The Return of the Son of The Night of the Living Thanksgivus!

Just my seasonal silliness...

THANKSGIVUS

Thanksgivus: that's what she called it. The 'she' in question would be a very short, loud, middle aged black woman with retardation who I supervised for years. Her name is Omega...fitting because she truly is THE END!

Omega didn't exactly have a speech problem but I think her hearing wasn't 100% on the mark, as certain words would get slurred together such as "Thanksgivus". Another fave was her version of Social Security, which often sounded more like "sociable secretary" (of which I've known a few).

Thanksgivus (which is what I now prefer to call the US holiday Thanksgiving) is the last Thursday of November (this is for my overseas friends who may not be fully knowledgeable of the subject). It is the holiday where we Americans give Thanks to God for giving us BIG tasty birds, punkin pie & cranberry sauce...all courtesy of a tribe that we soon took great pains to wipe out. In short, when those Pilgrims (essentially English religious nuts) 1st landed at Plymouth Rock, they didn't have a CLUE what they were doing or what they were in for!

After that 1st winter (what do you mean "No Central Heating"???), most of the Pilgrims had died off. A few hearty ones remained (probably by eating the others...but that story seems to have vanished in the annals of history) and it was looking bleak for them, as they didn't know SQUAT about farming North American soil. Luckily, the Indians (bite me, I will NOT be PC) took pity on them, showed them what to do and the Pilgrims survived. They did sooo well, in fact, they had a big feast and invited the Indians. When the Indians showed up, they realized that white folks are either really bad at planning feasts or are just stingy, so they sent some braves to go kill a half dozen or so deer....gotta make sure ya don't leave the table unless yer ready to burst....STILL an American Thanksgivus tradition. NOWHERE on the menu was green bean casserole....PLEASE make note of that! (the Americans reading this will get the humor)

Finally, sometime in the 19th century, after decades of confusion as to what this "New England" holiday was and when it was supposed to be observed, some mad woman wrote everyone in the colonies suggesting the last Thursday in November...just in time to mark the start of Xmas shopping season!

Now, contrary to what some of my English colleagues have been lead to believe, Thanksgivus is NOT the American Xmas. Trust me, NO ONE on this planet overdoes Xmas like the Americans! Here it is, the Sunday BEFORE Thanksgivus and I'm looking out my front door at my neighbor's Xmas lights! 1 month 5 days before we celebrate the Man's b-day (even though we have the date wrong)...1 month 5 days of looking at those damned lights! Don't get me wrong, I love the holidays as much if not more than most people...but I like things to be done for the right reasons...not just to be the 1st, best or brashest.

For the holidays, I wish you all peace, happiness and a full belly. May your homes be filled with laughter (and not just the canned version coming from your TV). May your pockets never be empty, maybe your fridge always be full (with at least 1 6-pack of decent beer...in case I should stop by lol) and may your troubles be few & far between.

In fact, I don't just wish you these things for the holidays...I wish them for you all EVERYDAY.

I'm having a few friends over (as usual) this year for Thanksgivus. It might not be the fanciest dinner but I hope to guarantee all a good meal, a full belly and someplace to sit and digest and enjoy some good company after (and before...as long as they stay OUTTA MY WAY in the kitchen.).

We will revel in the death of a turkey. We shall take delight in the taters, which will be mashed. The rolls will hopefully not be slightly burned on the bottoms...but if they are, that's what butter, gravy & butter knives are for! The veggies will be plentiful and not overcooked. The pie will be chocolate cream...NOT PUNKIN! (my tradition...not yours, OK? ) And yes Virginia...there will most likely be cranberries of some sort...JUST NO DAMNED GREEN BEAN CASSEROLE...PLEASE!

Some Thoughts On Last Night's Show

There are days when I'm amazed that I still do this. I woke up this morning, sore as hell. My arthritic hands...swollen. The foot that I crushed nearly 30 years ago...throbbing. The nerve damage in my legs...burning. I'll happily do this again and again.

We were ON last night. Most nights we play, we are. At 52, I'm the youngest guy in the band. That often cracks me up. I know musicians half my age who couldn't put on a show like we do. Not on their best night! We know what we're doing. We can go into a song we've never done before (and I do believe we did) and play it like we wrote it. Members of the audience often ask how often we rehearse. Honest answer: We don't. This is one of the benefits of being a career working musician. You learn how music works. Once you know what key the song is in, you can probably fake your way through the average pop/rock/blues/country song. Lord knows I've faked my way through plenty. I had to fake my way through a Lionel Richie song once. Wow...it was pretty well-written for a rather dull song.

