A Reunion

Somehow, 30 years have gone by. Is it really 30 years since I graduated high school? It can't be! I can't be that old....but, I guess it is...time does, indeed, march on.

I've been hearing from some of my former classmates about trying to arrange a 30 year reunion. Unlike a lot of people, I enjoy these. While I hated school (God, it was boring), I believe I was liked by my peers. Through the magic of the internet and social networking, I still hear from a number of them. They all are still pretty convinced that I'm clinically insane...but that just goes to show you...some things never change.

I like to believe that I still hold the same core values that I did way back when. My auntie always taught me "we do right because it is right". Probably some of the best advice I've ever heard. I've always found it best to give people the benefit of a doubt. Few people are inherently bad. Sure, some people are assholes...hell, I'm sure there are people out there who think I'm one...but all in all, I think most people are pretty good.

When I think about reunions, my mind always goes back to my 20th high school reunion. It was 2004...a pretty wild year for me, really. I had just come back from Australia and had a sizeable chunk of cash in the bank; I started my own business and was working like a mad man. My best friend was (and still is) a drag queen. We had a running joke about me taking my friend, in drag, to the reunion. I'm pretty sure my class mates, for the most part, would have freaked out. I love to freak people out.

Alas, my friend had a show booked, and as I was single at the time, I went solo. I met up with an old friend, George, at the hotel bar, and we got caught up a bit. After a few drinks, we went in to mingle with the rest of the old crew. I recognized most of the faces...but admittedly had some difficulty with the names. That was a holdover from the great 2002 coma. I had the brain working well...just not completely remapped yet.

Sitting alone, in a corner at the back of the room, was a tall, good-looking blonde gal. Honestly, I only noticed because my friends all kept asking if I had any idea who she was. I've had nothing but bad luck with blondes...so I seem to tune them out. We all wondered if she was with someone, or maybe worked for the hotel...we just had no clue. I'll admit though, she was very attractive. I caught her looking at me a few times and every time I did, she gave me a sly smile.

I have a pretty strict No Blondes Rule. I could write a book on the bad luck I've had with blondes. Sure, it always starts out great...then it goes seriously wrong, quickly. That said, attractive as she was, and while yes, she was staring at me (I'd guessed it was because I was under dressed for the occasion...it was summer, I was wearing shorts, not a tie...go figure), I was not going to go strike up a conversation.

I had taken a seat and was catching up with one of my many former classmates when we noticed the tall, good-looking blonde get up and start walking over to me. With my mind being the weird mess of misfiring neurons that it is, I started wondering WHY she was coming over. Did I know her? Did we used to date? Was she a one night stand? Was she the mother of a kid I didn't know I had? Was she about to serve me a subpoena? What?????? Finally, she was standing right next to, and just smiling. That moment was a combination of curiosity, fear, and intrigue for me.

"You don't know who I am, do you?" she asked. I put my glasses on and gave her a long, intense look...trying to recognize her. Seriously, she was good looking. How could I forget a woman that looked this good? She was tall, great body, great smile, gorgeous eyes, nice tan...damn my brain! Why can't it work like it used to?????? Finally, I had to admit that I, indeed, did not know who she was. I was waiting for a horror story...she's the mother of my kid and I owe some serious back child support, or something along those lines. I was getting ready to explain my coma, the ensuing brain damage, etc. when she said:

"It's me! Tonya! I wanted you to know that the only reason I came here today was to see you! And to say Thank You!"

To say I was stunned would be an underestimation. My damaged brain was trying desperately to form connections. Tonya...Tonya who? Tall, thin, good-looking blonde Tonya...who? When? How did I know her? Then it hit me. It was Tonya S. A gal I knew from junior high and high school. Truly, one of the sweetest people I have ever known. However, Tonya had changed...and how!

