Some days I miss it...

 Some days I really miss being in a band.

There's nothing like making music with a group of people, all on the same page, bringing their own uniqueness to the mix. But here's the problem.

No one seems to want to put in the effort these days. The last two times I tried starting a new band, I provided the other musicians with a set list - you know, to get the ball rolling. The songs weren't difficult in any way. All I asked was that they learn the songs. I gave them the keys the songs are in and all but taught them the arrangement. Rehearsal time came...and not a one of them learned the songs. They just figured they'd learn it at rehearsal. That is not what rehearsal is. According to the Oxford dictionary, the definition of rehearsal is "a practice or trial performance of a play or other work for later public performance." This indicates knowing what you're expected to do prior to rehearsal. An actor, in preparation for a production of Hamlet or Death of a Salesman isn't going to just 'wing it'. They'll be sent packing and will probably have a difficult time finding work in the future. 

Even when I'm asked to sit in with a band/artist, I try to learn the material. I can often dive in cold, but I'd rather not. It's unfair to everyone involved, including and especially the audience. In the past, there have been times I've had to learn over 100 songs in less than a week. This really isn't a special skill. Most types of music follow certain patterns. Know and understand these, and the rest is a breeze. Recently, I had to learn 2 hours' worth of material for a last-minute fill-in gig. I had just enough time to go over the list, pack up my gear, and drive 2 hours to the show. I listened en route, making mental notes. I got there and did the show. We had the crowd dancing. Job well done. I've done this hundreds of times. 

So, why is it so difficult for musicians to do this?

I could guess and say that laziness and arrogance are the answers. If you don't have the time to learn the material, you don't have time to be in a band. It's just that simple. Expecting to go play the same material everyone else is playing will lead to dull and limited performances. As for arrogance, trust me - none of us is THAT good. The late Sam Philips was known to say, "if you're not doing something different, you're not doing anything!"  

I recently spoke with a drummer and a bassist about a project. Neither are particularly inundated with gigs. They have them, but not the frequency I prefer. They were both interested - but then came the excuses. Credit where due, these were potential excuses. "I might have to ______" and "sometimes I have to ________." I get it. What this means is your interest is not at my required level. So, I let it go. No need to follow through on 'maybes'. 

I don't need the most talented musicians. If they can play in key and in time, we're good. We'll work out the rough parts AT REHEARSAL - which is what it's for. I don't like to rehearse a lot. If the musicians have learned the material, a week or two of rehearsals should be enough to get us up and running. You can rehearse once or a hundred times. Chances are, you're going to make the same mistakes. What makes a band tight is the frequency of performing together. There's an artform to learning to communicate on-stage; learning the quirks of how a particular group of musicians perform together. Personally, I like to improvise. This keeps the music fresh, and if a performance needs to go longer, this is an easy way to achieve that. If the audience is really enjoying a particular tune, I say give them more of it! 

If you're wondering why I'm not still out there making noise - this is essentially why. If I had the budget available, I'd just go into the studio and record. I can, and have, gone in with just a drummer and recorded singles and even a full album. Once I have the drums tracked, I can do everything else if need be. I already know the songs and the arrangements. It's usually quicker this way. But it's not the same as working with a band. It's a different energy.

And some days I really miss it. 

Who knows, maybe one of these days it'll happen again. Until then, I'm always playing, writing, and arranging. I've released a lot of music. I still have all sorts of recordings and video in the vault. Even if I never gig again, I've been blessed with having made a lot of music. 6,000+ shows to date. I probably shouldn't be so greedy. 

Repetition & Circuits

 If you want to get good at anything, repetition becomes part of your life. You practice until you’re satisfied. Musicians live this twice over — not just in rehearsing, but in where they perform.

When an artist plays a venue for the first time, the goal is always to be invited back — a repeat performance. From bar bands to The Rolling Stones, the same principle applies - go where you’re wanted. In show business, as in any business, that means one thing — money. From startup costs to operating costs to nightly take, it’s always about the bottom line.