L-R Rod Zakowsky, yours truly, Buck "Swingin" Johnson
photo by Linda Z.

Sure, we're a blues band. People think blues is easy to play. Usually just 3 chords...yet people still wet themselves over a good blues player. You can fake the basic chords. What you can't fake is the knowledge it takes to do something special with those chords and what to play over or under them. You can know all the music theory in the world and still screw it up. (old rule of thumb I was taught early on: if you hit the wrong note, bend it until its right)

We usually do 3-4 hour shows. Thinking back to when I first started playing, the norm was 4-5. I came up in music playing redneck joints, biker bars, old man corner bars, chicken wire joints and animal clubs. We'd play 9-2. I'm often amazed that any of us have functioning livers. A lot of the young musicians I know have, at best, cut their teeth playing showcase joints. 3-4 bands on one bill. Oh gosh...you had to play an entire set of what? 12 songs? Then waste another 20 minutes while the bands switch over. Snoozeville. We still do 3-4 hours, sometimes more. How? We know our stuff. We can make a song longer or shorter. We play to the room. We gauge how the audience is reacting. Like last night, we also know the crowd because we've played there before. People will request songs that they know we play. They also request certain parts of 'the act'...

"I hope we didn't miss the medley!"
"I hope we didn't miss you guys both playing the same guitar at the same time!"
"I hope we didn't miss you playing slide guitar with a bottle/shot glass/fire extinguisher/walking stick/chair/etc."

We make the audience part of the show. I'll routinely come off the stage during a solo and get into the crowd. I'll walk over and sit down next to someone and play a solo. Maybe I'll try to get them to assist. If I see them with their camera phone, I walk right up to them and let them get a good, up close and personal shot. We try to make each show memorable for every person there. It's really not about us. It's about the music and the people enjoying it. We're just the 4 guys onstage who are also enjoying it.

We usually try to look like a band. Most folks don't want to see a bunch of folks onstage who look like they showed up to mow the lawn. Our front man dresses to impress! His stage look is somewhere between Sunday Best and Super Pimp. He's tough to compete with...but we try. One of my jazz heroes once told me he usually wears a suit and tie...because when he's going onstage, he's going to WORK. When he was growing up, you dressed for work. Made sense to me. Sure, I'm not always dressed up...there've been times when I've dressed down...but that says a bit about how I perceived a particular show. I haven't always been right.

People will often come up to me on a break or after the show and want to talk music with me. Sure! I'm down for it! A guy came up to me last night...a blues fan for sure...and he wanted to discuss my playing style. He said it wasn't the usual blues riffs. He noted that I play a very southern style. I just smiled and thanked him for noticing. Maybe he thinks my nickname "Memphis" refers to the ancient Egyptian capitol.

2 large coffees into me now. The ears stopped ringing. The hands aren't as swollen. Foot still hurts. Legs...not so burny. I still need to take the amp out of the truck. I also have to start thinking about tomorrow's show. New joint for me. New bunch of musicians. Its gonna be fun. It always is. That's why I still do it.

The Queen Is Dead

Another one gone. We lost the Queen of Soul, Aretha Franklin today. Her voice is irreplaceable. Oddly enough, this is the anniversary of Elvis' death. His passing is still felt across the globe decades later, as I'm sure the passing of Aretha will be.

In recent years we've lost many of the greats. As a guitarist, BB King and Link Wray come to mind. Both were powerful influences on the instrument's place in music. Neither can be replaced. We've lost so many great musical artists.

I guess the big question is WHO ARE THE NEW GREAT ONES?

I can't recall the last time I heard a mind-blowing NEW artist. Someone with a fresh new sound or approach. Its been a long time, that's for sure. Anything new that I hear (and yes, surprise surprise, this old guy does listen to a lot of new music) is usually just a retread of something older. Sure, some of it is good but its neither fresh nor exciting. While not a huge fan of rap/hip hop, I enjoyed the energy of it when it was new. That its still thumping on is, at least to me, amusing. Its just not something I care to hear very often.

