songs. Secret Agent Man. Coconut. And some cooler stuff as well, Sunny Side Of The Street. Really good night.

This Thursday I suspect I'll be joined by Randy Hudson, really great guitarist, has played with Bongwater, Zorn, founding member of New York Ebow Quartet. Should be fun.

I'll be at:

The Lounge at Dixon Place

161 Chrystie Street

7pm until 10, more or less

Every Thursday

No hat, but I may pass the cover

Note from a friend of Tom's

2010-01-23T05:14:00.012-05:00

Carmen:

You don't know me, unless I met you when Tom was teaching in Newark and I passed through town. I was one of Tom's best friends at Denison (a geologist, not a theater guy - Tom had two classifications for rocks - salty and non-salty). I just read about his death in the college news and have tearfully/gleefully watched your video of the memorial. Sadly, Tom and I last talked about a year after he moved to Greensboro, and we had promised to get together either there or here in Oregon where one of his nephews was in school. None of that happened despite good intentions. Last time I saw him was in Walnut Creek years ago - I was in town on business and we ate and drank - Tom wanted to make good use of my expense account!

Like everyone that played a part in the memorial service, I was one of Tom's projects. Tom taught me about being myself - how he knew so much about people when he was the same age as me (18 at the time) is beyond me. We were hardly alike, but maybe that's what made us friends. He was so far from my science circle, yet so close to all human roots. We took that same beat up Pinto from Newark to Ann Arbor to his dad's dream general store in Craftsbury VT in the middle of winter. Tom cursed the seat of the Pinto and Ford engineering cause it was going through the floor, but he flung himself into that thing pretty mightily. His mom even had a Christmas present for me, though she had never met me before. His dad was gruff with a heart of gold.

I can tell from the video that you had a long close friendship with Tom. I wish I had maintained my contact with him more consistently, but, even though I regret the distance and distractions, I believe that Tom would have greeted me with a booming "BILLY!" from the foot of the stage as I came to watch rehearsal in Greensboro. He did that for me at Newark High School a couple of times as I came to visit. You were probably there.

Can you tell me something about his last years? Just wondering about his illness and his state of happiness. I've thought about him a lot. Email when you can.

Thanks much

Bill Bach

- - - - - -

Hi Bill,

Your message has rung a few bells and it's generated a long response, I hope that's ok.

Tom had health issues for quite a few years, but it was not always easy to pin him down on them. He was a militantly independent soul and was not very receptive to suggestions about health, personal or career matters. About 15 years ago he had a case of severe reflux which netted some pretty negative diagnoses. He was fatalistic about it and took glee in reporting one particular trip to the doctor because he had lost the ability to swallow. The story involved a lot of uncontrolled spewing of some medicine or other that the doctors gave him to clear it up. To go to a doctor for an inability to swallow and then be given something to drink was Tom's favorite kind of doctor tale that he would relate with anger and relish. To him they were all incompetent or quacks and he would rage and laugh while dispensing the story. He told me things could get disastrously worse at any moment, but I don't know how that particular issue finally played out.

I believe at that time he was on a disastrous, hilarious and depressing solo cross country jaunt in a borrowed RV that he figured would be a good opportunity to sort out some big questions he was having about life. I think he was 45 or so. He had been going strong as artistic director at the Western Stage for many years and was in serious need of a vacation. Tom was into the big gesture and maybe the only thing he loved as much as theater was a road trip. And gambling. I think Tom's ideal life would have been to direct sold-out directorly and actorly plays in some isolated mecca of theatre, drive to Vegas or fly to Monte Carlo to play high stakes poker with heavyweights and show up to rehearsal the next day hung over and ready to work. I think he dug the emotional swoop of being way down and then winning back up. It wasn't until his final illness that I really got how much Tom liked drama. Pretty obvious given his profession. Me dummyhed!

He was always either a smoker or quitting smoking. In either state, he cursed his own need for the habit. I've smoked from time to time, and if I hung around Tom I might have bummed one of his atrocious menthol cigarettes from him just to feel the cool breeze.

In July of 2007 I got an email from a friend that Tom had developed serious health problems. He had checked into a hospital, diagnosed with congestive heart failure. He was still out and about in the world, but he had been having great difficulty walking and increasing problems breathing, so he went to see a doctor. Tom was simultaneously one of the most social people I've known and a true loner. I have often wondered if this set of traits fits naturally with theater directors as I've seen it in others. The director loves people, the director needs people, the director understands people and people are the raw material of his work. But working with someone is not the same as friendship. Although I consider Tom one of my greatest friends and I loved working with him, it was difficult to stay close in the absence of the work. The work was life and the work was family. I had decided to focus on building a career in New York and eventually the economics of my life made the trips to California to "do a Tom show" a thing of the past.

I kept up with him by phone, talking every few months. Conversations could be difficult, in every talk he would circle around some grievance in his theater, budget woes, the state of the art in general, betrayals by co-workers, this business we call show. I think of this kind of thing as work stuff, daily crap that needs to be dealt with but that ultimately must be transcended to get to life's important things. But Tom didn't have a lot of life outside of his job as far as I could see. He didn't have many romantic relationships that I'm aware of. He was in touch with his relatives, but I don't know that there were a lot of visits. He always spoke highly of his brother Gregg, but tended to express frustration with his father and his other brother. He was crazy about his mother, who passed away quite a few years ago. I would say now that Tom was competitive with the fellas. His real family was the diaspora of people who came to work with him and then would fly away until the next show. He had a few old friends that he kept in closer touch with from his days at Denison and even before from the Young People's Theater in Cincinnati. I proudly count myself as one of his oldest friends, but that crew I think was for him a well with a precious trickle of clear water where he could go for a drink. I don't want to idealize it, he could behave like an old married person with his old friends.

To Tom the theater was always his theater. It was this sense of ownership of the art and the place for the art that made him inspirational and maddening. And he had a great innate distrust of all authority, including, of course, doctors.

In this spirit Tom had become quite unwell over the course of at least a year before seeing a doctor. He had left the Western Stage around maybe 1999 and moved to Greensboro to chair the theater department at the University of N.C.. He had told me repeatedly that he was very unhappy there. I believe he loved the students but disliked some of the staff and faculty. I have an impression of him teaching classes and doing shows, but not having much of a home life. He had a cat, Baby, that he was very crushed out on and doted over. As he became sick the circulation in his legs was beginning to slow and the host of problems that comes with that were manifesting. It became more difficult to walk, numbness, weakness and then sores appeared. He hid this condition from his co-workers and did not mention it to friends. He'd drive to class, I'd imagine that he started to direct more from a seat in the theater, which he was good at. He told me that this problem culminated in a reunion trip for the Young People's Theater, which Tom helped to found. He made the 8 hour drive from Greensboro to Cincinnati barely able to move his feet. And when he got to the reunion he mostly sat. He didn't tell anyone there what was going on. I'm not sure how he accomplished this feat, perhaps people noticed but were polite, hey, we're all older now, right?

When he returned to Greensboro he finally saw a doctor. Tom loved to self-diagnose himself, and he had a bit of a haggle with the doc. "It's asthma" sez Tom. "Nope, your heart is failing" sez the doc. Tom was shocked. I think he had his hopes pinned on asthma. The doctor scheduled him for open heart surgery. I think quintuple bypass. Quintuple? Geez, how many bypasses can there be?

I went to Greensboro a few days after the surgery to visit. It was good to see him and he was pretty groggy. I came with a friend and we were only in town for a couple of days. He was having an interesting time of it with the medical personnel, the higher the rank, the more Tom detested them. One of the female nurses was very good to him. He had begun a year-long sabbatical a couple of months before and now it looked like it was going to be his recovery period. He told me that he felt very disconnected from the art of theater and wanted to get back into performing. He was working on a show of his medical journey and wondered if I would contribute music and sound design. I naturally said yes. It was to be a solo show with disembodied music and sound to accompany, and Tom would perform it himself. He worked on this show over the next two years while undergoing 2 more surgeries and not very enthusiastic diagnoses from the docs.

Tom had let his condition deteriorate quite a bit before seeking help and I suspect this contributed to the final outcome, though I don't know. While I wouldn't say that Tom took particularly great care of himself, I think his main vice was tobacco. He always liked a drink, but was more of a beer guy and I'd guess his early years of drinking had given way to the occasional cocktail. I think the larger issue might be that single person problem where one doesn't get a lot of input from outside sources. He could get pretty cranky if he were encouraged to adjust to get along with people, social expectations or his body.

And now this is a funny thing, because Tom had many, many admirers. I've drawn a bit of a bleak picture I suppose, and to me he was usually pretty eager to convey that he had a life of regret and diminishing expectations both professionally and personally. But I don't entirely believe it.

In some of these conversations I had with him, toward the end of the chat, after the carping about the co-workers and the miserable state of theatre in Amerika, there would be a mention of the show, or of the student. This would be on the order of, "well, I've got to get to rehearsal". Or "You'd love Charlie, he's a great guy, he's going to teach me to use this stupid computer." The rehearsal would be a show at the university, and Charlie was a student. I don't want to imply that Tom was happier than he claimed, that is not my place, and I'm sure some curse from beyond the grave would attach itself to me as a result. But I think it was a more complex than I was encouraged to see.

It's the reason I went down to Greensboro for his memorial, where I knew almost nobody, and not to Salinas, where I'd be more familiar. I wanted to see for myself what was going on. I was not disappointed. As you saw in the memorial video, there was a great love and support for Tom in evidence. There I was in a beautiful theater, packed with people who loved him. I looked around just before the memorial began and said to my wife, Alison, "Full house. Pretty good." Everyone I spoke with had a familiar story to tell. "I didn't know ... about myself, Tom encouraged me to..." "I never thought I could...Tom yelled at me to..." "I was terrified to...and Tom came along and beat me up until..."

I think I was able to spot the people who had pissed him off, swaggering a bit, more concerned with talking about their jobs than subject at hand. More interested in their jobs than in theatre. I know the type. But there were only a few. They must have felt a bit relieved and distantly confused at the event.