A venue will rebook an act if that act helps keep the lights on (and hopefully generates a profit!). A packed room doesn’t guarantee profit — I’ve seen standing-room-only crowds drinking water or sneaking in their own booze. That kills both the venue and the act. Musicians often don’t understand why they’re not asked back after a packed night. Simple answer: they didn’t generate enough income.

A working musician’s survival depends on making venues money. Once they do, they’re welcomed back. That’s show biz. Over time, most build what’s called a circuit — a list of reliable venues that want them regularly. A good circuit can stretch across town or across the globe.

But circuits often shrink. Venues close, change hands, or shift formats — all, again, because of money.

Years ago, a young club owner of a new club asked me for a list of places I’d played. I gave it to him — with the caveat that most had since gone out of business. He tried to negotiate my rate down and argued his point. I told him politely that maybe he wasn’t ready to hire anyone yet. His club folded in four months. I never played there. Eventually, new owners took over, and I sat in with a friend’s band. The original guy? Gone without a trace.

This reminds me of an artist I’d worked with on and off for years — a nice guy, talented, and steady. He’d carved out a small but consistent circuit. Not the biggest rooms, but enough to keep him working. He knew his audience and kept his shows predictable but comfortable.

Over time, though, his venues started dropping off. From a dozen to half that, then down to two. Crowds thinned, fans aged out, and his predictability — once comforting — turned stale. Add in drinking and drugs, and his later sets became painful to watch. I voiced my concerns; he didn’t want to hear them.

The two remaining venues called less and less. The occasional private party would be booked. These are often uncomfortable situations for a working musician. The physical venue, whether it be a rented hall or someone's house, is rarely equipped for the physical necessities of a live performance. Too few electrical outlets, too little physical space, and no professional understanding of the requirements for a live performance. The partying continued, the performances suffered. 

Eventually, he announced he was “leaving his own band.” I knew what that meant — a reset, swapping musicians instead of addressing deeper issues. He still plays, occasionally, at the same two venues, with whoever’s available. If that makes him happy, good. He’s a fine entertainer when he’s focused. But his circuit — once steady — has all but vanished.

It happens to every working musician eventually. Venues open and close. Crowds come and go. What matters is whether you keep your skills sharp and your show engaging. Audiences might not understand music deeply, but they know when they’ve been entertained — and so do the bartenders and bookers. That’s who decides if there’s a repeat performance.

For those who sing...

 My opinions on music are pretty well known. I'm humbled that there are others, who I believe are far more qualified, value my opinions. That said, allow me to share a bit of my scribbling about singing. 

A dear friend, who is not only an amazing singer, but a leading academic authority on music and folklore, recently celebrated a birthday. I wrote this for her, and I'm sure she won't mind me sharing. 

Music speaks — yet the human voice is its beating heart.

No crafted string nor tempered brass can reach where breath dares go. 

The voice alone carries the warmth of blood, the ache of memory, the shiver of the living. 

In a single note, it can reveal all that words conceal — desire, sorrow, forgiveness, the quiet confession of being.

One need not understand the tongue to understand the truth.

A cry of joy, a whisper of despair — both are fluent in the oldest language known to humankind. 

For what is song but the pulse of emotion given shape? 

What are lyrics but faint translations of the soul’s intent?

It is not the word, but the wail;

not the lyric, but the life within it,

that speaks to us in the dark.

When a voice rises, we follow —

not merely to listen, but to remember.

Within every trembling note lies the echo of all who have ever sung:

the mother to her child,

the lover calling through the rain,

the mourner bent above the grave.

Their breath has become our own; their music, our inheritance.

When the final tone fades —

when silence, patient and eternal, reclaims the air —

something of the singer remains.

Not the meaning.

Not the melody.

But the trembling memory of having been moved.

For though language dies, the voice endures.

It lingers where hearts still ache to be heard —

in the hush between two heartbeats,

in the echo that refuses to fade.

We have been moved. 