Tonya had always been tall. And blonde. That much hadn't changed...but in school, she was also a very big girl. She was well past heavy. She was also strong as a bull ox. I remember in a phys ed class we had together, she could bench press twice what most of the guys could. Being such a big gal, a lot of kids picked on her and made fun of her. Personally, I always thought that was just shitty. I was a short fat kid, with a speech impediment, so I knew firsthand what that was like. By high school, I had discovered amphetamines which had not only helped me slim down, but also helped my speech.
I stammered. Bad. Just like my father. What happens with a person who stammers is, the brain is working faster than the mouth can keep up. Let me tell you, my brain was always going a mile-a-minute...still is. Speed enabled my mouth to keep up with the brain...and I spoke clearly for probably the first time in my life.

Tonya was, however, still a big girl in high school. And kids were still, often, rude to her.

At the reunion, Tonya informed me that she had wanted to say Thank You for all the times I stood up for her. I would never allow anyone to speak ill of her...especially not in my presence. In high school, I had a reputation as a guy who liked to fight. Truth be told, I enjoyed it. I had lots of extra energy thanks to the pills and the insane amounts of Mt. Dew I lived on. I was opinionated and short-tempered...so fighting seemed a natural outlet to me. It also caused me to be expelled for an entire semester my sophomore year. I admittedly smacked a few guys around for talking bad about Tonya.

She really was about the sweetest kid I knew. Soft spoken, always thinking about nice things in life. I won't say we were particularly close...we weren't. I wasn't close with many people then...I'm still not. I play my cards close to the chest in life. Making up for the years that I couldn't speak well, I make up for lost time...I'll talk your ear off! I'll make sure the conversation is interesting...but you won't get close to me. At least most folks won't. But Tonya...she was sweet and had an innocence about her. She was angelic in her own way...and I wouldn't let anyone pick on her. I do remember that. I didn't like anyone making fun of people, especially not for things they can't help. That's just wrong to me.Sure, if someone is malicious or acts out just to get attention, let the mudslinging commence! But if someone appears different just because that's how they are...back off!

To this day, I tend to befriend the underdogs of the world. We're all in that boat at some point, and no one should ever feel alone just because they are who they are.

At that 20 year reunion, I sat and talked with Tonya for probably the better part of an hour or so. She had to leave early, so I walked her to her car. She gave me a series of big hugs and kept telling me how happy she was to see me again. We exchanged phone numbers and email addresses and did manage to keep in contact for a while. But life gets in the way sometimes. Anyone past the age of 30 knows that. It's not an excuse, just a fact of life.

I heard that Tonya died a few years ago. She'd had some health problems...I knew that. But she was always such a positive person. Even the last few times I heard from her, between health problems, family issues, etc., times when she really could've been down...she wasn't.

I keep this photo of Tonya and I, from that reunion...I keep it on my computer. It's backed up on my external hard drive, a few places online, and even on my spare computer upstairs. When I look at it, I'm usually hit with a number of emotions ranging from melancholy to happy. Tonya was one of those people, at least to me, who are a constant reminder of the better things in life. The important things. She reminds me, still, to stay positive, to be grateful for what I have, to be the best I can be. She reminds me to stand up for the little guy, the underdog, the weirdo, the fool, the fat kid, the skinny kid. She reminds me to take the time to explain myself, when necessary and to educate people on the powers of being positive. I miss hearing from Tonya...but she's still with me. Apparently, I stayed with her for a long time too.

Be nice to people. It's not that difficult. And...it pays off in the long run.

"It's nice to be important but it's more important to be nice." - Dave Courtney, British gangster

Nox Boyzzzzzzzz

Allow me to preface this by saying I wish The Nox Boys well. I think it's fantastic that these kids are playing rock and roll. It sounds like they're having fun and I can say, from experience, that they're venturing into territory that will leave them with a lifetime of fond memories and many experiences to draw from in life.  I really hope they sell a million!