Right or wrong, Tom owned the theatre, even when he didn't have the highest authority or a piece of the real estate. He could be a real pain in the ass if I counselled pragmatism in his various conflicts. The thing was, and I've done more than one stinker with Tom, he could really deliver a show, he extracted the best from his colleagues. And that was because theatre was the thing with him, it was important, it was essential, it mattered. This was especially true in working with new actors and designers. I'd heard him complain about being trapped in academia, but I think he really loved to teach. It's hard like hell to get up in front of a class of young people, day after day and impart the sacred knowledge, but Tom was really good at that. I don't think I ever saw him bored at a rehearsal. Angry? Yes. Petulant? Check. Giddy with happiness? Sure, lots of times. Satisfied?

Ah, that might be the thing. Your email set me off on a bit of a journey. Satisfaction, happiness. You asked me if I could tell you about his state of happiness, and in my own 50 year old midlife zone I wonder about that topic pretty much all the time. Life has gone on longer than I ever thought it would, not in a bad way, just that whole being a grownup thing. See, even now I use a child's word to describe it. Keeping life fresh is a challenge. Learning is hard, knowledge is a bitch. Tom was ten years older than me, I see him as a cautionary tale and a shining example.

Tom went down unhappy with his job but loving his work. He couldn't stand academia but he loved to teach. Show business threw him into a rage but he lived only for the theatre. Maybe he was a guy who was difficult to work for but easy to learn from. Hard to find the right words, I wouldn't go with easy. And if he were here now he'd be trying to edit this himself.

Hope this answers your question, Bill.

Best regards,

Carmen Borgia

A cool note from Mark Luzio

2010-01-22T00:18:00.004-05:00

Carmen,I just learned of Tom's death. I wrote this for myself and Tom. If you think it is appropriate, could you post it or forward it or face book to some old friends of TH. " RINPOCHE " I just learned of Tom's death. 30 years ago we shared a house in Granville for a few years. As we all know Tom was a hard living SLOB. You could say that over the years he developed this into an art form. Last night's pizza box makes a fine cat box in a few weeks, then chuck it! He taught me that the play, the job, the art is the thing. Don't just spend your life cleaning your house. I have chosen a different life style, but I realized last night that I have always had one room in my house that would make Tom proud. I never clean my work shop until the art, the job, the play is done.

Tom had a laugh, it was really an under the breath chuckle. It made you feel so good. It was always a variation of the same theme, You and Tom were in on the absurd cosmic joke that is life. Thirty years ago I built any number of flats and plywood risers for Tom. I am sure he would get a little cosmic chuckle that Post Pattern Woodworking builds $75,000.00 mahogany paneled powered rooms for Goldman Sachs millionaires or B. I don't know the particulars of Tom's death. Like all of us, he may have just gotten tired of waiting for Godot. I believe that a short while after August 24, a child was born, in 20 years maybe one of us will recognize this RINPOCHE [ The precious one] from the laugh.

Pix from last week, another show tomorrow night!

2010-01-13T06:57:00.009-05:00

Last Thursday's gig was a hoot! Played a bunch of my own stuff
for the regular Dixon Place crew.

I put together a big book of all the tunes I'm playing now, some well done, some medium rare, but all songs that I've loved hard at one time or another. I didn't make a set list, just pulled them up as it seemed fitting. One of the audience members harangued me and said, "You're not going to just read them out of a book like a poet, are you?" Yep, that's what I'm gonna do.

I was thinking of doing all covers and just a few of my own, but by request I ended up doing a middle set of just my stuff on the bari uke. Show made to order, I'm liking the book. Alison spontaneously jumped up and sang one of her songs from South, which was excellent.

Fave covers for me: Gold by Peter Blegvad, The Old Main Drag by the Pogues.

Tomorrow night I think I'll try out the harmonica on the rack. I've added Secret Agent Man to rock out a bit as well as a Dylan tune. Dig it!

I'll be at:
The Lounge at Dixon Place
161 Chrystie Street
7pm until 10, more or less
Every Thursday
No cover, but I may pass the hat

Electric or acoustic?

2009-12-31T21:30:00.015-05:00

Ah yes, the eternal question. Since Dylan pissed off an entire generation of folkies by plugging in and cranking it up it's been a controversy, though not really. Not that this is a fair comparison, the audience I'm most likely to piss off would be my downstairs neighbors. And with the electric, at least I can turn it down in a pinch.

For me it should be a matter entirely of the heart, but it's also logistical. The acoustic is easier to carry, no amp. Also, in the first band, many blue moons ago, I watched my guitarist pals endure endless cycles of anxiety and despair in search of the perfect guitar. And, just as the climbers of Everest realize when they reach the summit that their journey is only half complete, obtaining the perfect guitar meant beginning the search for the perfect amp. So I was wary of the electric.

The acoustic has just always felt good to me. I like it on my body, the vibes are good, to hear it is to also feel it. But I've been playing the acoustic for many years now, and it just seems a time to change it up a bit. I have an electric that I picked out with Ed many years ago, and it's been my go-to for recording. It's my poor-man's partscaster, I've changed pickups willy nilly to try things out. I've always plugged right into the board through a little direct box of some sort, and a couple of years ago Ed sent me a little multi purpose guitar amp, which is fun and useful.

But I wanted more, after all, variety is good for the brain and fingers, keeps 'em curious. So in a fit of retail therapy, I bought a decent electric and an amp in one throw. I have to say I fell in love with the combo in the store, and I'd been itching for a new sound for some time. I don't want to get into brand names, I'm not really superstitious in that way. Because I know that just as the gods of tone love may smile down upon me with that thrummy feeling of playing a nice instrument, I may find myself one day falling out of love with it. I hope this never happens, but I've seen it before and I worry.

Until then, I've got some switches to flip and knobs to turn. My new favorite old thing: tremolo. Dang.

New Gig! Thursdays in 2010!

2009-12-26T15:57:00.000-05:00

Got a new gig, very excited about it. Dixon Place has asked me to take Thursdays in their upstairs space, called The Lounge. It's been acting as a lobby, but they got their liquor license, and when they got their first shipment of alcohol, for some reason, they thought of me.

I get to do my own thing and have guests as well. I'll likely be starting out solo acoustic with that whole singing thing I do. I've been working on a crop of cover tunes for the people and I'm keen to try that out.

It'll be at:
The Lounge at Dixon Place
161 Chrystie Street
7pm until 10, more or less
Every Thursday starting January 7th
No cover, we'll likely pass the hat so I'll be sure to wear one.

I'll keep y'all posted.

Upcoming good stuff

2009-11-08T18:12:00.003-05:00

• I'll help to produce Ed Summerfield's first solo album. He's got a pile of great songs that need tapin'.
• Record some new Bill Pace songs. He says he's got some, and I have no reason to doubt him.
• Alison is making her singing debut at Lincoln Center, in one of the cool little halls. Gonna record it, you bet.
• Ukulele Cabaret is back at Banjo Jim's, coming up in a couple of weeks.
• Kent says he's working on a story about a language. I'm looking forward to reading it.
• The laundry will be done in about 10 minutes, once it's folded, it shall be finished.

Ok, I think I'm back.

2009-11-08T12:26:00.009-05:00

I do see the light, way off over there. Go...towards...light...

Update, progress, new

2009-10-27T20:18:00.001-04:00

Things a touch better, maybe not better, but trending more positively...

Progress Report

2009-10-21T19:49:00.002-04:00

Weird summer, now it's fall. Emptiness continues, don't like to complain, but feel need to keep it straight up. Things are very good and not feeling good at the same time, I tell myself this is the normal state of life after a certain point. How happy is a person supposed to be?

Usually busy with a million projects, now feel more like occupied with a hundred plans but don't know where to start. Like at this moment, trying to microwave some raviolis, but must thaw them out first. The beeper keeps beeping before I think it's over. I go to the microwave, it says "turn".

Turn. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

Progress Report

2009-10-19T21:00:00.001-04:00

And yet again, today, not really that much either.

Progress

2009-10-17T20:21:00.001-04:00

Today, not so much.

Jim Bradley memorial to Tom Humphrey 10/10/09

2009-10-12T07:50:00.006-04:00

------ Forwarded Message
From: Jim Bradley <xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
Date: Tue, 13 Oct 2009 07:41:42 -0400
To: "Bradley, James"
Conversation: TOM
Subject: TOM

Lights up on audio – opening track from “Apocalypse Now” soundtrack – The Doors, “The End.”

Tom liked The Doors. He admitted that to me once.

Tom Humphrey. TH. Tom. Coach. My teacher. My mentor. My friend. He was Mr. Humphrey for the first 3 years I knew him. In the crowd I hung out with in high school, it was a rite of passage when you could call him Tom. It is the middle of the night here in NY and thanks to Carmen I have just finished watching the 2 plus hour North Carolina memorial video on the web. I feel a little lost. Lonely. Sad. Mad. All of it...

I make my living as a director now. And Tom was there at the beginning of it all; he opened the door to this world of creativity and helped ignite this passion for bringing ideas to life that still singes the inside of my skull -- at times it literally hurts my head. First at Newark High School in 1974 and then at Weathervane Playhouse and later at Millbrook Playhouse and finally in San Diego. The thing I remember most about Tom's work was his uncanny sense of setting the table. Preshows. Music to set the tone. Establishing the spine from the first sound/light/set cue. I find I use that sensibility every day. It all has to connect to your thesis.

I have lived in New York for the last 20 years and remember when my desire to be here began. And again Tom was there. August, 1979. He and I spent a whirlwind few days together running through museums and seeing shows. And in those few days my life unmistakably changed. First, "Sweeney Todd" at the Uris, to this day the most unforgettable evening spent in a theatre audience (talk about your preshow!). And the next day my introduction to 70MM film, my first movie (front row, rear section) at the Ziegfeld, and the first afternoon matinee of "Apocalypse Now" (they handed out a program with the credits as there were no opening or closing titles for the 70MM version of the film). From the helicopter pan of the theater in the dark that opens the movie to the final sound of the rains falling at the end, my little brain got bigger and bigger. Don't remember what time the show was but I remember exiting the theater with Tom afterwards and sitting in the Plaza just outside the Ziegfeld in the bright sunlight, feeling numb and a little woozy. It was around this time I had the dawning realization that movies -- and not theatre -- was what I wanted to do with my life. It was strange to be there with Tom, my theater mentor as it slowly dawned on me that his world -- the theatre -- was not my future. But somehow it made sense that he was beside me at that exact moment. We talked about the movie for hours.