Netflix's Ed Gein: A Mess in 8 Episodes

“The real Ed Gein was a monster. Netflix’s version is just a model with a bad accent.” 

 Just finished watching the new Netflix mess of a “story” about Ed Gein. There’s eight hours I’ll never get back. Netflix, as usual, is in the business of entertainment for profit. That means serving the widest possible audience—translation: the lowest common denominator. The real story of Ed Gein is horrifying, grotesque, and steeped in madness that even Poe or Lovecraft couldn’t dream up. What we get instead is a romanticized fever dream that tries to make America’s most infamous ghoul into a misunderstood heartthrob. 

Casting Crimes Let’s start with the first lie: Charlie Hunnam. Ed Gein was about 5'7", homely, and about as hygienic as a compost pile. Hunnam is six feet tall, handsome, and glowing with protein powder. The tone is set before the first line of dialogue — it’s a lie before it even begins. Then comes the voice. Gein’s real voice (and yes, there are recordings) had a plain Midwestern Wisconsin twang. Hunnam delivers… whatever this is. A bashful tween with a wandering Irish accent? My wife and I were howling. Probably not the emotional response the director was after. 

The Cross-Dressing Confusion Netflix takes every excuse to show Hunnam half-naked, oiled up, or draped in lingerie. There are reports that Gein fashioned suits of human skin — but the cross-dresser angle is largely speculative. Late in his life, Gein reportedly showed interest in Christine Jorgensen and wondered if he might be “transsexual.” (And for the MAGA crowd: no, your tax dollars did not fund Ed Gein’s transition.) This detail could have been handled with psychological nuance. Instead, it’s treated like a visual gimmick in a perfume commercial. 

Love in All the Wrong Places The filmmakers even give Gein a romantic subplot — a fiction born from long-debunked tabloid nonsense. Bernice Worden, one of Gein’s real victims, is rewritten into a flirtatious companion, which is both wildly inaccurate and disrespectful. At this point, historical accuracy has packed its bags and left for the weekend. 

Facts? Optional. Gein was convicted of one murder (Worden), accused of another (Mary Hogan), and suspected — never proven — of killing his brother. Netflix’s version inflates that into a mythic killing spree, complete with “flash-forwards” to Hitchcock, Tony Perkins, and Tobe Hooper, implying Gein’s crimes somehow birthed the entire horror genre. This mess also incorporates other serial killers as some sort of We Love Eddie G. Fan Club. It’s absurd. Half documentary, half hallucination, all nonsense. 

A Killer’s Psychology (The Real Stuff) I’ve followed serial killer pathology since reading The Deliberate Stranger forty years ago. I remember when Bundy, Gacy, and Dahmer dominated the headlines. Back when I was studying behavioral psych, I wondered what made a killer. The pattern I noticed: serial killers are socially invisible. They’re so lacking in personality that the world looks right past them. Mix in childhood trauma with a sprinkle of mental illness and you’ve got a recipe for horror. Even more revealing? They act in secrecy. They know what they’re doing is wrong. Ed Gein hid his crimes carefully. Madness, yes — but madness with a level of self-awareness. 

Final Verdict If you want facts about Ed Gein, read a book. If you want to see Charlie Hunnam awkwardly dancing in women’s underwear while doing a Midwestern-by-way-of-Dublin accent, Netflix has you covered. On the plus side, the cinematography is solid — nicely lit, well-framed, watchable. The direction? Somewhere between “art-school student film” and “lost season of American Horror Story.” 

Opinion: A fascinating true story buried under eight hours of Hollywood nonsense. 

Watch it if: you like good lighting, attractive murderers, and rewriting history. 

Skip it if: you prefer your true crime horror grounded in fact, not fantasy.

AI: It's The Call from Inside the House!

 Over the past 6-12 months, I've had a number of conversations with people regarding "artificial intelligence" (AI). Most people are afraid of it, for the same reasons they fear anything - lack of knowledge of a particular subject. Rather than educate themselves on the facts, most people go with whatever media, friends, neighbors, etc. tell them. 