The so-called indie stuff...it all sounds like someone trying really hard to write something commercial. Screw that. I want to hear the weird kid sitting in his/her basement making some insane noise that his/her/family and friends all tell him/her is horrible...but he/she keeps doing it because he/she can hear in their head how it works. I want to hear a new sound. A new idea. A new approach. Screw trends. Screw whatever is popular. Screw commercialism.

Give me that singer in church who can wail at a level that makes the Almighty take notice. Give me the risk-taker. Give me the lunatic. I want to hear a sound that will rip the fabric of the universe apart, if only for a moment.

If only I had that ability.

Sure, I play a lot of old stuff. I'm old. Is it really my place to reinvent the spork? I can entertain almost any crowd. I might even be able to make the occasional jaw drop now and then. But I'm no Aretha...or Elvis...or Link Wray...or BB King...or Leonard Cohen. I too will pass and become even less of a footnote than I already am. But I've at least tried in my life.

Where are the new sounds? Have we finally given up?

R.I.P to the Kings and Queens of days gone by. May your musical memory inspire generations to come and set alight a spark of creativity in some young mind. I know I'm ready and waiting to hear it.

The Joy of Cooking...Pops Style!

Most of my friends know that I have a young friend, all of 20. He's adopted me as a surrogate dad , of sorts, and he calls me "Pops".

Throughout our adventures in ukulele playing, psychology, culture, humor and semi-fine dining, he has found that this old man knows how to cook. And dude loves my cooking! It's become a bit of a routine for me to take him dinner at work a few times a week. His tastes run pretty similar to mine, so its even easier for me.

Yesterday, I was trying to decide what to make. I had just made gumbo a few days prior and that was going to be a tough act to follow. (if you've had my gumbo, you know this) I had some leftover peppers, so there was a start. I thawed out some chicken thighs and picked up some fresh onions....now what?

Let the creativity begin!

I sometimes just make up a dish as I go along. I'll take an idea from one dish or other, mix it up, add some things, change some things, just to see how it goes. I've been cooking long enough to know what usually works together. This was no exception.

I decided on a shredded chicken dish. When I lived in Ohio, there was a little joint that sold shredded chicken sandwiches. I loved them, so I figured it was as good as start as any. So I boiled and shredded the chicken.

I chopped up some onion, fresh garlic, and cubanelle and red sweet peppers. I mixed it all together, over low heat. It was coming together. Now to season!

I could have gone with just a plain old spice session. Some salt, pepper, blah blah blah. This needed something special, so I opted for unusual. Sure, the aforementioned spices were good but it needed more. I added in some yellow curry, tumeric, 7 spices,cayenne pepper and some paprika. If'd have stopped right there, it would have been fantastic on it's own. But I wasn't done. Not by a long shot.

It's summertime. That means BBQ! So I added in a sweet and spicy Memphis-style sauce. This took it to whole other level! The sweet and spicy mixed with the other spices was just a whole mouthful of WOW! But was I done? Nope. Knowing my target audience, I went a step further!

I made up some boxed cornbread stuffing, knowing how much he likes cornbread. I then spread the shredded chicken into a small casserole dish, added the stuffing on top and about a cup of chicken broth and threw it in the oven for about 20 minutes.

Who cooks like this on a 90+ degree day? ME! That's who! And it was soooooooooo good! #1 SemiPseudoQuasi Adopted Son agreed. This recipe is a keeper. Oh yeah...I made some honey butter biscuits too.

Confession

My grandmother was pretty funny. She had an often sly, sometimes bizarre sense of humor. Once, I brought a shy gal I was dating to meet my grandmother and great aunt. We went out for dinner and drinks. This same gal was so overwhelmed at meeting the rest of my family at the holidays that she needed a sedative. OK, most would probably want drugs to meet my family.

Back to my grandmother. We were sitting having drinks and talking while waiting for dinner. My girlfriend was barely saying two words, due to her shyness. My grandmother reached across the table, took my gal's beer, took her swizzle straw out of her own cocktail and started blowing bubbles into my gal's beer. My gal was, um, a tad surprised. I was laughing like an idiot, understanding what she was doing. My auntie said to my grandmother, "Dammit Marg! What ARE you doing? That girl doesn't want your spit in her beer!" My grandmother dryly replied, "Her beer looked flat. I thought I'd help her out. Nobody likes flat beer."