And soon after we hopped in Tom's piece of shit yellow car (what the hell WAS that thing anyway?) and drove like a bat out of hell from NY to San Diego. I think it was 70 or 80 something hours that we were in that car together eating, sleeping, singing, talking -- no hotel rooms -- just drive, switch seats, sleep, switch seats, drive. We did pull off into a parking lot somewhere in Kansas but neither of us got out of the car, just slept in our seats ("Never get out of the boat, absolutely god damn right...") And then, bleary eyed, we emerge from our smelly cocoon and we’re in Las Vegas -- Tom liked Vegas -- so that he could feed his gambling Jones. It was Labor Day and the fucking Telethon was going on and there were people in wheelchairs and metal crutches EVERYWHERE collecting money for Jerry's kids – (“What the World Needs NOW, is LOVE, SWEET LOVE...”). And me, poor college student that I was, stumbling around Las Vegas, broke, bleary, dirty -- freaking because I don't gamble and because it was/is really REALLY weird in Vegas, even during a "regular" day. And finally I can't stand the constant begging for "the kids" and I step back into Circus Circus and Tom is just finishing up, losing the last of his money, cigarette dangling from his lips, drinking and pokering and as happy as can be, truly like a pig is shit, IN HIS ELEMENT...

Finally we get the fuck out of there and march on to the sea, Cardiff by the Sea. And it was my first time in California. And I would move there when I graduated from college in 2 years. And of course Tom had a hand in it…

I am mad that you didn't take care of yourself. That you continued to run the redlights through all the warnings signs for all those last years until it was too late. I am sad that I didn't respond to the last email from you because I didn't know what to say and just kept putting it off until I had the time to say it. I am sad that you never got that thing you were after in your life (did you?). I am deeply sad that I won't get to see you again. I am sorry that the whole world didn't know you and mourn along with us at your passing.

But most of all, I am forever glad to have known you. You changed my life.

Love forever, Jimmy.

FADE OUT.

------ End of Forwarded Message

The NYC version of the Tom Humphrey Memorial

2009-10-03T18:03:00.003-04:00

Date: Sat, 3 Oct 2009 08:59:25 -0400
Subject: The Tom Thing

Hey y'all,

So here is the scoop for Saturday 10/10

We are gathering around 6:30 at Carmen's place of work - Du-Art Media Services at 245 W. 55th St. between Broadway & 8th on the 9th Floor. Access to the building can sometimes be funky, so if you have trouble getting in, call Carmen or DB and we will come down to get you in.

This is a BYOB affair, but we will have water, cups, glasses, ice and munchies.

Once we are all assembled we will figure out what to do about dinner - we'll probably order in, or there are various pubs in the neighborhood where we could go if people prefer. Some people are bringing old photos so if you have stuff like that to share, bring it, baby!

Phones: Carmen 917-607-4332 DB xxx-xxx-xxxx

As for the entertainment portion of the evening - here are the highlights: Jim Bradley and Charlie Sullivan are nearly finished with their multi-media presentation inspired by Kristina Katz called "Behind the Bleachers", while Jim Simpson will be reading a short epic poem by Christian Northcote. Russell will decide between giving a modern dance rendition of "As Tom plunges through the west wing floor" or "Baseball-headed men I have known" and while Val will be singing "The Ballad of Kyle and Jane...and Tom".

Can't wait to see you all again!

XOXOX

Progress Report

2009-09-27T18:34:00.000-04:00

Still nothing, really. Maybe soon.

Progress report

2009-09-22T15:12:00.001-04:00

Not today. Maybe tomorrow.

Progress report

2009-09-10T16:26:00.001-04:00

Today, nothing.

New CD: The Red Circle Line

2009-07-09T22:55:00.034-04:00

Okay folks, it's been a nutty couple of weeks. South is down, for now, and I've divided my new schedule between catching up with my actual job and sleeping.

Now for all of you who may not have been fortunate, or crazy enough to make it to New York City for South, I've naturally got another thing going. Somewhere in the rehearsal process for South, I wrapped a new CD, The Red Circle Line. The title honors my daily commute into midtown by subway to extract money from the man, or a man. Or sometimes the Woman. Whatever. In any case, it's a wonderful piece of musical output, and you will be certainly pleased by it if you pick up a copy.

Now I'm not going to get into that "hey, support me because I'm an artist" thing, although I do crave support. No, you should check it out because it contains some truly great music and I think you will like it. These songs are good. A guy at work said, "It would be great if you could get some guitar and drums in these like a normal album, but even with the ukulele or whatever that is, I was humming these tunes on the way into work today. Weird."

See, people like this stuff.

Go, listen to some pieces, and if you're interested, then buy it online, because unless you come ring my doorbell in the Bronx, that's where you're going to get it.

If you'd like to be supportive, but don't want to spend any money, I have another offer. Listen to the snippets on itunes or CDBaby, post a comment on CDbaby or itunes, let me know you did it so I can check it out and I'll send you a copy for nuthin'. Of course, if you do not wish to waste precious time reviewing the actual music, you may simply provide a testimonial on those sites regarding my character and I'll honor the commitment. Writing is good for you! Even if you trash me out with a scandalously negative review, I'll still send you a CD. You may be able to make a few bucks selling it on ebay (where most of my sales occur), but whatever, I'm into redistribution of wealth, even my own, such as it is. This offer is especially good for Kent, as he pontificates so beautifully about quality music, and I long to be included in his commentary.

A few facts: I wrote all of it and played most of it. Some spectacularly sexy vocals by Alison Davy, to whom I'm married. (TMI?) Eric Garfinkel played guitar on one song, and I should have used him on more. Brian Dewan did a beautiful painting for the cover. Alan Silverman of Arf Digital in NYC mastered it for that extra special something. All in all, it's a no-miss event.

So that's the deal at the moment. Download it on itunes for 10 bucks (fire up itunes, type in Carmen Borgia in the itunes store) or buy the CD on CD baby for 10.99 plus shipping. More info can be had here on my Web site. Come on, go do it!

Man, marketing my own stuff is hard. Almost makes me wish I was on a record label.

Sonny's sub recipe, first recollection

2009-06-30T19:53:00.004-04:00

Recipe for Sonny's sub, to the best of my recollection:
This works best with a time travel device that takes you to 1975 or so.

- 1 Hero roll, white flour based, custom made to order at the IGA bakery on Mt. Vernon Road
- 3 slices cappicola hot ham from DiPaolo distributors, Columbus, OH
- 3 slices hard salami from DiPaolo distributors, Columbus, OH
- A leaf or two of sliced iceberg lettuce
- A ring of thinly sliced onion
- A small ladle or two of equal parts shaken oil and vinegar plus Sonny's secret spice mixture
- 3 or 4 oz coarsely grated low-moisture mozzarella cheese from DiPaolo distributors, Columbus, OH

Slice the hero roll lengthwise. Sprinkle the grated mozzarella on BOTH SIDES of the sliced roll, bake it in pizza oven at 325 degrees until mozzarella gets a bit brown on the peaks. Slip it out of the oven and quickly spread out the cappicola and salami over the molten cheese, dress with iceberg lettuce and onion and then hit it with a generous wash of the oil and vinegar dressing. Pop the top on that sucker, slice it into two halves and eat it before it cools.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

In a moment of lazy nostalgia in NYC around 1990 in the East Village, I went into an Italian pizza shop that had subs. I asked the guy, "Make me your regular sub, but can you toast the cheese on it and then put the meat and everything else on cold?" The cook behind the counter said, "Oh yeah, I know about that way."

I went back about five more times over the next few months and each time the cook saw me he just nodded and started making the sandwich. Deep.

The Day After Closing South

2009-06-29T06:00:00.000-04:00

Had a very fun and packed final weekend. Thank you to everyone who attended, supported, listened, put up with and cheered from the sidelines. What a hoot this has been!

I don't want to go overboard with the thank you's (You like me, you really like me!), but what a great team effort. It's been a truly fortunate time for me to have been able to play with so many talented and dedicated people. I can only hope that this has been as much fun for my collaborators as it's been for me. Cast, direction, design and tech crew all put out hugely, and people could see it on stage. Dixon Place was of course there from the beginning. The love and support they provide to artists such as myself is essential. I believe that many great works will emerge from the Chrystie Street theater. Maybe we'll be one of them. What a cool thing to be included in this opening season.

Now we get to load the scenery, props and costumes out of Dixon Place. The crate and props go to the apartment (!), the instruments back into the studio and the costumes back to the Costume Collection.

I've been asked what's next for South, and the truth is, first, a long nap. Then, dunno! We have great video of the show, and that must be edited so we can show it around. Another run? A CD? Film it, animate it? Hmmm...anybody looking for a show for their theater?

Onward!

A few reviews of South

2009-06-21T22:08:00.013-04:00

Only one weekend to go! Here are some reviews...

A few from theatermania.com:

Crazy Fun! by theaterlady

Ive been losing faith in the off-off-Broadway world because, so often, the playwrights try so hard to be edgy or different they forget that theres an audience that may want to be engaged and, god-forbid, entertained. SOUTH is simple and complex, deep and frothy, meaningful and playful. The staging was creative and unique, the performers, just dynamite! THANK YOU!

posted on 06/15/2009 at 8:34:00 PM

Review: Excellent option! by lisasf

For those who appreciate creative, talented, off beat, poignant, funny, you'll LOVE South! The love child of Carmen Borgia, a quirky, hip, brilliant musician, with Bill Pace directing, its no suprise South takes you on an unexpected journey. Its refreshing when a musical surprises you with a destination you never imagined getting to. Since Broadway has turned Hollywood, you need to go downtown for all the exhiliratingly original pieces, which South has in plenty! Not only is the writer an amazingly accomplished musician/singer/songwriter, but the cast is filled with top notch performers. This supremely talented, highly enjoyable cast will impress in all the right ways. With Doug Skinner (Bill Irwin's partner in crime for years), Bill Tost (The Fantastiks), alongside Robb Sherman, Sadrina Johnson, Michael D'Emedio and Alison Davy you'll want to have seen South when it opens with the original cast, trust me! You'll be one of the cool kids who can say, "I was there when South was in a 100 seat theater in the East Village, how cool is that??"

posted on 06/06/2009 at 7:03:00 AM

Review: RE:Worth a look by jerrynick

Caught a preview, pretty cool music - Magnetic Fields meets Wilco....

posted on 06/03/2009 at 10:53:00 PM

- - - - - - - - - -
Various email salutations and encouragements...