"X" is bad! It's evil! It's unnatural!

More often than not, a little bit of education leads to the realization that "X" is not bad/evil/unnatural/scary. History shows that once upon a time women were property, people of African descent were only 1/3 of a human, homosexuals are out to get your kids, etc. The facts show that none of this is true. Yet people tend to listen to gossip quicker than actual reality. 

But what about this 'AI'? It's man-made. Corporations are fighting for control of it. Of course they are! It has amazing profit potential for capitalists. Remember, corporations usually exploit rather than originate, then market a bunch of BS about it, and make as much money as they can from it. They 'capitalize' on it. AI is just the latest 'big thing'. 

What is AI? Is it really coming to take over? Simply, no. 

Jack D. Myers MD

I've known about AI since I was a kid. Our dad was a cardiologist. A friend and former instructor of his, Jack Myers, was a genius in the world of medicine, especially diagnostics. In the 1970s, he, along with computer scientist Harry Pople, developed INTERNIST-1 - a computer-aided medical diagnostics system. The system was based on his vast clinical expertise in diagnostics. This later evolved into the "Quick Medical Reference" (QMR) system still used in some medical schools and hospitals. If you're not sure what I mean by diagnostics, go watch an episode or two of the TV show HOUSE. Myers and Pople were the origins of AI in medicine. Did their system put doctors out of business? Again, no. But I bet you didn't know this existed! In our family, this AI has been common knowledge for decades.

In the 1980s, a friend of mine was working on his advanced degrees in mathematics. He originally proposed his thesis on Semantics as Mathematics in the 1970s. The universities thought he was nuts. Eventually, a Swiss (I believe) mathematician of some renown started working on a similar theory. The universities started trying to bring my friend back. His work ultimately contributed to technology such as texting and instant messaging - and that bit of AI you've been using (and arguing with_ for years), predictive text. We've all dealt with words being autocorrected to things like "DUCK" or "SNIT". Those are examples of biases in the program, or what the industry likes to call training data bias. Fun Fact: computer programs don't write themselves. They never will. An AI program might write the program faster and more efficiently, but like any program, it won't be able to do it without 'prompts' from the user, in this case a programmer. 

I know this because it was explained to me 30+ years ago by another friend - with a PhD in computer science. He was working on some stuff, allegedly for the government, that sounded unethical to me at the time. (no, I won't go into that particular story) Mind you, I briefly studied programming in the early 1980s. I find computers fascinating, but I lack the attention span required to be any good at programming. That said, I understand the basics of it, and I understand the basics of AI.

It's little more than a very fancy database - a system trained on massive datasets that predicts patterns (like language or images) based on statistical probability. Again, it doesn't do this on its own. We, the users, have to prompt the program (whichever AI system) for the desired result. Often, I use AI for recipes! I'll type in a list of ingredients that I have available, and request ideas for a meal. Sometimes it works well, other times - not so much. From the few systems I've experimented with, there's usually a disclaimer that clearly states AI is capable of mistakes. In reality, this is usually due to the user's lack of clarity in giving prompts. Personally, I find some of the mistakes hilarious!

OK, is AI going to take your job? Probably not - but you might have to boost your own unique abilities. You have to go full-on John Henry! The reality is, AI has been around a long time. You use it every day. Musicians, artists, writers, teachers, etc. often complain that it is destroying their career potential! Again, no. AI can't CREATE. It can come up with an approximation, based on the prompts by the user, that might be all you need. For example, you want to write a paper on lesser-known battles in WW2? AI can probably do that. But it can't write a detailed interview with a survivor. AI is good for the quick stuff. 

I've seen programmer friends use AI to help them write code. Hey, if it's a tool that increases speed and efficiency, I'm all for it. 