That said, I think their sound is, at best, average. That is not an insult, it's merely my opinion. Does my opinion count? To some folks, it does. One of the many things that I do as a freelance writer is write music reviews. I do so because I am asked to do so, and am often compensated to do so. Obviously, some people feel that I have enough knowledge about music to make an informed and educated opinion on the subject. I am regularly sent new releases from independent artists all the way up to receiving advance copies from Sony. Again, this is because some people believe that I know what I'm talking about and also know that I'll be honest. I also have a belief that it is useless to write a bad review. I know what it takes to write, record, mix, master, release, and promote music. It's a lot of work. And, sadly, for most...there is no big pay day.  In today's world, more so than any time in history, recording and releasing music is truly a seller's market populated by artists of varying talents. Numbers no longer equate to popularity. Just because a video on YouTube has been viewed by a large number of people, does not equate to popularity. It just means a lot of people have clicked on it. The song "Chocolate Rain", as of this writing, has over 95 million views. The song is considered, by most, to be a joke. It helps to keep things in perspective. Regarding the value placed on my opinion: when I write a review, it is read by anywhere between 20,000+ paid subscribers and a few hundred thousand different readers of various sites that post and repost my ramblings. I get some interesting emails agreeing and disagreeing with me. It's just nice to know someone is paying attention.

OK, so The Nox Boys...they're a (mostly) teenage band from Pittsburgh who signed to local label Get Hip Records. They have received a good deal of local media attention due to this. Now the question: are they any good? Whew...talk about a loaded question.

Good or bad is a personal opinion and/or perception. I'll leave that out. What they are is a teen band playing their take on 60s garage rock. If you're unsure of what garage rock is, think "96 Tears" or "Louie Louie" or "Strychnine". The music tends to be simple in structure, somewhat poppy, and usually played loud and with abandon. The owners of Get Hip are in a well-known garage rock band called The Cynics. So, it would be safe to say that they know garage rock well. As a distribution company, it would be safe to say that they know what will and won't sell. The market is a mess these days, though, and as always, there are no guarantees. So it's all about promotion.

Show biz has a long tradition of exploiting the varying talents of kids (and yes, teenagers are kids). Long before Miley Cyrus, Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, et al, even long before Annette Funicello, kids in show biz have been exploited. Ever heard of Mozart? Yep. Him too.

Why is this? Simple: seeing a kid perform with some level of talent brings on the "Awwwww, ain't that cute!" syndrome. The late W.C. Fields hated working with kids and dogs for this very reason. It has nothing to do with talent. It has to do with cuteness and upstaging.

I started my rock and roll career as one of those kids. It was fun and very short-lived. Somewhat akin to being a one trick pony. That said, when I first heard about The Nox Boys, I really wanted to like them. The press that I had read about them played up their talents as musicians and songwriters. Gregg Kostelich, of Get Hip Records and Cynics guitarist, was "impressed" by the tones these kids got from his own amp. I've always been impressed by Gregg's tone, so I figured this was definitely worth checking out!

So, I spent Saturday morning listening to everything I could find online by the Boys. I felt let down. No, I didn't hate what they sounded like. I wasn't moved by it either. It sounded very average. It sounded like what it was...a bunch of kids playing garage rock. I wasn't impressed by the live videos or the few "studio" tracks I found. I then posted two of their videos and my opinion, on my Facebook page. Between comments posted and private messages received, the overwhelming consensus was "boring" "derivative" and "sucks". A friend's daughter, who is a personal friend of one of the band members, jumped to their defense. I love this kid like family and I know that she is smart and talented, so I listen to anything she ever has to say. Her mother also joined in (that's what moms do!). They seemed to think that we were picking on the kids. No one was. If anything, we were making fun of the media. Just another case of the media trying to create hype rather than allow it to build on it's own. I think the press misses Beatlemania. You'd think that by now, they'd be over it.

What amazed me was that one of the videos I posted was taken down within minutes of people starting to comment on it. Probably a smart move on the band's behalf. They were booked to play a sold out show at The Warhol that night. The video wasn't exactly great, so it could have been detrimental to the show. Credit where it's due...that was a smart move boys!

My friend's daughter posted a new song by The Nox Boys today, and damned right! I listened to it! Three times. Sadly, I'm still not impressed. While the recording quality was better than what I've already heard, the songwriting and musicianship is still, at best, average. I'm not saying these kids don't have talent. Not at all! I think they do! I think too much attention is being thrown at them right now and they'll never be able to live up to the hype. That's a lot of pressure to put on anyone...especially a kid.