Just got back from seeing South, a nautical musical by Ukulele Cabaret regular, Carmen Borgia. All I have to say is, GO SEE IT! It also features Ukulele Cabaret Regulars Doug Skinner and Alison Davy.

Ted Gottfried, Sonic Uke
- - - - - - - - - -
CONGRATULATIONS my friend !!! What a great work!
- - - - - - - - - -
The show was great fun and I look forward to seeing and hearing more from you!
- - - - - - - - - -
Hey Carmen, saw the show over the weekend and really enjoyed it- particularly the ukulele number. Awesome work man! Congrats!
- - - - - - - - - -
I loved the show last night! Hope we can catch it again the last weekend...
- - - - - - - - - -
What an incredible show! So many quotable lines, singable tunes, stunning characterizations...I LOVED IT! If you are ANYWHERE close to NYC in June, you must see it!
- - - - - - - - - -
What a delightful and delicious romp!

What's my motivation?

2009-06-13T07:31:00.000-04:00

photo by Alison Davy

As an adoptee, family for me has long been a concept that I’ve felt I could rise above. If a child can be efficiently moved from one set of parents to another, then why all the fuss about where one came from, nationality or even the nature of one’s self? For many years it all seemed so simple.

South is a hummable response to my journey of searching for - and meeting - my birth mother. What started as something like intellectual curiosity tumbled for me like a log rolling down a hill, picked up momentum and ultimately became a personal odyssey. The dramas were small on the outside, but I found myself questioning my most basic assumptions of family and birthright. The emotions that I felt over the course of a year of phone calls, navigation between two clans and actually meeting a person who was eerily familiar in spite of being a total stranger screamed more or less into my ear to be shared, but how? I’d become acquainted with the standard search and reunion texts of Springer, Winfrey and Dr. Phil, but they all felt a bit vulgar… in a bad way. And so, a musical!

The whole trip for me was undeniably nautical; it felt lawless and far from terra firma. It was also a journey back in time, so it had to be a period piece. Since I’d met a number of unusual and helpful people along the way it would be a road trip. And because I’d always hoped – ultimately in vain – that my biological parents would be itinerant Cuban gymnasts, I went with Latin flavors of music, which I’ve always loved. I wanted to hit every permutation of family connection and abandonment: people leave, are taken, torn from one another, welcomed, feted, sold and freed and in the end we find our true families where we may. I hope that South reflects the curiosity, hope, hilarity, shock, acceptance and joy that may happen on a voyage such as this one. I also hope to have made some songs worth singing along the way.

South Opens This Week

2009-06-10T08:05:00.009-04:00

"South" opens at Dixon Place this week! Come and check it out. Here's the draw:

It's a beautiful and hilarious nautical journey set in 1860 on the north coast of South America aboard a leaky merchant ship, the Worthy. As you may have heard, it's got a sailor, a cook, a captain, pirates, lesbian cannibals (the good kind), a monk, nuns, filthy townspeople and bandits. There may be more, a lot happens. Of course it's got that music I write; lyric-driven tunes that celebrate the tricky aspects of life. It's accompanied by guitar, ukulele, accordion, percussion, autoharp, marxoharp and upright bass.

It's a full production in an intimate space.
We have an excellent ensemble cast:
Carmen Borgia
Alison Davy
Michael A. D'Emidio
Sadrina Johnson
Robb Sherman
Dan Shuman
Doug Skinner
Bill Tost

It's been brilliantly directed by William Bradley Pace and choreographed by Kriota Willberg. The whole shebang was commissioned by the new Dixon Place for their state-of-the-art theater because they thought people oughta see it.

The deets:
Three weekends in June - 12, 13, 19, 20, 26, 27 @ 7:30 pm
Dixon Place 161 Chrystie Street, NYC
$18 General admission, $12 Seniors and students
212-219-0736
www.dixonplace.org
Reservations are probably a good idea.

This one is not to be missed!

Theatermania

2009-06-03T23:53:00.006-04:00

Hey, we're on theatermania. I feel so New York. If you're feeling participatory, join the site and post a comment there... :)

9 days out

2009-06-03T22:56:00.006-04:00

Moonlit night at sea by Mary Rasure

Opening next week and all is well. Some highlights of the past couple of days.
- I heard Bill Tost sing Yonder tonight and it made me weep in the good way.
- Sadrina and I tried When I Find You in another key, and it really sprung to life.
- Doug and Alison and I worked on Bless The Creatures and chose to err on the side of beauty.
- Michael not only nailed the guitar feel for It's An Adventure To Talk To A Stranger, he improved it.
- Last night we ran the entire first act and the wheels came off of the bus only once, where a tricky guitar handoff did not go unnoticed.
- Got to see some projection art by Mary, I've included my favorite above.

Ukuleles Of Love! The Benefit for South!!!

2009-05-19T07:15:00.008-04:00

What it is:
A benefit for South, buy dinner if you like and consume it.
Very talented people play their songs on ukuleles in our honor,
we pass the hat.
Full menu available, drink specials benefit South.

Where it's at:
Satsko
245 Eldridge Street (Between Houston and Stanton)
NYC, 212-358-7773

http://www.satsko.com/

When it is:
Tuesday May 26th, 7-9pm

Who's hosting:
Ted Gottfried and Jason Tagg, fathers (mothers?) of the Ukulele Cabaret!

Why you must attend:
It will be good.

Who's playing:
Carmen Borgia and Doug Skinner - doing some songs from the brand-new musical South.

David Hornbuckle - Songwriter, singer, author, Birmingham exile with a uke and an axe to grind, be it standards, originals, lo-fi, hi-fi, sheet music or the rest. A comprehensive artiste!

Jamie Scandal - The finest femme fatale ever to crush a ukulele to her breast, always fun, always sly. Has a dirty laugh, and is good at heart. If we're lucky she does the song about Leonardo DiCaprio. Having said that, it's impossible to choose a fave.

Sonic Uke - Jason and Ted will rock hard and perhaps even be rock hard. Grass skirts, lycra pants or both, who can predict what they will do?

Sweet Soubrette - Talented and sexy, the queen of the nylon string plays the most fetching tunes of her own devising. I love her yearning songs of hope and betrayal. Will you break her heart or will she break yours?

Reggie Wingnutz - Superior British invasion rock with a uke. I play a game where I try to recognize him after the show and usually lose.

Khabu Young Dog - The jazzy heart and soul of the ukulele, a brilliant arranger and conceiver of songs. His version of Row Your Boat is quite moving and I'm not kidding, even a little.

A few thoughts on the ukulele:
I've met people who feel the ukulele is a silly or trivial instrument, presumably because it is small. This is like saying a diamond is ugly because it is tiny. Some uke players develop a complex about this and project a negative outlook. Others revel in their difference and stride through the world, brave and proud. I'd like to cut through all of that to say simply that the ukulele, in the proper hands, is as lovely an instrument as can be had. It may convey beauty, victory, loss, transcendance, despair, joy, hunger, struggle, hilarity, and even silliness and triviality. Like a fine violin or a flute, it has the advantage of being easy to transport, and thus can be present for discreet duty at a variety of functions, from the triumphant to the tragic. I know these things because I've heard them all myself at various times, by some of these very players.

I use the ukulele here and there in South, it was one of the instruments that helped to shape the piece, even when it didn't end up in the final arrangement. Doug Skinner will be performing some of those tunes, and he is certainly among my favorite players, with a special talent for the articulate strum - he somehow gets definition from every string with each stroke of his hand - making the instrument feel magically larger and more intricate than one would imagine, which I take to be a fine outcome for any musical performance.

So if you're new to the uke, or if you're an old hand, come and check it out. Not because we need the money, though heaven knows we do, but because it will be a good night out.

The Director Must Have A Ship!

2009-05-02T12:19:00.000-04:00

And this is the lumber with which I will build it! (Expect the ship to resemble a crate.)

How The Show Is Like A Child

2009-04-28T04:11:00.010-04:00

The show is hungry.
It's favorite foods are actors, music and a good story. It must have clothing, toys (props & scenery), housing (a theater); things that enable it to play and develop and grow. It must have a gun and a sword and a rubber fish.

The show cries.
It wants another song, more dialogue, rehearsal time and time off from rehearsal. It must have the banana tree but is anxious the bathtub filled with water - the best idea I've ever had - will fall through the floor. It demands a play space as big as a theater. When it is unhappy, it lets me know.

The show keeps me up at night.
Worrying, planning and interpreting strange dreams that sometimes wake me.

The show naps.
It can't always be busy.

The show learns to walk.
Yesterday the actors started to become the characters all by themselves, which made the parents proud.

The show delights.
The singers made some amazing harmonies in the first group vocal rehearsal, which was like having eaten all of it's vegetable without being prompted.

The show acts out.
It craves attention, puts on cranky-pants and behaves irrationally. I can't allow the show to set the agenda! I am stern, I must be a grown-up! I cajole and negotiate and strive to give it things that are good for it. Sometimes I try to make it happy just because that makes me happy.

The show needs love.
And I need to love it.

5 Questions for Bill Pace

2009-04-16T15:44:00.004-04:00

Photo by Hillary Bradley

1. What is your role in South?

My official title is "director", but I also like air traffic controller because I see an important part of my job being that everything on-stage flies clearly, cleanly and beautifully ... while also making sure there are no mid-air collisions.

2. What is the show about?
For me, SOUTH is learning that finding the truth about yourself goes beyond just locating who gave birth to you.

And that you can't trust over-caffeinated monks.

Or stinky ship cooks.

But you can trust cannibal lesbians!

3. What music have you listened to in the past week?
Oh man ... if I tell you, I could be banned from this musical! Oh well, here goes:

Street Sweeper
Nashville Pussy
K'naan
Nine Inch Nails
The Vacation
Supersuckers
Bon Iver
LA Guns
The New Pornographers
The Toxic Avenger Musical (seriously!)
Devi
The Donnas
Jay Rock
Heartless Bastards
Cracker
Mad Science Fair
Oh, and some guy named Carmen Borgia.