Needless to say, that was quite and icebreaker and my gal opened up at that point. Her and my grandmother really liked each other after that.

In any conversation I ever had with my grandmother, the first thing out of her mouth was usually "Got anything you want to confess?" She knew me well enough to know that I'd probably done something questionable. She always asked this with great love and humor. If I had something on my mind, I knew I could talk to her about it. Other times, I'd just make up some wild story. She had plenty of wild stories of her own, so it was tough to compete. She lived through 2 world wars. She had many stories about Prohibition, speakeasies, and stealing motorcycles. (she always gave them back...she just liked the adventure)

In closing any conversation, she always imparted upon me these golden words of wisdom. "Don't put any beans up your nose." Words to live by.

Gram lived to age 88. The last year was tough. A few strokes slowed her down and eventually landed her in a rehab facility. The last time I saw her, she was unable to speak or move and had a feeding tube in her nose. My heart broke when I saw her but I refused to show it. I knew, deep inside, this would be our last conversation. I was going to make it one she would approve of. I started off by asking if she had anything to confess. She gave me a smile that will stick with me until my last day. I talked to her about all sorts of thing. I was going through a rough patch but was getting by. I told her she didn't have anything to worry about. I also promised to look after my auntie, who lived with my grandmother. We spent a peaceful afternoon, me talking and her responding facially. It was as wonderful as all of the other conversations I ever had with her. As I was leaving, I stopped, and turned to her and reminded her not to put any beans up her nose. We both got the humor from this, considering the feeding tube in her nose.

(what did you think this was gonna be about?)

Punk Rock...Oh! I can do that!

Sitting here thinking back over my musical career, the ol' brain spent a fair bit of time on my love of so-called punk rock. 

I don't really like to categorize music. Always feels like a sales gimmick to me. Music, at least to me, is a form of sonic communication. (Note: I said "music", not "lyrics") I can feel the same energy from Beethoven that I do from the Sex Pistols. I can glean the same musical intent. 

But punk rock....

When I first started to listen to it, and play it, my basic thought (which, I guess, was very punk) was "Oh! I can do this." Basic chord progression. Repeat at rapid fire speed. Turn volume up. Go. Yep...I could do that. 

I have always enjoyed classical music, so these 3 chord aural assaults were a whole new thing to me. Around the same time, I had been introduced to the music of The Beatles and Jimi Hendrix. The Beatles got me with the production. Hendrix...I remember seeing footage of him on TV once and being awestruck and just trying to comprehend what he was doing to his guitar. WHAT WERE THOSE CHORDS????? 

In the early 80s in Nowheresville, OH, I found that no one wanted to play punk rock and there was no audience for it. A few house parties, the even more rare bar gig...it was already a non-event. It was a fashion show, if anything. It all took away from the music. Sure, I had the weird hair, dressed my own way (still do) and all...but especially now, I see that aspect as little more than a uniform...same with almost anything else. 

To a teenager of that time period, who had a strong desire for political change and an even stronger desire to make music, punk rock was the answer. The whole DIY approach appealed to me. I was a self-taught guitarist. I had my 2 minutes of local fame as the kid who could play Hendrix stuff (although how well I could play it remains up for debate). I never cared to play anyone else's riffs. Still don't. In fact, I've only ever learned one guitar solo, note for note, from the record (because nothing else fit the song!). I still carry that punk ethos with me. I can do that. I'll just do it my own way.

That punk bands are still a thing...that surprises me. Many are kids who weren't alive went punk rock first happened. They can't conceive the context of it. It's just their chosen style. Its still a fashion show. There's no rebellion. Its very status quo. I see them sporting the same look we did 35+ years ago...and my contemporaries and I were, pretty much, Johnny-come-latelys. 

By my mid-teens, punk was pretty dead. I joined my first so-called rockabilly band at 16. I'm still known by most for playing in that genre...but I don't think I ever really played it. I was then, and still am, just a musician with a punk rock attitude playing his own take on music. I lean more towards what folks called the blues...but again, music is music. I think I'm musically well-versed enough to figure out what fits a song. Again, it's communication. Its a vehicle to convey a thought or emotion. 

I like energy in music. Probably what appeals most to me in punk rock. The same energy is what attracts me to any music. Bach, Beethoven, Jimmie Rogers, Hank Sr., Blind Willie McTell, BB King, Link Wray, early Elvis, The Beatles, Hendrix, rap, hip hop, jazz...all musicians creating their own thing, their way, with a definite energy. The "Oh! I can do that!" mentality. 

