Dishes are clean, burnt lightbulbs are changed, and the laundry is finished. I may now blog in peace.
My mom always says "find what makes your heart beat fast and the money will follow." I love to sing, I've been singing years longer than I've been playing drums, or slinging drinks, and it makes me happy. Find the right song for the right mood, and it's a recipe for chills. Chills. how many experiences give you regularly repeatable chills? They start before you realize it, creeping up from the base of the spine and in a moment my head is filled like a balloon, my brain lit up and euphoric, and for a brief glimpse, I am in heaven.
I've been doing a lot of talk about goals, and I think it's about time I give myself some homework. I am going to learn a new song every day I have free time and post it online for the sole purpose of critique. I've been wanting to take lessons for singing, but I put those same mental roadblocks up that I rail against. This is the path of a detour.
Here is my first completed assignment. I played Ben Harper's "When She Believes" to cheer Chetta's day up yesterday. Any singing skills I do have are self-taught and gleaned from the music teachers of the venerable Natomas Charter PFAA in Sacramento while I would be busy playing drums.
So, if you have critiques, advice, helpful hints and the like, please feel free to pass them on, they would be much appreciated.
May 29, 2010
I'd estimate about 90% of real life to be imaginary.
Listening: Ken Burns' Jazz
I find it important to name your dreams. I don't see any point in running from what I really want. How often have I dreamed about what I'd really rather be doing, then stopped that thinking in its tracks with mental roadblocks and diversion? Many times is the answer, but I think I'm quite done with that. If the roadblocks are only in my imagination then there's no reason they can't be swept away like a whisp of smoke.
So I'm naming my dream here, if nowhere else. My dream is to work hard, and for it never to feel like work. I want my work to enrich lives and lift up those around me and, in the end, make the world a little better place than I found it.
My dad once said, when I asked him about death and the afterlife, that "If you try to make a heaven of Earth, you'll have nothing to worry about."
That's my ultimate dream: to lift others up with the blessings I've been given. I suppose I'm going to get there in a roundabout way and at a glacial pace (Aaron Standard Time), as I've done everything my whole life, but there you go.
There are only only two jobs I've had that didn't feel like work. The first was playing drums for Runaway Stage, and Artistic Differences - two theater production companies in Sacramento . Even for all the drama that ensues naturally from dramatic companies, Runaway and Artistic Differences and the Baxters, Daniellses and all the other folks involved selflessly endeavor the lift people up to heights they couldn't have imagined. So "pit musician" would be a job that would fit me like an old pair of jeans.
I've got an alright resume, already: Joseph and The Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, Nunsense, La Cage Aux Follies, My Fair Lady, Falsettos. And sure, this was all for little theater companies in Sacramento, but it's not like the music I learned will change anytime soon, let alone that I was able to learn it, and that gives me faith that there is nothing separating me from my dreams.
The second job that I've had that didn't felt like work was tending bar in San Francisco. I was blessed enough to have been involved with Bar Drake from its very first day in the Sir Francis Drake hotel, and discovered, with the help of the fabulous Diana Brent, that I had a taste for mad sciencery, patient conversation, and rhythm of tending bar. And you better believe if somebody doesn't tell their problems to their parents, lover, soul mate or dog, they'll tell their bartender. And being there for stranger when they need to say something to somebody, anybody - it's a blessed feeling.
And why shouldn't it be? The two cornerstones of any civilization is the Church and the Tavern. The only two places where people are allowed to speak "easy" - talk with frankness about what ails them, weighs on their minds, and follows like shadows, with no fear of judgment.
This second job would also fit like jazz in the pocket. There is no better stage for me to lift people up, help folks see the better part of themselves, or that they can easily dispense with the worst of themselves. Booze being a lubricant of thought, even if you can "touch" somebody in a real, positive way, they might go right back to disbelieving when they sober up. But that touch leaves a mark that might make somebody think differently in the future. Planting seeds.
I imagine if I'd had a more religious upbringing, I may very well have been a pastor.