4. What other gigs do you have going on lately?
Too many!!

Screenwriter
Screenwriting & Filmmaking teacher at New School
Program Advisor for New School
Screenwriting consultant
Videographer
Running Open Caption screens for deaf groups at theaters

5. Who is your hero and why?
Hmmm ... right now I'd have to say Pres. Obama. First off, just the fact that we have an African-American president with an Arabic name is just amazing beyond belief! But beyond that, he was asked not to run yet, to wait and let Hillary have her turn while he gained more experience in the senate, but he wanted the presidency, went for it and made it happen, all while doing so in a very classy manner. On top of that, he said he represented change and since getting in office he is proving himself to be just that.

And the fact that he's a fellow Illinoisan don't hurt either!

5a. You may change the questions.
What about the answers?

The South Fan Page on Facebook is Here.

Back East

2009-04-14T09:17:00.000-04:00

It's midnight and my nerves are jangled
Down the jetway at a Batman angle
They strap us into narrow seats
And feed us trays of runny eats
And jet our sorry asses back east

Back to the land of subway rails
Where oven summer heat prevails
People sweat on rooftop decks
The new arrivals curse and wreck
Their taxis in the traffic back east

In the west the weather's nice
And everybody has a car
All the people like themselves
Just the way they are

We're flyin' down the BQE
The driver breaks some laws for me
It's great to be in old New York
My baby called in sick to work
To spend the day with me back east

From the CD, "The Red Circle Line" by Carmen Borgia

Dixon Place

2009-04-10T00:01:00.016-04:00

Our first "South" reading at the old Dixon Place on Bowery.
Photo by Norberto Valle

I've heard it said that New York is over, gone, wiped out by Wall Street, real estate, the Web, progress, everything. And it certainly is. But it is also ever here if you know where to look.

About a week after I landed in New York in the late 80's I went to see some friends play music in the East Village. The show was good, but what really stuck was the space. It was on First Street, you came down a few steps and entered a little apartment with a couple of sofas and a bunch of unmatched chairs arranged before the stage, which was the width of the apartment, maybe twelve feet, and about eight feet deep. The back wall of the stage had a door that led to the kitchen/bedroom, with a little window beside it. The window was the bar for pre-show tea and cookies. The audience filled the whole space while the performers set up and chatted, then for the show everybody took their seats to enjoy a lovely, intimate evening with the performers.

After the show I met the proprietress, Ellie Covan, and nervously gave her a newly-minted cassette tape of my songs. In a day or so she called me excitedly, "This is really great music! You've got to come play here!" I didn't even have a band, but her glowing enthusiasm set a fire under me and I put one together with my girlfriend and a drummer pal. Over the years I have done innumerable gigs at Dixon Place as a solo performer as well as accompanist and sound designer. In those primordial days of spirited performance art and unguided struggle, Ellie would open each show with a short tune on accordion, casting forth a vocal performance as notable for it's pluck as it's intonation, and the audience would sing along with "Goodnight Irene" or "Sentimental Journey" as they saw fit.

Dixon Place hosted works-in-progress, high value was placed on inventiveness and the glory of impulse. Each night, two new performances, 20-40 minutes each. If you went a few nights running you might see one pretty good show, one WTF gig and another with gleamings, and maybe even the steady glow, of pure brilliance. Writers reading, songwriters singing, puppeteers hiding behind papier-maché alter egos. One on one, before I ever had a client; no guest, no host, just some people in a hot room packed and intent and fighting a constant climatic battle with air conditioning or steam heat. Close enough to smell the actors, close enough to feel things. This was a place for the honest and the curious as well as those who liked to watch. When I think of theatre at it's most essential, this is the memory that manifests most clearly.

Time passed and stuff happened, maturity finally caught up with me, sort of. The city appears to have become something completely different, neighborhoods that terrified me then are now where the well-off reside, which terrifies me in a different way. People who I thought would always be a quick subway hop away have wafted far off to a misty distance of weird recollection. My own goals and routines have shifted through so many variations over the years that I can make neither head nor tail of any of it at all, nothing is as it was and all has changed irretrievably.

But the Place is still there. A spot to gather, pour forth, express - still downtown, nearby in a neighborhood where cookware is sold and cars drive by too fast, soup lines unwind, street musicians riff and random doors are lit at 1am. Dixon Place left the 1st Street pad years ago and moved to a loft on Bowery. From there it did a stint at a theater on 2nd Avenue, and then returned to a smaller conversion of the loft. Now more than 20 years after I first laid eyes on the institution, Ellie and her amazing crew of conspirators, after a persistent and arduous campaign lasting several years, have succeeded in building a brand-new, several million dollar space on Chrystie Street, and it is inarguably great. It's got an intimate 100 seats, a computer lighting system, a crack tech crew and support staff, and the paint is still drying in places. And, in yet another of their many instances of exquisite judgment, they have given me the fine honor and happy opportunity to do South as part of the opening season.

It's not the supa-tight squeeze the original venue was, but what could be? And I couldn't have fit this show in there anyway. I'm trying to talk Steve, the technical director and lighting designer, into letting us put a bathtub on the stage, and there is no way that would have made it into the old place. Progress!

So as we go about our rehearsals and preparations, Bill, Jenny and I frequently find ourselves asking, how can we use the new space? Where should the seats go, and might we use a platform or a scaffold? Hang up a big sail to project upon or have someone sing from the balcony? It is unusual in New York City that one gets to present in a venue that can take so many forms in which audience and performers may share an evening. Plus, we get the time-honored benefit of hanging with the Dixon Place regulars while we're putting it all together. Life is good!

The South Fan Page on Facebook is Here.

Heading South

2009-04-02T03:16:00.023-04:00

So, I went and wrote a musical. It's called South, it's set in 1860 and is about a young sailor's search for his parents. It's a grown-up nautical yarn wherein we meet pirates, filthy townfolk, well-adjusted lesbian cannibals, an over-caffeinated monk, a curious dealer of religious artifacts and...well, I wouldn't want to spoil it.

Last week we got mostly cast and then had our table reading on Sunday. I played guitar and sang the songs, which felt like a bit of a celebration. It was marvelous to hear the script out loud with the real people. This show has been in my head forever, and for it to spool out into the room was not only flattering and fun, but also a relief to hear people read and respond to it. When I heard the first ripple of laughter at what was actually a laugh line, I started to strum a little easier. Of course, we've got a lot of work ahead to make it happen, but I call this a great day.

Really excellent cast and crew, here come the credits! Alison is doing the cool worldly ladies. Sadrina Johnson is playing Arabella, the disgusting cook's spicy daughter. Robb Sherman is Wheeler, the questing Sailor. Bill Tost is Captain Spar, the aging commander of the similarly aged ship Worthy. Bill was in the Fantasticks in it's original run for years and is an amazing dude. He's so venerable he doesn't even have a web page! We've got Doug Skinner as Pym, the itinerant merchant spreading faith, or at least articles of it. I'm playing the monk with the coffee problem and music directing the lot. We're still looking for Hurley, the cook, so anyone who would like to play a disgusting person and sing an entire song about a bone should give a call.

It's being directed by Bill Pace and choreographed by Kriota Willberg. I've worked with both of them on other projects and it's always been a hoot. Jenny Rose is my co-producer, a veteran of many a fringe festival show, and is helping me to understand exactly what the heck I am doing.

We're doing the show at Dixon Place in NYC in June. It's going to be fun and challenge to get back into a theater and mount a show.

Them's the basics, details to follow I'm sure.

It's Love, Boys

2009-03-15T11:14:00.005-04:00

I gave my gal a cookie, she let me see her underwear
I touched her on her fuzzy thigh, she didn't really seem to care
I got into her t-shirt
I got into her bloomers
But what the people say are just a bunch of nasty rumors
Because it's love, boys,
This time it's really love, it's really love
Because it's love, boys, this time it's really love

Pretty Polly 2x4, she slipped right through my bedroom door
She switched off the TV and put her hand upon my shorts
She kissed me on the cheek
She whispered in my ear
She sent me up a creek and she took away my fear
Because it's love, boys,
This time it's really love, it's really love
Because it's love, boys, this time it's really love

Later in the boudoir I got into her lingerie
We spent the night together and all my worries slid away
I paid my girl a visit
I crept behind her mirror
I touched her rosy fingers and I slept beside her feet
I listened to her dreaming and I flew into her sleep
Fluttering of eyelids, dreaming all the time
Never let 'em tell you that getting close is such a crime
Because it's love, boys,
This time it's really love, it's really love
Because it's love, boys, this time it's really love

Battlestar Galactica Toaster

2009-03-01T10:08:00.003-05:00

Hi you two.

Thank you so much for the deluxe BSG toaster. I was tempted to blast it out of the box when I first saw it, so great was my fear and hatred for the cursed thing, but upon checking the label on the box I realized just in time that it was from two very wonderful people who could not possibly be Cylons, and so I let it live.

But then I started to think. It came delivered in a box. A boxed toaster, could this be some sort of subtle message sent to me by David and Colleen? What would motivate them to send me a virtual envoy of my sworn enemy, that while rendered harmless, is still my foe? At first blush, it was clearly a gift, given generously and freely to bring some joy into my life, joy that another member of the vile, mechanized Cylon race has fallen, converted to a utilitarian device to be used in the preparation of perfectly browned multi-grain foodstuff, but as the day passed it sat there, a mute, inert, yet malevolent presence on my kitchen table. It was boxed but might it possibly be able to somehow un-box itself?

I realized with a reeling surge of panic that I would need to devise a procedure to determine that it was actually safe to allow it aboard. I spent several days concocting a solution of toothpaste and Drano (common household items) that would irrefutably show that the Cylon DNA contained therein had indeed decomposed into a state that was purely and conclusively harmless. But in doing so I stumbled upon some very disturbing facts. The first was that, though apparently mechanical, the toaster in question had subtly biological characteristics wherein the plastic casing and metal undercarriage were seen to manifest a distinct cell structure, indistinguishable from those of human bones and organs. And then there was the observation that the cells appeared to be evolving in some unspecified vector, a very slow evolution, but an undeniable change nonetheless.

