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. 

The Time Has Come

The time has come. We the people have our greatest decision to make. Is our country and its Constitution worth fighting for? Our military is being sent to our cities. Why isn't the question. Too many fall for the lies and distractions. Our military is being made to take aim at and, at the very least, intimidate the people it exists to defend. The use of the U.S. military on U.S. soil is legal only under specific and limited circumstances, as it is heavily restricted by the Posse Comitatus Act of 1878. The current administration is trying to defy this.

The comedians and their brands of social commentary are being silenced. Were it only a matter of employer vs. employee - matters of consequence of action in a business setting - it would be little more than a blip in the entertainment news. But this is not the case. The federal government made good on its threats to silence them. This in unconstitutional. Some will say the cause has more to do with impending mergers and business deals - but this is not truly the case. The comedians in question are best-known for their public humorous remarks on politics. There is no business deal so important that it carries greater weight than our Constitution. When rights are removed, they are gone. There is no cherry-picking. Once a single right is removed, they all go. Right to free speech? Gone. Plans are currently in place to remove 2nd amendment rights from select groups, while reinstating them for groups who have long been, reasonably so, denied them. There are plans in place to remove birthright citizenship. From there, none of us have the right of citizenship. What other rights are our so-called leaders and legislators planning to strip us of? 

Am I being overly dramatic? I don't think so. We have been told what the plans are. They are dismissed by many. I'm sure that the average German citizens once believed "this can't happen here." We all know how that played out. 

What can you or I do? Plenty. Know who your elected officials are, at every level. Communicate with them in any way you can. Phone calls, letters, email, social media, public meetings. Explain to them, in your own words, that you will not tolerate the abhorrent actions of the current administration. Reticent as I am to suggest it, go buy a gun. Do it legally. Do it by the book. Buy as much ammunition as you can while you still can. You might need it, sooner than you ever thought possible. The Framers of the Constitution intended the "well-regulated Militia" of the 2nd amendment, in part, to serve as a defense against potential government overreach or foreign invasion. If what we're experiencing isn't government overreach, I don't know what is. 

What exactly are we waiting for? 

49 years ago, I remember the U.S. celebrating its bicentennial. I have fond, vivid memories of it. Time has certainly taken a toll on what that country stood for. Was it a perfect place back then? No, but people - for the most part - got along. Politics and religion were considered private matters. People lived their lives and minded their own business. As a kid, I had friends whose families shared different beliefs. Catholics, Protestants, Jews, Orthodox Christians, heck I even knew a few Muslims and a Hindu. We weren't terrified of each other. We were all part of the same community. 

On 9/11, our country was attacked. Some will say - without concrete evidence - that it was an inside job. Some use that day as validation of their fears and their hatred. The media will tell you that the country came together. No, it didn't. We sat in our homes watching the news. Bit by bit, we attempted to return to normal - but it was never the same. 

The erosion of our rights under the current administration is proof that life will never be the same. The time has come. We each have a choice to make. I pray that we make the right one. 

Never Forget the People of 9/10

 Never forget. 9/11 was a horrible day. Worst part about it was the lies, the spin. In our lifetimes, most of us will never know the truth about those. The number of lives lost kept going up, until it started going down. That one was easy. The US couldn't telegraph just how bad the damage was. Rather than report the facts, it became about spin. 

Never forget. We hear that every year. Never forget. Anyone who lived through that day is not going to forget. We don't need a reminder. So why the constant, annual nudge? To make sure everyone remembers the spin, the lies. We're supposed to remember the official story. I remember the truth like it happened yesterday. I don't need a reminder.

Social media is despicable regarding 9/11. This year (24 years later) I started seeing posts suggesting we Americans remember 9/11 AND to be the people we were on 9/12. Really? That's fucked up. The people of 9/12 were terrified. No one went to work (except for a handful of us). Sure, everyone had their flag displayed. Was this pride or the first taste of nationalism? Some of you might not remember. The economy went into the toilet for a while. Is that why our current economy is in the shitter? Are we remembering and honoring 9/11? 

The people of 9/12 were assholes. Sure, they were scared but that was no excuse for who we became. I remember seeing news reports of brown-skinned people being attacked in the streets. Indians, Pakistanis, etc. These were American citizens. These were students. These were people who had nothing to do with 9/11 - but our neighbors were attacking them. Violently. Is this what we are now supposed to emulate? 

I spent a large part of 9/12 trying to get through to my ex-wife in NYC. I was trying to contact friends in NYC. I was ready to hop in the car and drive to NYC and volunteer my services. My boss talked me out of it. She reminded me that I was needed here. 

The worst part of 9/11 was the silence. I was one of the last people out of the city. On the 6-mile drive home, I didn't see another person, another car, not even a dog or cat. It was like being the last man alive. The air traffic had been stopped. The silence was alien. It seemed unnatural. After I couldn't watch the news any longer, I sat on my porch with my dogs. They both knew something was up. Then a fighter jet flew low over the neighborhood. It was LOUD! Scared the shit out of all three of us.  I guessed this was life now.

The people of 9/12 were a changed people. The reality was that We the People had been attacked. We'd let our collective mouths write a check our collective asses couldn't cash. Insufficient funds. Our world changed. I remember having to show my ID for the first time just to enter a building downtown. This wasn't a government building or anything. It was a doctor's office. I remember the faces of people in the city, as well as out in the suburbs. The look of fear and suspicion. The cops all started wearing buzz cuts. They were trying to look like some third-rate paramilitary group. It would have been comical at any other point in time. I started to miss the people of 9/10.

The people of 9/10 weren't unique. They mostly minded their own business. They went to work, did their jobs, and spent their money in their communities. The people of 9/10 enjoyed life as much as they could. For the most part, the 90s weren't awful. We worked, earned our money, paid our bills, and lived our lives. The people of 9/10 didn't politicize everything. Most of us thought George W. Bush was a pinhead, but he was our pinhead. But the people of 9/10 who survived 9/11 became the flag-waving hyper nationalists of 9/12. 

Never forget the people of 9/10. They weren't perfect, but for the most part they were reasonable. Crime existed, but it wasn't constantly blamed on the left or right. School shootings had happened, but not to the extent that they happen now. The people of 9/10 would have never accepted a dictator. Hell, Clinton was unsuccessfully impeached for lying about banging a fat girl. We held our chosen leaders to account or at least tried. The news reported the news. It wasn't just a never-ending stream of opinionated talking heads spewing partisan talking points. Fox News, at the time, was considered a joke. I remember the local Fox News team. With the possible exception of Alby Oxenreiter (Ox on Fox!) they were a bunch of inept clowns. I recall a night when two of the anchors came to one of my shows at Rosebud. 9:00pm and they were falling down drunk and had to be escorted out. Neither the station nor the incident was considered news. We all used to joke that Fox should stick to shows like The Simpsons.  

When you remember 9/11 (and trust me, you'll be reminded!), remember the people of 9/10. They're long gone. They're a myth. Was life ever that simple? Will it ever be again? Probably not in my lifetime. Never forget. You've been lied to for years, and you happily swallowed every lie.