But I was making martinis at eight years old every day at 5 o'clock, so I believe it's my calling to dispense wisdom from behind a dark, wooden bar instead of a dark, wooden pulpit. It's the dispensing of hope that defines my Self, not where my piece of wood is located. That doesn't quite read right. Or does it?
I find it important to name your dreams. I don't see any point in running from what I really want. How often have I dreamed about what I'd really rather be doing, then stopped that thinking in its tracks with mental roadblocks and diversion? Many times is the answer, but I think I'm quite done with that. If the roadblocks are only in my imagination then there's no reason they can't be swept away like a whisp of smoke.
So I'm naming my dream here, if nowhere else. My dream is to work hard, and for it never to feel like work. I want my work to enrich lives and lift up those around me and, in the end, make the world a little better place than I found it.
My dad once said, when I asked him about death and the afterlife, that "If you try to make a heaven of Earth, you'll have nothing to worry about."
That's my ultimate dream: to lift others up with the blessings I've been given. I suppose I'm going to get there in a roundabout way and at a glacial pace (Aaron Standard Time), as I've done everything my whole life, but there you go.
There are only only two jobs I've had that didn't feel like work. The first was playing drums for Runaway Stage, and Artistic Differences - two theater production companies in Sacramento . Even for all the drama that ensues naturally from dramatic companies, Runaway and Artistic Differences and the Baxters, Daniellses and all the other folks involved selflessly endeavor the lift people up to heights they couldn't have imagined. So "pit musician" would be a job that would fit me like an old pair of jeans.
I've got an alright resume, already: Joseph and The Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, Nunsense, La Cage Aux Follies, My Fair Lady, Falsettos. And sure, this was all for little theater companies in Sacramento, but it's not like the music I learned will change anytime soon, let alone that I was able to learn it, and that gives me faith that there is nothing separating me from my dreams.
The second job that I've had that didn't felt like work was tending bar in San Francisco. I was blessed enough to have been involved with Bar Drake from its very first day in the Sir Francis Drake hotel, and discovered, with the help of the fabulous Diana Brent, that I had a taste for mad sciencery, patient conversation, and rhythm of tending bar. And you better believe if somebody doesn't tell their problems to their parents, lover, soul mate or dog, they'll tell their bartender. And being there for stranger when they need to say something to somebody, anybody - it's a blessed feeling.
And why shouldn't it be? The two cornerstones of any civilization is the Church and the Tavern. The only two places where people are allowed to speak "easy" - talk with frankness about what ails them, weighs on their minds, and follows like shadows, with no fear of judgment.
This second job would also fit like jazz in the pocket. There is no better stage for me to lift people up, help folks see the better part of themselves, or that they can easily dispense with the worst of themselves. Booze being a lubricant of thought, even if you can "touch" somebody in a real, positive way, they might go right back to disbelieving when they sober up. But that touch leaves a mark that might make somebody think differently in the future. Planting seeds.
I imagine if I'd had a more religious upbringing, I may very well have been a pastor.
But I was making martinis at eight years old every day at 5 o'clock, so I believe it's my calling to dispense wisdom from behind a dark, wooden bar instead of a dark, wooden pulpit. It's the dispensing of hope that defines my Self, not where my piece of wood is located. That doesn't quite read right. Or does it?
May 22, 2010
"Exercice, Lucien!"
Listening: Ben Harper
It's a half-heartedly warm, decidedly muggy Saturday in Brooklyn. The streets would be far more abuzz were it not for the shooting this past Wednesday, the tension from which is still palpable.
I'm taking a break from my drum practice on my day off, which feels very good so far. Laundry done, business calls completed, nothing to do but hone the Craft. This is my newest practice system, if anybody is curious:
Not a bad little setup. As you can see, I rested my practice pad in the middle of my snare stand and adjust the hight for comfort. I used to have a neighbor who would practice his putting by aiming for a dime so that when he actually played, the hole looked enormous. This underscores my belief that the lessons learned from any one skill are transferrable to every other skill, with appropriate jargon replace, of course.