If there's anything that I dislike about The Nox Boys, it's this: I hoped for more. I was wanting, nay expecting, to hear something that would blow my mind. I wanted to take pride in knowing that the city I live in was producing greatness. I was hoping for, honestly, the next big thing. The Bible tell us "What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun." (Ecclesiastes 1:9)...and I understand that. I was merely hoping for maybe louder, brasher, snottier, wittier...something more 'in your face'. I was hoping for something that today's youth could claim as their own. Something their parents would hate...not a sappy bonding moment.

Instead, what I got was a bunch of nice kids from Pittsburgh, playing something similar to what they've already heard.

I am hopeful for the future. This experience could be what this young band needs to push them to experiment. They do know how to play. If they continue, they will only get better. I hope they will learn to listen to criticism as much as praise. If they fall into the trap of allowing people to blow smoke up their collective asses, they're doomed. If they take control of their own destiny, they could well make something of themselves.

So congratulations to The Nox Boys for getting signed. Unfortunately, they probably won't make a ton of money from it. Anyone who knows the industry knows this. But, they should have fun! Congratulations to Gregg at Get Hip for taking the chance on these kids. I think I understand what he was hearing. I just think they can do more. Much more.

Lastly, shame on the media for trying to exploit these kids as something they are not (yet). I'll say it again, I think these kids could be headed in the right direction. Just leave them alone and let them play...and experiment...and create. We don't need "Awwwwwww, ain't that precious!" We already have 'America's Got Talent' for that....and that show sucks. But that's just my opinion.

OK...you've read this far. If you want to hear The Nox Boys, here they are. This is the clip my friend's daughter posted today. It's not bad. It's not great. It is what it is. I DO think they show promise...they're just not there yet.




Lastly, a P.S. to The Nox Boys themselves:

I'm not picking on you. I get what you're doing. I'd wager that you will shine...especially once you come into your own. Keep it up! - MM

What Have I Done?

It's that time of year again. Gigs are sparse. Money is tight. And here I am, at age 47, wondering why the hell I keep doing this.

I love music. Many people say that...but most really don't. They like music. They enjoy music. Music gives them something to listen to other than the crushing silence that would otherwise fill their lives...but they don't love music.  (I'm sure I'll hear lots of arguments about that statement!)

I love music so much that I've pretty much given my entire life to it. That's love. That's devotion. Sure, some people collect records, tapes, CDs, mp3s, whatever...that's not love. That's a hobby. Some folks like to be in a band and book a gig now and then. Yep...that's a hobby. Some folks feel compelled to write music, even if they know that no one will ever hear it...that's love. Love has no guarantees. Love makes you crazy. Love even makes you do some stupid things.

I first performed in front of an audience at age 4. I was scared shitless. I was playing piano in a music recital. Hell, in retrospect, I couldn't play for shit. I was just a cute little kid. Sure...put him on stage. I sat down at the piano, looked at the audience and was ready to shit my pants. Then something magical happened.

I''ve always been a ham. A smart ass. A show off. I did what comes naturally. I acted goofy. I stretched my arms out and cracked my knuckles. The audience laughed. I was hooked. It no longer mattered if I could play or not. I was entertaining them. And I fell in love with that.

I gave up piano a few years after that. It became like work. Why? Because I didn't love playing piano. I loved the entertaining part...but lessons, practicing, studying...wasn't fun at the time. Piano was a restrictive instrument for me. I was stuck there on that stool.

A few years and many instruments later, I found the guitar. It was like finding out that I had arms. And legs. And a voice. I was able to speak through it. I mastered it pretty quickly. I remember taking my guitar to school once, in about 7th or 8th grade, for music class. I will never forget the look on the teacher's face. I was pretty sure I'd be able to WOW my classmates...but a teacher, who had spent her life studying music...that'd be a tough sell. I plugged into my amp, and started to play. The teacher's eyes bugged out and her jaw dropped. I felt validated. I knew then that I would probably do this for the rest of my life.