I must confess I was a bit overwhelmed with the facts as they came to light. In a weary and dizzied state I contemplated my options. Should I continue this disturbing and randomly reasoned experiment to it's logical conclusion? Should I bolt, jaw clenched, fit and determined, down to the flight deck and strap in as the ace pilot with the incredible record of survival against demonically incomprehensible odds? Should I abruptly and nepotistically take command of the other, failing, battlestar only to use it as a disposable shield in some vast and abrupt military operation? Should I just hit the bistro on the lower deck and, later that night, sleep with Gods-know-what smokin'-hot, sweat and grease stained woman I might catch the interest of, just for an episode or two? Or should I pursue my formerly repressed, yet now obvious lifelong dream of blossoming into the most brilliant, yet perilously unseasoned attorney to pass through this star system in a millenia? It was all so confusing. If only I could coax season 4, episode 4 to stream onto my computer in its entirety before the malignant viruses on the illegal host Web site brought my smoking CPU to a scorched and crackling halt. If only those fracking frackers hadn't annihilated my home planet in a hateful and effective attack.

Now I am on the run for all eternity (or at least until this season ends), across the skies, beyond the galaxies, fleeing, surviving, questing, searching - for the perfect slice of toast. With jam please.

To be continued.

She Speaks To Me

2009-02-25T23:35:00.001-05:00

You got to do and you got to see
You must come through and you’ve got to be
You got to save and you’ve got to sin
You get more out than what ya put in
She speaks to me! She speaks to me!
She speaks to me! She speaks to me!

Some are born to dream and fly
Some are made to cheat and lie
While I struggle and while I try
She brought me to life and she makes me die
She speaks to me! She speaks to me!
She speaks to me! She speaks to me!

And she say…
Zoob zaba sayay
Zoob zabah zooyah
Zoob zabah zayah zooyah,
Zoob zaba zayah zoob zabah zooyah
Zoob zaba zayah zooyah...

I debarked upon this place
I had a smile upon my face
Lately I’ve been on the ropes
And when I lose my stupid hopes
She speaks to me! She speaks to me!
She speaks to me! She speaks to me!

You got to do and you got to see
You must come through and you’ve got to be
You got to save and you got to sin
You get more out than what ya put in
She speaks to me! She speaks to me!
She speaks to me! She speaks to me!

And she say…
Zoob zaba zayay
Zoob zabah zooyah
Zoob zabah zayah zooyah,
Zoob zaba zayah zoob zabah zooyah
Zoob zaba zayah zooyah
Zooyah...

Valentine's Day Top Five

2009-02-14T00:28:00.016-05:00

5. Wake up at 9.
4. Exquisite apple raspberry tart thing for breakfast.
3. Nap for 2 or 3 hours.
2. I'd rather not talk about this part.
1. Battlestar Galactica season 4 on the web.

Ukulele, [you-kuh-lay-lee] - noun:

2009-02-11T21:17:00.007-05:00

A small, stringed instrument native to the Hawaiian Islands, superficially resembling a guitar that has been shrunk through careless laundering.

Known to inspire playfulness in some musicians and defensiveness in others. In the case of the former, it may induce the donning of grass skirts, leis and coconut brassieres. In the event of the latter, be alert for exceptional musicianship, overblown self-respect and mislaid sense of humor.

A poet of lost origins adds additional perspective:

A girl with a wee ukulele
Plucked and picked her strings daily
She strummed and she strummed
Till she audibly hummed
And then had to lie down somewhat frailly

There's a Song I Can't Write

2009-02-03T20:19:00.000-05:00

I dropped off the new CD for replication and have signed off on the artwork, so the manufacturing begins! I'll have a bunch in a few weeks, very good to move it along. In honor of the event, a set of lyrics from the upcoming release...

There's a Song I Can't Write

There's a song I can't write and I'm singing it now
Singing it now
Singing it now
There's a song I can't write and I'm singing it now
Anyhow

There's a lot I won't do but I'll do it with you
Do it with you
Do it with you
There's a lot I won't do but I'll do it with you
Anyhoo

There's a lot on my mind that I should leave behind
Places to go and stuff I don't know
There's a lot on my plate that'll never get ate
There's a lot to be found if I ever get round...

There's a song I can't sing and I'll write it one day
Write it one day
Write it one day
There's a song I can't sing and I'll write it one day
Hey, what do you say?
Hey, what do you say?

Plan, [plan] - noun:

2009-01-29T07:23:00.004-05:00

An approach to achieve an objective. An indispensable and unavoidable expenditure of effort which may include, but is not limited to: lists, goals, materials, budget, discussion, haggling, Excel spreadsheets, Power Point presentations, contingencies, assumptions, getting one's head around, reaching-out-to and bouncing things off of. Plans fall into two categories: Plan A and Plan B. Plan A is a fanciful stretching of the imagination for the purpose of inflating expectations to the point that one may become bouyant, possibly causing the feet to leave the ground. Plan B is the plan that is actually executed, at least in the early stages of Plan B. In practice, it is abandoned no more than a day or two into it's execution and replaced by activities constituting the reality of achievement of the objective. Some refer to this as Plan C, while others doggedly insist upon referring to it, erroneously, as The Plan.

Though seemingly useless in hindsight, plans are, in fact, essential. Without them we would be consigned to an aimless and dark existence of things that simply occur, for no apparent reason and with no obvious intent. Furthermore, it has been empirically shown that the act of planning stimulates the same area of the brain that deals with self-esteem and ego gratification. Planning also releases endorphins. This is seen to be a necessary balance to the overused and slightly charred areas of the cortex that are responsible for putting on your pants, getting out of the house and actually getting the thing done.

Unreliable Sources

2009-01-20T21:21:00.000-05:00

Before Kent, I got music from unreliable sources. When I was in sixth grade a kid named William showed up to class with the first record album I ever felt a visceral covetousness for. It was the double album of "Jesus Christ, Superstar", the brown one that came out before the Broadway show or the movie. When Mrs. Rivers was out of the classroom probably having a cigarette or getting a little space, William laid one of the LP's onto the vinyl upholstered, educational-grade record player that sat near the door of the classroom. He dropped the needle onto the spot he liked best. Pontius Pilate screamed at a full tilt: "Don't let me stop, your great self destruction!" When it got to the screamingest part William, whose fingers rested nonchalantly on the volume control, would spin the knob up a touch to get a little extra mileage out of the system. The result was that my mind was entirely blown. As a mix engineer I've adopted this technique many times to positive effect.

That very first time I heard it, there in the classroom by the open door, with the sound echoing down the elementary school hall, at the instant the singer shredded his vocal chords, I had a wild sense of expansiveness overlaid by delicious terror. This sensation was brand new and I felt it as discomfort, fear. It must not have been so bad though, because I ran to the store and purchased the album for myself as soon as I could scrape together the dough.

"Jesus Christ, Superstar" constituted my entire on-purpose record collection for a year or so. I did have a few items in my library previously, but they were not obsessive objects of love. Somehow a Credence album landed there, I'm not sure why. My favorite song on that album was "Lookin' Out My Back Door". I listened to it about a hundred times before moving on to other activities that had to do with my bicycle. My Grandma heard I liked music and apparently bought the next album she saw, which was "The Very Best of the Cowsills" because it was an album. I don't recall any of those tunes, I'm not even sure I listened to it because the dorky cartoon representation of the band on the cover made my nose crinkle. Before all of that, when I was but a pup, I made my mom buy me a 45 of "Dizzy" by Tommy Roe at the supermarket because I was taken by the red label in the rack at the checkout line. I played the A side so many times that I actually became ill. Try it yourself, you'll get the same effect. That might have charted the depths of my musical obsession until William came rolling into class with his trophy. I liked everything about Superstar, the two-recordness of it, the ritual of playing the sides in a certain order, the fake leather texture of the classy cover. Even the music.

The next acquisition was a profound stoke of maximal dimensions. An unsophisticated guy named Dave who lived down the street decided to get out of the business of listening to records and divested himself of his entire collection. I bought all ten of his albums for a buck each. This gave me eleven albums in my collection. Kiss my former life goodbye, I was now a fledgling music fan.

Writer, [ry-ter] - noun:

2009-01-17T00:43:00.004-05:00

One who practices a scribbling of language onto paper, or lately, digital form. In some cases, the content of said scribbling is of great value, if not of some utility, though for the most part it is neither. In the case of digital writing, especially that of blogs, a secondary writing known as comments, takes up the matter of precisely what value shall be assigned to a particular piece of writing. The comments are not writing in and of themselves, but they do determine that someone who has encountered the original writing has taken note of it to the extent that it merits an additional round of scribbling.

The toilet-stall bard Nickerson has composed a limerick describing the commitment required for quality writing:

A scribe with an intellect fine
Supposed he would write all the time
He picked up a pen
But just wrote now and then
While sipping a glass of red wine

Brazilian Serenade

2009-01-13T22:25:00.006-05:00

Can you bear the longing
Of a day that won't surrender
To the car alarms shrieking in the street?
Even though the night has come
And tomorrow's far away
And the day has nothing left to offer...
I'd empty out my pockets
If the batteries would die
And give us just an hour's worth of sleep
I'll surrender all my language
And strip down to the clay
Get out the booze, I'll sing you
A Brazilian serenade!
A Brazilian serenade.

Can you feel the pull
Of a moon that is full?
Can you feel that hound dog wail across the yard?
Every night the shadows come
And every night that dog goes on
Until the sunlight presses on our window.
If we could only keep that dog from barking for one night
I know that all our problems could be solved
I'll surrender all my language
And I'll strip down to the clay
Get out the booze, I'll sing you
A Brazilian serenade!
A Brazilian serenade.

Can you feel the desire
Of a body that's tired?
Can you hear the neighbors fighting in the street?
Every night the crying comes
Sobbing 'till the morning sun
And the sweet golden rays come shining through.
If we could only keep that couple happy for one night
I know that the world could be ours!
I'll surrender all my language
And I'll strip down to the clay
Get out the booze, I'll sing you
A Brazilian serenade!
A Brazilian serenade!
A Brazilian serenade!
A Brazilian serenade.