I digress. I figure I can aim for the tips of the rubber braces with my sticks as if they were each hi-hat, crash, and ride cymbal. Hopefully that will lead to increased accuracy with my cymbals, if I can't actually have them for practice, that is.
I suppose I will have to invest in a practice set to be able to get the muscle memory for tunes I need to practice. Plopping down in front of a practice pad and tapping away with my head down (thought I try to always remember to "keep your head up!" In the voice of Tom Robinson) does not seem the most effective way to practice something so based in repetition. Speaking of repetition, I think it's about time I get back to practice
It's a half-heartedly warm, decidedly muggy Saturday in Brooklyn. The streets would be far more abuzz were it not for the shooting this past Wednesday, the tension from which is still palpable.
I'm taking a break from my drum practice on my day off, which feels very good so far. Laundry done, business calls completed, nothing to do but hone the Craft. This is my newest practice system, if anybody is curious:
Not a bad little setup. As you can see, I rested my practice pad in the middle of my snare stand and adjust the hight for comfort. I used to have a neighbor who would practice his putting by aiming for a dime so that when he actually played, the hole looked enormous. This underscores my belief that the lessons learned from any one skill are transferrable to every other skill, with appropriate jargon replace, of course.
I digress. I figure I can aim for the tips of the rubber braces with my sticks as if they were each hi-hat, crash, and ride cymbal. Hopefully that will lead to increased accuracy with my cymbals, if I can't actually have them for practice, that is.
I suppose I will have to invest in a practice set to be able to get the muscle memory for tunes I need to practice. Plopping down in front of a practice pad and tapping away with my head down (thought I try to always remember to "keep your head up!" In the voice of Tom Robinson) does not seem the most effective way to practice something so based in repetition. Speaking of repetition, I think it's about time I get back to practice
May 15, 2010
Tipping My Hand or I don't want to be the best, I just want to illuminate.
Listening: Blues Brothers
It's my first day off in a week. I got 2 nights of unexpected silence, which was nice, but otherwise every waking hour has been spent at work, or lugging gear and playing shows. What a drag, right? I know, I know, I could be starving in the street or have that "born without a face" disease. All I'm saying is I had something strenuous to do nearly every hour this week, I finally got some rest, so I feel much better about everything in general. Where do you get off judging?
First off, new business. I joined the American Federation of Musicians AFL-CIO Local 802 this past Monday morning. I have gathered there is a fair amount of polarized opinions about unions, especially around here on the East Coast, where the fight of the Labor Movement is written alongside the history of the country. All's I know is that it's probably a good idea to have a group of (apparently) like-minded individuals behind me for advice or (legal) muscle in an unforgiving and tumultuous market. So there's that.
That very Monday night, after work, J du Breukelen stopped by our place and informed me that somebody "connected" was interested in the cocktails for the Breukelen::Rebuilt art show, and by proxy interested in me.
As my mother would say, "Don't think you have the job until your name is on the voicemail."
Opportunities are prospering on all fronts, it seems. Even the basil in our window is growing. Good spring.
The band business is challenging, and I am constantly rethinking my posture to music. I have always, until this point, put music school out of my mind as a threat to the "fun" of playing, turning it instead to a chore.
Interesting, but I suppose I'll never know unless I try. Perhaps just some Juilard summer courses finished off with a nice cigar and Port. Unless my idea of Juliard is totally skewed, I'm pretty sure cigars and Port are included in the tuition.
I do know I feel like I've hit a wall as a rhythm student, and am having a hard time breaking out of a claustrophobic mold. Maybe that's something the 'boys at my Local can illuminate for me.
Also, I realize there may be a point in my life where I may have to choose (good gosh no!) between a Music Career and a Not Music Career. I daydream of working for a respectable Spirits company which produces a high-caliber drink and all I have to do all day is meet people and talk about cocktails, flavor profiles and processes.