Fast forward. I played in bands. I played lots of dives and shit holes. I saw that music was literally destroying any chances I had at a normal life. I went to college. Dropped out to play music. Went back to school. Dropped out again. Moved away. Came back. Went back to school. Dropped out again. Kept on playing. It was becoming a vicious cycle.

In 1990, I moved to Pittsburgh. I was going to leave the music behind me. I'd found a job I loved. A career! I sold my car and bought a smaller one. A 2 seater. Tough to lug gear around in that! I sold my basses. I got rid of my giant amplifiers. I pared my guitar collection down to the essentials. What happened next?

I joined another goddamned band.

I couldn't stay away. It was worse than the addictions I'd already kicked. Getting off of amphetamines was a breeze compared to getting away from music. So I did the next best thing. I did both. I worked 40-50 hours a week at my job and I played 3-4 nights a week. Vacations? That was time saved to go on the road. Days off? If I wasn't gigging, I was partying, writing music, or passed out from exhaustion. Family? At that point, it was just me and my auntie...and she was cool with it. She came from musicians. She understood. She told me stories about my great grandfather and his musician buddies.

I left that band, joined another, and another, and finally just formed my own. Things only got worse from there.

My ego got to take over. The music I had been writing for years, that everyone kept saying they loved, now got to be front and center. I took over booking, paying the guys, making sure the PR and the PA were taken care of. I got us into the studio. I got the product out. I handled the legal BS. I had us playing all over the place. Plus I still worked 40-60 hours a week at my day job.

It was 1995 and I took my one and only ever vacation. I went to Arizona. I visited a friend, spent time in the mountains...and went to see bands. And more bands.

 By this point, I'd been asked to join bands all over. I'd been asked to join bands in New York, London, Chicago, Phoenix, and Los Angeles...but I had my own band. So I stuck with it.

We'd had a few releases in the US, one in Europe, and were working on another record. We got fucked over by a producer (sumbitch took the money and ran!) and healed our bruised egos by playing more and more.

I started playing with other acts on the side. A blues singer, a singer from Baltimore, one from Florida, a few in Tennessee...if I was getting paid, off I went! I started playing more down south. The new millennium came and I had found myself in the de facto house band for a major festival, 3 years in a row. I started touring over seas. I was making friends and networking around the globe. I ignored offers from labels large and small. I had it all under control! Plus, I was still working 40-60 hours a week at my job. I had tons of vacation time, and that all went to touring.

We recorded our best selling album ever...and headed to Australia! Why there? A friend was a DJ there. I had originally just planned to visit. He asked if I'd do a few shows. I said sure and brought my bass player along. Our drummer had 2 small kids and couldn't swing it. When my DJ friend asked if I wanted to play a festival...I thought he meant some local street fair or something. What I got was a headlining spot at a huge international festival, playing in front of 8000 people a night, working alongside the likes of Johnny Johnson and The Fabulous Thunderbirds. Life kept getting weirder. At least I didn't have a personal life anymore, so no worries about that.

I came home from that tour, went back to my usual 40-60 hours a week, plus booking the band, gigging, and planning a return to Australia. I was hopping! I ended up quitting my day job, went to Australia for a while, played everything from bars to ballrooms to a festival in front of 60,000 people. Had I made it? Finally?

Maybe not.

I was in my late 30s by this point. Not old, by any means, but feeling every day of it. I came back from Australia with plenty of cash...and started my own business. Now I was gigging, and handling all of the band business, plus my own business. I was working nonstop every day and drinking and partying every night. Personal life? That WAS my personal life!

I was booking another big Australian tour and my health took a turn. I developed a major and recurring throat infection. I had to cancel the tour. No Byron Bay that year. I had to cancel a lot of shows at home too because of the throat problem. Gigs started to slow down. The money wasn't coming in like it used to. I still had my work, so that kept me busy 40-60 hours a week. I started trying to have a social life. I didn't know anything but bars...so that's where I went. We all know how that goes. Lots of brief, intense affairs that ultimately go nowhere.