The Album

2009-01-09T23:32:00.012-05:00

I don't want to forget completely about the CD, it's very important to me and I wouldn't want people to think otherwise. I started working on it this past summer. I had five or six songs that were so good they constituted momentum. Just a few more and I'd have a whole album. This won't take long at all.

The idea of an album has become confused lately. So much is strewn about the Web in the atomized form of individual songs, if even an entire song, that I wonder if it matters to have an album at all. I referred to these songs as one-sided singles to my friend Alan and he lit right up. I don't want to spiral into nostalgia on this, like I've aged well and I have a special understanding of the value of an attention span. You know the rap. - You kids! When I was your age our records had two sides for a reason! People had principles and gave a sweet damn if your songs made sense one after the other! Today you groogle it on your internets or some damn thing and get just exactly what you want to hear without having to work for it! Where's the integrity in that? Now what the hell did I do with my glasses...? -

No, I don't want to be like that.

Sure, it's just atavistic sexual imprinting, but I won't abandon an art form that gathers songs into a physical object. I naturally think of songs being together in a collection. An album, named during the era when a bunch of 78rpm records were collected in a heavy, fragile book that looked like a photo album or an industrial era scrapbook. At the close of the reign of that demented troglodyte Reagan, when the object seemed to have settled for all eternity into a thirty-three and one third "long playing" vinyl record, it became suddenly obsolete. Our album collections devolved into long, sad rows of unplayed dust-catchers waiting to be escorted to the thrift store or the curb a few at a time to free up shelf space or to avoid having to lug them up the steps for the next move. The CD's that replaced them were small, precise, less able to contain the emotions that the music inside shook loose. I love the online world with the instant availability of anything, or at least anything that will fit into a computer, but I do still love holding an album cover on my lap with both hands while hearing fifteen or twenty undisturbed minutes of music spool off of the turntable.

I won't even discuss the sound of vinyl here because I don't want to start a fight.

So, though it will be digital, it shall be an album. It will be fine. I don't have a functioning band at the moment, so it will be me and just the stuff I really need. A uke, some percussion maybe. I can't do without a guitar now and then. Must have bass. But that's it. Let's not overproduce it. Not even one trumpet. Solo album, intimate. Maybe too intimate. Gonna be an album, obsolete before it's even finished. Behind the curve and out of the running. But deep from the heart.

The Reading

2009-01-07T20:35:00.001-05:00

I had the first reading of South last night at Dixon Place and I awoke this morning to a sense of proximate calamity. I mentioned this to Alison before she could get from under the covers or even turn off the alarm clock and she said, "right on time."

The Shopocolypse

2008-12-22T10:02:00.000-05:00

Photo swiped from Rev Billy without permission - forgive me!

I saw Reverend Billy's show yesterday at Dixon Place, an entertaining and emotional event. I'm quite honored to say that I've known him for many years, from before he was the Reverend, even.

Reverend Billy, who occupies the mortal container that is Bill Talen, is the Minister of the Church of Stop Shopping. His activities are portrayed in the recent Morgan Spurlock documentary, "What Would Jesus Buy?". Billy evangelizes an anti-consumerist creed that worships the small in favor of the large, the personal in favor of the commercial and the local as the best angel of the global. He preaches against the evils of the big box and the brand name. He holds particular distaste for those corporations that cultivate, at great expense, a veneer of social awareness and sensitivity to the needs of the individual when in fact they are entirely motivated by the same thing that drives all large businesses: profit.

The afternoon service was a simple event. Upon arrival I found a bare stage in the center of a beautiful new theater steadily filling with audience - parishioners. The setting couldn't have been more elemental; a blank back wall, no drapes or curtains. At stage right loomed a serviceable upright piano, a digital keyboard and an electric bass on a stand. There was a nice basic ceremonial vibe, like a clearing in the forest or a revival tent.

The show was exceptional on a few levels. First off, the choir rocked hard and excellently. I attended a Church of Stop Shopping event a few years ago, it was meaningful and fun, and the choir was very good. But the choir in 2008 is just plain slammin'. Directed by James Solomon Benn, the Stop Shopping Gospel Choir is the backbone of energy and spirit for the proceedings. I didn't get an actual count, but maybe 20 members drove the space throughout the event. A fine variety of spectacular singers traded solos, from ripping gospel to sweet ballads, setting up the point of view and attitude.

I was treated to a song of cronyism in the boardroom, another encouraging the shunning of Walmart and one exhorting the gathered crowd to stop shopping. As the various tunes resonated throughout the theater, the Reverend clapped along on the sidelines, stamping his feet and uttering an occasional well-placed "Halleluja".

Once the tone of the service had been thoroughly established, Billy took the stage and delivered a measured and thoughtful sermon. He covered topics that ranged from Jdymytai Damour, the minimum-wage temp worker trampled to death by overeager shoppers at the black Friday opening of a Long Island Walmart, to the pre-Christian meaning of Christmas as a winter solstice fertility and survival rite. One might think that this sort of thing would feel, um, preachy - or at least guilt inducing. The genius of Reverend Billy is that he is able to provide a sense of uplift and humor to a message that is normally associated with dour funlessness and resignation. Reverend Billy has dedicated many of his years finding ways to bring satisfaction and even triumph to simple personal acts like visiting a public park or shopping at a local business. And when the inevitable moment arrives in the show when someone in the audience - or choir - is caught with their Starbucks cup mid-sip, Billy bows his head humbly and intones, "We're all sinners here." This is a fight we're in together.

I don't pretend to have the answers to the ills of the world, and I suspect that even if the solutions turn out to be simple in theory, they will be tortuously difficult to bring to reality. I can say that when I've felt a little down, a brush with Reverend Billy always pulls me up or at least makes me feel I may point myself in the right direction. If you've got a bit of worldly malaise and want to get it cured up, you could do a lot worse than check out The Church of Stop Shopping.

Kent

2008-12-13T18:20:00.000-05:00

So if we go to one beginning, that might be Kent, who lived in the attic of his grandparents house. The place was situated along a two lane that got people from one side of town to the other, it was set back just barely from the street where cars flew past on the way to a large strip mall nearby. The house abutted an ancient Native American ceremonial ground that had been given an update to an eighteen hole golf course by whitey forty or fifty years earlier. The house was neat and quiet for the most part.

I pull into the driveway behind Kent's car, which is a beat up white Valiant. Sharp into the drive and cut the ignition as I throw open the door and hop out of my own vehicle, a Chevy Vega station wagon that I got from Jim as a hand-me-down. If it's warm I saunter like a cowboy, and if freezing I bolt like a whippet to the house. Traverse a small, scrubby patch of grass with cars zipping by just a few feet away, anticipating. Skip over the two porch steps and ring the doorbell. A few seconds, a half-minute, never very long. A muffled voice or two inside, questioning then argumentative. At once the inside door flies open. Kent there with an expectant energy, wavering between the darkness of the interior and the light outside, "Come in, come on in, it's good to see you!" I yank at the screen door and tumble into the house.

En route through the small living room, Kent's grandfather might be there watching TV. Grandpa always seems a little surprised, not so much at the fact of company, but that there is motion in his field of vision. His head tilts back, lips parted, eyes wide behind thick glasses. He nods slightly and swivels his head back to the TV. Slight smell of something like dust, a couple of padded chairs, nothing so deluxe as a recliner. Some photos displayed and a few ceramic items. It is not minimally decorated, but not overstuffed with fading memorabilia like my own grandmother's home. Visible through a doorway to the kitchen is yet more pleasant order, vinyl cushions on patio furniture and a screened-in porch frames a view to a backyard that I don't recall having ever visited. I say hello and get a nod or a short, polite phrase in return from Grandpa. Then Kent, "Come on up, let's go."

Three steps through the living room then a hard right up the steps to the attic. Everything a little better up here.

Kent's room is the entire second story of a one story house. The penthouse. The top of the steps emerge into the room, no door at the top, just a white railing to discourage accidents. Kent's bed directly opposite, a little window on each end, the slope of the roof encourage habitation toward the middle of the room. I know there were books, and there was usually a little pile of laundry, I don't remember what else. But what is important are the records. On a shelf that runs along one of the low sides of the room is a stack of LP's about six feet long. Miles Davis, Little Feat, Bootsy Collins, Kurt Weill, Leon Russel, Dylan, more. The mother lode. When I think of Kent, I think of his room, being there with him and one or three other people. I was not so privy to Kent's relationship situations. As a matter of fact, I would say that my social circle was not so big on the girlfriends or romance of any stripe for various reasons. So the main reason to visit Kent was to hang and check out his record collection.

Something about myself

2008-12-11T02:11:00.000-05:00

I've been writing about mixing and making a CD. But that's not the story I really want to tell. That is just where I'm at. I don't know how to tell the thing I want to. I want to say something about myself, because I think it's important.

I've read a few books and they all seem to say that if you've got a story you should start at the beginning, whatever the hell that is.

Writing

2008-12-09T20:54:00.000-05:00

Writing is a problem I can't always figure out.

axis of error

2008-12-01T21:19:00.000-05:00

Mr. & Mrs. Brains

2008-11-28T12:58:00.000-05:00

CD Art by Dewan

2008-11-22T21:30:00.000-05:00

I spoke with Brian the other day, which is always good. He has agreed to do the artwork for my CD.