But what about the creative world? The musicians, writers, artists, etc.? As a working musician since 1979, I can tell you this is just another hurdle. For my first handful of years in the biz, live music by live musicians was the way to go. By the mid 1980s, DJ's had infiltrated our business. Why pay an entire band when you can just hire 'Bob' to play human jukebox? Then karaoke started getting popular. 'Bob' didn't even need to bring crates of records. The audience became their own entertainment. I used to make my rent in one weekend. Nowadays - fuhgeddabowtit! Artists complain that no one hires them now. I hear this complaint mostly from artists who aren't being hired as artists in the first place. As a musician, I've been making posters and flyers since about 1981. Good ol' punk rock cut & paste! Unless we knew someone who could actually draw, paint, or was skillful with a camera, cut & paste is what we had. Of course, we could have hired an artist. Any decent artist would charge more than we were going to make - so it was a non-starter. In 46 years, the only times I've hired someone to do artwork of any kind was for promo photos, 1 t-shirt design (which we never used), and 2 album covers. Everything else, I've done myself. Am I especially creative? I don't think so - I just know what I want to see, and I find ways to make it happen. Real art is never about making money. It's nice when the money comes, but someone else is always going to make the lion's share - never the artist. 

AI is here to stay, and it's not scary. It's just a tool. Like DJs and karaoke didn’t kill live bands; photos didn't kill painting; recording didn't kill live performance - AI won’t kill human creativity. It just changes the stage we’re playing on. It's prone to make mistakes. Some of the output is laughable. Some is amazingly good and accurate. I can almost always tell if something has been 'created' by someone using AI (as a tool). It tends to be boring and predictable. But occasionally, it does give me a good recipe that uses up that leftover chicken, potatoes, and whatever else I have in the fridge.  

Да ни познаваш

Опитвал съм се да обясня това на моите български приятели и преди - но езиковите ми умения са недостатъчни. Написах това на родния си език, след което се опитах да го преведа, доколкото мога. Надявам се, че това обяснява неизречената разлика между американците и повечето други. - ММ

Чудно ли е, че ти и аз сме различни?

Ти наследяваш митове, издълбани дълбоко в камъка, предавани от ръка на ръка, от поколение на поколение.

Аз наследявам реклами, излъчвани един сезон, забравени в следващия.

Ти носиш легенди в кръвта си, шепнени нощем от баби, които познават тежестта на вековете.

Аз нося лозунги, цвърчащи от пластмасови талисмани, изпяти от актьори, които не са могли да си намерят работа никъде другаде.

Ти проследяваш родословието си като река, чийто извор се губи в планините, течаща все напред.

Аз проследявам моя като дъжд по напукан асфалт - кратък, без посока, скоро погълнат от улука.

Ти стоиш пред крепости и храмове, паметници, които отказват да се поддадат на времето.

А аз стоя пред руини: изоставени молове и празни витрини, счупено стъкло, полуосветени златни арки, паметници на глада без смисъл.

Минаваш покрай изкуство, литература, поезия - катедрали от думи и звук.

Промъквам се покрай билбордове, които крещят заповеди: купувай, желай, консумирай.

Моята поезия е стикери за брони, отлепващи се от ръждясали коли, които няма да преживеят зимата.

Твоята музика е била пята преди хиляда години, гласове се издигат от пещери, полета и манастири.

Моята е била написана в заседателни зали, компресирана в тридесетсекундни откъси, повтаряна, докато не се забият в черепа ти.

Моите приспивни песни са джингли. Моите химни, реклами.

Твоето родословно дърво се издига високо в гора от други, клони, преплетени с небето и бурята, корени, пиещи от дълбоката земя.

Моята е гниене и мухъл във влажно мазе, спори, отчаяно вкопчени в стени, които никога не виждат слънчева светлина.

Ти работиш, за да живееш. Да храниш деца. Да почиташ предците. Да предадеш нещо на нататък.

Аз живея, за да работя. Да докладвам. Да докладвам. Да повтарям. Работата поглъща часовете, а часовете поглъщат мен.

И когато спра, когато се осмеля да попитам: „Защо?“, само тишината отговаря. Само бръмченето на флуоресцентни лампи, само бръмченето на машини, само празната вибрация на екрани.