I went back to the UK for a bit. Came back home. I was coming to terms with impending middle age. I was pretty much alone. I turned 40 with my best friend, enough booze to quell an army and enough cocaine to raise the dead. My health got weirder and weirder and I finally had a breakdown. A few weeks off would do me good, right?

Wrong.

My business suffered. I had to work twice as hard to get half the work. I was OK with that. I like working. Business went up. Business went down. Gigs came and gigs went. My car was stolen (that's what I get for detailing my car!) but I got it back. It cost me a fortune. But I was on an upswing! I'd been writing for a web site in Europe as well as a magazine in Australia. My name was still out there. I'd started recording again...and things were looking good.

Then I had a heart attack. And lost my career. I was fucked.

Slowly, I picked up the pieces. I started doing more freelance writing (it takes real skill to make a tech school computer class sound interesting in a brochure!), some truck driving, and finally met my better half. I started gigging again. Usually just around PA and OH...but it was enough to keep me happy.

Since then, work has been hit or miss. Same with the music. No guarantees in this life. I'm still writing. I'm still gigging. I'm still in some small demand as a musician. The money is long gone. So is the glory. But I'm happy. I'm content. I'm still looking for a regular gig. I'd like to go back out on the road...but probably not until spring. I mean really...who wants to drive all over the place in the snow? Not for that kind of money! Until then, I'll stay home and think of what all I've done...and you know what? I've done a lot...so I guess I really can't complain.

Cut Out Imports

Ha! I bet you think this is going to be some bizarre nationalistic rant about the economy....wrong! It's about records and record shopping.

I've always loved music. My earliest memories involve music. I can still remember the first recording I bought. It was The Beatles' "Hey Jude" release...on 8 track. I bought it at a neighbor's garage sale for a princely sum of 50 cents. That was big money for a 5 year old in 1971. I could have bought a can of soda and a candy bar...or two comic books...but something told me to buy this. I liked it...wasn't completely knocked out...but I enjoyed it.

Until I hit double digits, all I really wanted to listen to was classical music. I liked the big sounds of full orchestras, the auditorium reverb on solo piano recordings, the odd, pinched sounds of the harpsichord on baroque pieces...it was all about sound. Then I discovered Kiss...and Queen. More big sounds...sounds that still stop me in my tracks, especially Brian May's guitar sounds.

Back in those days, the medium of choice for most music fans was the 12", 33 1/3 rpm vinyl record. These were works of art on many levels. For starters, they were big. You could hold it in your hands and know that you had something important enough that a company put some time, effort and money into it. I'd read up on how records were made and I knew that studios were filled with expensive equipment, "engineers" were involved and this obviously cost money. It was obvious that artists created visual works of art when they created the album covers. You'd slide the record out of the sleeve, place it on the turntable and gingerly place the needle at the edge. You'd hear that vinyl hiss and it was your cue to get ready for music!

Record stores were everywhere. I bought my first records at a department store...yes, most department stores had a record section back then. I'd buy them down at Mr. Wiggs, in the Hollywood shopping plaza near our house. I'd look at the racks and racks of records and wonder what each album sounded like. I wanted them all. Except for the pop stuff...or disco. You could tell just by touching them that they were 'wrong'. They felt cheap in comparison to rock, classical, blues, jazz, etc.

Even in the small town where I grew up, we had two record stores at the local mall. We had The Listening Booth (home of one of my first crushes, Janice) and National Record Mart. God, I loved those stores. Rack after rack of records! The smell of shrink wrap, cardboard and vinyl...it was intoxicating to me! All of those records...just waiting to be heard! It was always a dizzying experience for me.

I got into punk rock at an early age via The Ramones. I remember buying one of their early records just because I liked the way it looked. It was cartoonish...but their music was loud, fast and raw. In an unrelated incident, I started playing guitar about six months later. Prior to that, I'd had no inclination to being a musician on either an amateur or professional level. I played piano, some violin, viola, cello, bass, and trumpet...but none really cast a spell on me like guitar eventually did.