- What's up?
- Oh, I'm very excited to at last be finishing up on the basement! I spoke with the cement guy and he's going to come by this week to have a look at it. The only thing left is a bit of cement that needs to be broken out by the steps and I'm done.
- Then they pour?
- Yes! It's going to be so nice at last. I'll have a whole extra floor then, and room for my stuff down there, it's going to be great.
- It'll be brilliant to have a real basement with a ceiling higher than five feet.
- Oh, yes! I feel that all of the hard work will have finally paid off. I've been digging it out forever, but now that the end is in sight it just seems as if a tremendous weight is about to be lifted from my shoulders!
- I really love that. Congratulations, man.
- Oh, thank you! My new floor is almost here!
- What else is going on?
- Oh, just a lot of bullshit. My email has been acting up and that's why I've not gotten back to you. I just finally got access to things and saw your email there. I'm ready to get going as soon as I get this last piece of cement broken out of the basement.
- Alright, that sounds good.
- The Internet here is rather unpredictable. It usually works fine but then not at all for awhile. Then a bunch of emails will arrive all at once.
- Drag. Is it a dial up?
- Oh no, it's a high speed, but it just doesn't behave as it should sometimes.
- Who knows?
- It's worse than an enigma, it's just random misbehavior. Just when you think it's working ok it craps out in a completely unpredictable way. Fuck that!
- Fuck that!
- What a lot of bullshit it is!
- A whole lot! ... Did you get the songs and the templates?
- Yes, I just got them today. As soon as I finish digging I'll have a look at them. I'm so excited about my basement.
- Well, it is the very foundation of your house. You should be excited.
- Oh, I am. I really am. I've been anticipating this moment for so long, and now that it's about to become a reality I can barely believe it! Have you decided on a title yet?
- No, I'm not sure. I've sent you some options, but I don't know. I've been working on the music all by myself for so long, and now I'm ready for some company. The only person who has heard it all is Alison.
- Oh, well I'm certainly ready to have a listen and see what's what.
- That would be good.
- I can see why you'd be anxious to get to the bottom of things at last, after all this time.
- It's all good. I like figuring out how it will all be by myself, but I do like some socializing before presenting it to the public.
- Of course! It's dreadful to not know how it will play. And yet it's really the best thing to decide what you will do without the pointless meddling of others.
- It scares me.
- But you shouldn't be scared! Your music is fine! It's not so hard to make a thing that is good. It's only people who are filled with doubt, and who are concerned with what others think who will strive to fuck up your good work. And they won't even do it because they have opinions of their own, but because they're anxious about what other people will think. Fuck them! They will hear your songs and be critical, but who cares??? If they feel so strongly about it they should write their own songs, or even better, just go and fuck themselves. Who do they think they are anyway?
- Well, thank you for your support. It's good to get out in the world a bit after months of being introverted and all hidden in my studio.
- That's ok. I'll finally get a listen to your songs today and then I'll know what to do.
- Excellent. I'm glad to hear that the basement is almost done. It's been months and months since you started. I was glad to be able to help you kick it off.
- Oh, you were so helpful! I was in a very depressed state and I never thought it would get started. But you came along and cleared the way!
- That was a good weekend.
- There was such a jumble of crap down there, and you neatened it all up so that I could see more clearly the task that lay ahead.
- It was good to just come up and be in a little town for a change. I was exhausted from the day to day in the city.
- Well it was my gain, It was very fortunate for me to have you show up, just at that moment when things seemed so dark to give it a push.
- Cool.
- And now all that's left is the one little piece of cement by the steps. I'll go back down in a minute and get back at it. It's very persistent though.
- It's expressing itself?
- Yes, it's a very hard kind of cement. I pound and pound and it just makes little marks in it.
- You should rent a jackhammer.
- Really? You can do that?
- Oh yeah. Just call up a tool rental place, they're probably only about twenty bucks a day. Then you just pull the trigger and knock that shit out of there. Twenty minutes and you'll be laughing.
- That sounds wonderful!
- You can rent a little one, it'll probably be cheap.
- Oh, that would be fantastic!
- I guarantee you it will be. Twenty minutes to rent it, twenty minutes to knock it out. Forty total minutes.
- That would be a tremendous outcome!
- And then you could get on to my CD art.
- Yes! And then I could get on to your CD art. This is so exciting!

The Mix Continues

2008-11-18T04:05:00.000-05:00

Listen loud, listen soft. A couple of troublesome details, a touch of hazy schmutz on the horizon.

1. The surdo. Ed talks about having an ideal stable of guitars that fill a precise musico-spiritual spectrum of tone and touch. Some of it's about the sound and some is the thingness of it. The ideal Ed stable includes a Strat. A dreadnought acoustic. An electric 12 string. An electric sitar. Certain indispensable amps. Stuff I can't talk about here. This list is sacred, hermetic and evolving, a hovering monad impinging on Ed's consciousness in a persistent manner that would be oppressive if he didn't continually refine the stable with acquisitions, deletions or tweaks. Each modification to the collection is accompanied by a deep, thorough audit and overhaul of the remotest edges of his soul.

My own stable is an overlooked ensemble of instruments, to be played by a to-be-discovered band of players who will one day accidentally wander into my apartment and be so taken with my brilliant and subtle collection of musical artifacts that they will commit themselves on the very spot to playing my songs, on these collected instruments, for my hardcore fans, forever. They include at the moment: baritone uke, acoustic guitar (steel), acoustic guitar (nylon), guitarron, banjo uke, congas, bongos, bass drum, selected cymbals and a gong, diatonic accordion, melodeon, marimba, harmonica, and let's not forget voice.

So, the surdo. I've got a great old bass drum that I bought at the San Francisco dump in 1983 for $2.00 with house paint applied to the heads to warm up the tone, but the stable has been crying for something authentically Latin. Once in Buenos Aires I saw a guy play a bomba, which is a big wood shell drum with goat skin head. I've been looking for the right one of those for years with no luck, but then I saw a surdo on craigslist for a good price. This is the Brazilian marching bass drum with a steel body and a goatskin head on the top. It's loud, very loud, and fun to beat upon. I got this instrument thinking it would be the ideal fit into the Latin world arrangements I've been digging on lately.

I marched it home and started recording, but rather than greasing the path to glory, it's tone once recorded is an enigma. I'm trying changes in arrangement, micing and eq to get it to work and I'm still searching. I feel pressure to finish the CD but this thing is bugging me, maybe I have to rethink the whole project. The problem is I can't yet hear how it fits into the mix. Is it like a kick drum? Is it a distinct voice in an arrangement or a certain something down there that gives it some warmth or power, or is it just adding a bunch of low-end muck? I can't tell if it's that scenario where I have to trust my ears and go back to the $2 drum or if I should be growing some new connections in my tormented brain to hear it properly. As a complicating factor, my downstairs neighbor totally blew his cork while I was trying to get just this one last take down. I never heard him pounding on the door because I was wearing headphones and I will not reprint the note he shoved under my door, but it was unkind. Through the acoustic barrier of my floor and his ceiling he could apparently not appreciate the wisdom of my replacing the original classic Brazilian bass drum beat (bahBOOM, bahBOOM) with a nice sold thwack on the 2 and the 4. And then the altered pulse with the hotter dynamics in the middle section. I'm really sorry man, but I did get the take. Hopefully it will drop into the mix ok.

2. The last song. It's so easy to write the first song. It is nothing, I write songs like this all the time without even thinking. Why not make a whole CD of them? The second song had been sitting there patiently for years, waiting for this moment. I simply plucked it from it's place and laid it neatly in an attractive spot on the disc. The third song was going to be used in a movie, but the young director foolishly chose to use a MIDI instrumental from his girlfriend's brother's website instead, I had merely to make a lyrical adjustment to the chorus for inclusion in my most newest and most amazing collection of songs to date. The fourth and the fifth songs were written on consecutive days on the subway; one traveling uptown and the other down. Their respective feels tastefully imply the orientation of the transit. How well I remember the sixth song! I was atop a breezy hill on some other coast and it came to me in a rush of pleasant insight. Thankfully I had my portable recorder handy to bag the moment for later use. The seventh is always a bit tricky, much like the weariest inning of a baseball game. I tricked the seventh song into existence by pretending to make a grocery list and casually scrawling a few significant phrases in the margins. I then "lost" the list only to "discover" it some weeks later in the inner pocket of last season's jacket. The eighth and ninth songs are inferior throwaways that I've buried in the middle of the CD in the hope that the listener will sort of zone out but not become annoyed and hit the skip button. At the tenth, the home stretch, I felt some apprehension, and acknowledged this emotion by recording it three times at different tempi and choosing the one in the middle. But now I'm at the last song, and as has been the case in the past, it is making trouble.

Though it will easily be the finest song on the album, it is behaving in a very coy manner. I thought the first impulsive take would set me up, and Bill says it's a great recording, but the singing is monstrously out of tune and the vocal abandon that seemed intuitive on the night of recording has by now revealed itself to be merely careless. Then I tried takes with Alison singing along to keep me company, but we sounded too fooken Irish. Fifteen or so takes in a fierce frame of mind, twenty more gentle, then sad, then puckish. Still no take. Takes in the morning, then try late at night. Sober, drunk, before the nap, after the nap, all no dice.

Keep on rolling my friend, keep on rolling. Either I will get it or it will get me.

Mixing

2008-11-16T22:08:00.001-05:00

Ok, so I'm moving into a new area here.

I'm wrapping up on a new CD that I've been working on for awhile. I started recording the CD in June or so and I think around July I decided to do a push to finish it up. I figured I'd wrap the mixing by September, but here it is mid-November and I'm still pushing and changing and mixing. I keep thinking that I'll finish the mix this week, and then just in a few days and then by Tuesday. I think of myself as a responsible and diligent member of society, but in making a CD it seems that my word isn't worth shit. I suspect this is because a song is not a promise I've made to someone else but a promise I've made only to myself, and if I run a little behind I'm still good for it. Yeah, I'm good for it.

It also appears that a new theater in NYC has invited me to mount a production of a musical I wrote a couple of years ago. I'm very excited and also trying to keep a lid on my enthusiasm. I've gotten very positive, solid and authoritative signs from the theater that the show is on, but I haven't signed anything yet or been given any of the usual official commitments to do such a thing, a thing that requires a substantial investment of love and treasure from myself as well as the theater involved. I think it's all good, but you just never know. When I wrote the show it was a promise that I made to myself, now somebody else is making a promise to me. I know I'm good for it, but I don't know about them. I believe them, but I don't know.

I love music more than anything, especially performing it. Recording, writing, schmoozing, hearing other music, the whole and entire attendant ephemera of the life of music sometimes seems like a bunch of stuff I have to do so that eventually I'll get to perform a bit and some people will see me. I can't tell if this is shallow or if I'm missing the point of music, that listening and sharing are, I know, every bit as important as creating the music. I know that the most tiresome people to be around are those who broadcast but can't receive, and I don't wish to be one of those, but I will defer all manner of happiness for a chance to perform a pretty good tune.

Hello from the treehouse.

2008-11-16T21:28:00.000-05:00

Frank, not blunt. Pithy, not reductive. Descriptive rather than judgmental. Reportage, not punditry.

Let's aspire to this for now.