Чудно ли е, че ти и аз сме различни?

Ти имаш памет. Аз имам пренебрежение. Ти имаш дълбочина. Аз имам повърхност. Ти мечтаеш за богове, светци, герои. Аз мечтая за знаменитости, скандали и продажби.

Ти погребваш мъртвите си с ритуал, с песен, с почва, осветена от векове скръб. Ние погребваме нашите в сметище, в неонови светлини, в заглавия, които избледняват до сутринта.

И в огледалото виждам себе си - такъв, какъвто съм създаден да бъда.

Колаж от марки.

Мозайка от бързо хранене, риалити предавания, разбити магистрали, умиращи градове.

Не човек, а потребител. Не живот, а транзакция.

Чудно ли е, че ти и аз сме различни?

И двамата сме ехо на нашите нации,

но аз съм кух, където ти си цял,

ефимен, където ти си вечен.

Аз съм американец.

Ти не си.

My Birthday Buddy

 I could’ve sworn I wrote about this before, but maybe not — so here goes.

Back in the early ’90s, a friend and I used to celebrate our birthdays together. We were bandmates, our big days were only four days apart, and odds were good we already had a gig that night. So, we just tacked on the party.

One year the show was in Pittsburgh’s Southside — Anthony’s or Fat City, most likely. Parking on Carson Street is legendarily bad, so I’d long since learned to get there early. I usually grabbed dinner at the City Grill, where a couple of friends worked. Their grilled chicken sandwich was the stuff of legend.

That night, waiting for my food, I spotted a familiar face at a nearby table. Not just familiar — legendary. Fred Rogers, out to dinner with his wife.

If you grew up in America anytime in the last 60 years, you know who Mr. Rogers was. For anyone who doesn’t: he hosted Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, a children’s show on public television that became a cultural touchstone. Say, “It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood,” and most people will finish the line.

I’d actually met him once before. When I was 19, my girlfriend’s young daughter was in the hospital for ear surgery. The doctor was a friend of Mr. Rogers, and Fred would often stop by to visit kids. He came into the room, chatted, and instantly put that little girl at ease. Watching him melt away her fear was like witnessing a miracle.

So yes — I had to say hello.

AI Rendering

Picture this: me in a black leather jacket, eight-inch pompadour, creepers, the whole rockabilly look, walking up to the nicest man on Earth. If only someone had snapped a photo. Mind you, this was in the days before cellphones and social media, so people rarely took their camera to dinner. 

“Excuse me,” I said. “I don’t want to interrupt your meal — but you’re Mr. Rogers, right?” (or something equally dorky)

Now, I’d hung out with the likes of The Ramones, The Clash, Los Lobos, Jerry Lee Lewis — you name it. I wasn’t the starstruck type. But standing there, I was giddy as a five-year-old.

Fred couldn’t have been kinder. He introduced his wife, and we chatted briefly. He told me they were celebrating his birthday. I told him it was mine too. His face lit up: “We’re birthday buddies! That’s wonderful!”

And just like that, I was five again, basking in his glow.

Over the next decade I'd run into him around town — Oakland, the Strip District, Southside. Each time, he’d wave, grin, and call out, “There’s my birthday buddy!” And each time, I melted back into that inner kid.

Once, I mentioned that we also shared a birthday with Sister Rosetta Tharpe. Of course, he knew who she was. He even sang a line from "Up Above My Head."

Recently, some folks have tried to politicize Fred Rogers. Yes, he was a Republican — but back then that meant fiscal conservatism, not cruelty. He devoted his life to public television, children, and kindness. If he were alive today, he’d likely be branded a RINO or worse. His faith was deep, but it was never weaponized — it was expressed through love, patience, and decency.

So, to anyone trying to claim him for their political agenda: knock it off. Mr. Rogers belonged to all of us. He made each of us feel special in our own right. I seriously doubt he would tolerate the MAGA fascism. He might wear a red cardigan, but I doubt he'd wear one of those stupid hats.  I like to think my birthday buddy would agree.