I would also accept guest-mixologist status, perhaps the Jacques Bezuidenhout of my eventual settling.
I have been making Martinis longer than I've been playing drums, so it would be wrong to ignore that I was more-or-less born to tend bar.
So my Music Life and my Food&Beverage Life are growing parallel to each other like our bean sprouts. Yes, I may have to choose between them someday soon, but in my most bleary-eyed pipe dreams I envision a career in which success at either of my skill sets resonates and magnifies the inertia of both. So we shall see.
So in the meantime, the plan is to get better at both, or at least get better results from either. I see the commoditisation of my skills and self - not usually a positive thing, but necessary to insert oneself into a market where skill is bought and sold. I just have to ensure that I have better Product than my competitors.
I see resurgence of the dreaded Drum Lesson, I see dance classes to connect to rhythm in a more all-body, dare I say spiritual, way. I see first attempts to lead in situations where I know what to do, exploration of untapped or stagnant aspects of my personality, and a whole bushel fulla who KNOWS what else?!
25 is going to be a good year.
It's my first day off in a week. I got 2 nights of unexpected silence, which was nice, but otherwise every waking hour has been spent at work, or lugging gear and playing shows. What a drag, right? I know, I know, I could be starving in the street or have that "born without a face" disease. All I'm saying is I had something strenuous to do nearly every hour this week, I finally got some rest, so I feel much better about everything in general. Where do you get off judging?
First off, new business. I joined the American Federation of Musicians AFL-CIO Local 802 this past Monday morning. I have gathered there is a fair amount of polarized opinions about unions, especially around here on the East Coast, where the fight of the Labor Movement is written alongside the history of the country. All's I know is that it's probably a good idea to have a group of (apparently) like-minded individuals behind me for advice or (legal) muscle in an unforgiving and tumultuous market. So there's that.
That very Monday night, after work, J du Breukelen stopped by our place and informed me that somebody "connected" was interested in the cocktails for the Breukelen::Rebuilt art show, and by proxy interested in me.
As my mother would say, "Don't think you have the job until your name is on the voicemail."
Opportunities are prospering on all fronts, it seems. Even the basil in our window is growing. Good spring.
The band business is challenging, and I am constantly rethinking my posture to music. I have always, until this point, put music school out of my mind as a threat to the "fun" of playing, turning it instead to a chore.
Interesting, but I suppose I'll never know unless I try. Perhaps just some Juilard summer courses finished off with a nice cigar and Port. Unless my idea of Juliard is totally skewed, I'm pretty sure cigars and Port are included in the tuition.
I do know I feel like I've hit a wall as a rhythm student, and am having a hard time breaking out of a claustrophobic mold. Maybe that's something the 'boys at my Local can illuminate for me.
Also, I realize there may be a point in my life where I may have to choose (good gosh no!) between a Music Career and a Not Music Career. I daydream of working for a respectable Spirits company which produces a high-caliber drink and all I have to do all day is meet people and talk about cocktails, flavor profiles and processes.
I would also accept guest-mixologist status, perhaps the Jacques Bezuidenhout of my eventual settling.
I have been making Martinis longer than I've been playing drums, so it would be wrong to ignore that I was more-or-less born to tend bar.
So my Music Life and my Food&Beverage Life are growing parallel to each other like our bean sprouts. Yes, I may have to choose between them someday soon, but in my most bleary-eyed pipe dreams I envision a career in which success at either of my skill sets resonates and magnifies the inertia of both. So we shall see.
So in the meantime, the plan is to get better at both, or at least get better results from either. I see the commoditisation of my skills and self - not usually a positive thing, but necessary to insert oneself into a market where skill is bought and sold. I just have to ensure that I have better Product than my competitors.
I see resurgence of the dreaded Drum Lesson, I see dance classes to connect to rhythm in a more all-body, dare I say spiritual, way. I see first attempts to lead in situations where I know what to do, exploration of untapped or stagnant aspects of my personality, and a whole bushel fulla who KNOWS what else?!
25 is going to be a good year.
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