The younger musicians probably see me as an old fart blues player now. I'm OK with that. A few years back, I recorded some rather punk rock stuff with a project we named Losers After Midnight. In spots, we were just trying to recreate sounds from our youth. In other spots, I attempted to create something fresh and new. Whether or not I achieved that remains to be seen. I can do that. In fact, I did do that. And will continue to do so. 

Looking For A Test Student For Guitar

I've taught guitar before. I can honestly say that it was neither a pleasurable nor enriching experience. Yet...here I am again.

Why?

Good question. The answer is pretty simple. For me, its about sharing the joy of making music. People often ask how I started playing, how long I've been playing, etc. My former guitar teacher, Kevin, showed up at a gig the other night. It got me thinking. I CAN teach...provided I can teach the way that I learned.

How NOT to play guitar.

No discredit to Kevin. He tried to teach me the way that countless others were taught. It was already too late for me. I had been teaching myself for about 6 months at that point. While he did teach me many valuable things (forcing me to use a pick, various ways to tune, the rudiments of finger-picking, and harmonics all come to mind) the whole 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" crap just didn't move me. It's not what I was listening to or what I was feeling. After a few months, the lessons ended but we've stayed close friends for decades. This friendship is based on a mutual love of the guitar.

So, back to other people. People will say things like "Man! I wish I could play like that!" After I ask myself why they would ever want to play this sloppily, I tell them that they probably can. They just haven't done it yet.

That's really the first step. Deciding you really want to. Once you get that idea in your head, it becomes an addiction, of sorts. You're not going to be great at first. Hell, in all honesty, you'll suck at first. It will be difficult. It will physically hurt at times...but...like working out at a gym, no pain no gain.

So, I'm looking for a student. Here's what I need from the student:

• A true desire to actually play guitar. Not just a dreamer. Someone that wants to learn more than "just a few chords". (I can teach that person too...but for now, I want a serious student)

• A level of dedication. I'll need to set up a weekly lesson for no less than 6 weeks. Cancel once and we're done. (within reason)

• No piece of shit guitars. No. You don't need a $2000 Martin (I don't even have one of those!) but you will need something decent to learn on. A decent student guitar can be had relatively inexpensively. Beware the salesman. He/She will try to sell you any piece of shit just to make a sale. If ya want, I'll go with you and show you what to look for. The right First Guitar is one you may never want to ever let go of. But...if you get the right one, you'll never lose money on it. (the only reason I don't still have MY first is because it was stolen)

• You must LOVE music. All types of music. Keep that mind open!

That's pretty much it. I like to have a person actually playing  a song the first day. Will the student play it well? Probably not at first...but they'll have the tools. Practical application, if you will. If the student puts in the time (and never call it 'practice'...that's too much like work!) and allows themselves to ENJOY it, they'll get pretty darned good pretty darned fast!

So, if you or someone you know REALLY wants to take that leap, get ahold of me. Let's make some noise!!!!!!

One last thing: Before you look for excuse why you CAN'T, take a look at this guy. He was one of the greatest guitarists EVER. He really only had use of 2 fingers and a thumb. If he could do it, YOU can.

Django!

KA-BLAMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!

Just had a kitchen accident. It's OK...the cats weren't hurt. Neither am I. However, a treasured family heirloom is gone gone gone.

OK..."heirloom" might be a stretch. It was one of my grandmother's old mixing bowls. Your grandmother might have had one. Hell, you might have one. These things were sturdy and built to last! And...they have roosters on them. You know the ones.

I can only imagine the thousands of meals that were prepared in this thing. I've never known life without this mixing bowl. I've eaten countless servings of popcorn from it. And now it's gone.

I was making dinner. I had the front burner on, searing a roast. I thought I'd turned it off...but I'd only turned it down. Roast was in the oven, and I was doing dishes. As I needed sink room, I had set the bowl on the stovetop. As I was getting ready to reach for the bowl....KA-BLAMMMM!!!!!!

It just shattered. Freaked me the hell out. The cats came in to see what was going on...but were more interested in the smell of the roast.

While "heartbroken" is too strong a word, I will really miss that bowl. Lots of memories. I guess it's time to hit the thrift stores...bound to be one around somewhere.