Once I started to play guitar, my musical addiction only got worse. My whole world became listening to music and creating my own sounds on guitar (I was never very big on copying other people's sounds). A family friend, Bacon, gave me a copy of The Beatles' "Introducing The Beatles" on VeeJay Records and a very worn copy of Jimi Hendrix's "Electric Ladyland". My mind was completely blown. Recorded within a few years of each other (oh yes, I read all of those jacket notes!) I was amazed at the different sounds. To me, that's what music is all about: sounds. The sounds equated to emotions. I could have cared less about lyrics (that came later). It was like all of the great classical music I'd listened to. Big sounds. The juxtaposition of different instruments playing together. The Beatles were more 'proper' sounding. Hendrix just sounded like an explosion at an insane asylum. I loved them both. Kiss started to release crap (really? a disco song?) so I ignored them and concentrated on The Beatles, as they had more records than almost anyone else. Each album was a new adventure. A dozen or so new songs to lose myself in. Anything was better than the reality of being a sickly fat kid with a speech impediment in a small town in Ohio.

Always a voracious reader, my personal library started to fill up with books on different bands, different musical genres, music history, books about instruments, etc. Oh yeah...it was an obsession. It would have had an impact on my education...except dad offered a deal. A new record for each "A" I got on my report card. School was never difficult for me anyway, so this just sounded like an easy way to get more records. I mowed lawns, shoveled snow, anything to get more records. I would bug our mother to distraction to feed my addiction. I once even sunk as low at to attempt to steal a record. Oh yes...I got in BIG trouble for that episode.

Being a Beatles fan introduced me to a small section in the record stores that most of my friends seemed to ignore: the import section. There were all of these records that were being sold, seemingly, everywhere but the US! There were different covers, different songs, different versions of songs...it was maddening! How could I ever complete my collection??? Why was the British version of "A Hard Day's Night" so much better than the American version? So many questions...so many records...so little time...and money!

The money question was answered by the cut out bin. God, how I loved the cut out bin! Perfectly good records that, for whatever reason, didn't sell well. There would be a slice in the top corner of the record cover...or a small hole punched in that same corner, and the price was reduced to sell. In small town Ohio, I found lots of punk, new wave, 60s rock, folk, blues, etc. in the cut out bins. I always hoped to see "Beatles For Sale" in the cut out bin...but never did. That particular album eluded me for years. It was never in the regular section or the import section. It drove me nuts! What was on that record that the universe didn't want me to hear????

By the time I reached high school, record stores were starting to change. Slowly at first, but they were changing. The records themselves were thinner...lower quality. And there were more and more cassette tapes being sold. Sure, they still had 8 tracks too...but really, who wanted those? I always hated them. The track would always change in the middle of a song...pissed me off to no end! No Mr. Walker, they were NOT Dyn-O-Mite!

Our dad bought one of the first Walkmans around. At around $300, it was a pretty amazing, high quality device for reproducing sound. Odd, I thought, as dad usually listened to some real crap. Banjo music, Celtic stomping, bagpipes, all sorts of weird crap (that I now love!). Why would he want or need to hear this in a high quality format? (a lesson I learned later) A year or so later, a lower quality version of the Walkman was readily available for about $20 and everyone had one. I liked the idea, at first. I could listen to music anywhere. I had a giant boom box too...but let's be honest, those were a drag to haul around. I could stick the Walkman in my inside coat pocket, headphones either on my head or wrapped around my neck, and my bookbag filled more with tapes than books. I had everything on cassette by this point. All of my Beatles, Hendrix, Queen, Rolling Stones, Ramones, Sex Pistols, various ska, punk, classical, new wave, you name it...I had it on a tape in that bag.

By this point, I had a number of friends at the record stores...including my beloved Janice. 10 years older than me and still made my heart skip a beat. AND SHE WORKED IN A RECORD STORE! How cool was that? Anyhoo, my friends at the record stores would often make my day or week by GIVING me promotional copies of new records...for free. FREE! Remember, this was small town Ohio...the Violent Femmes were NOT going to sell many copies there. At least once a week, I'd come home with a stack of new records. This was no small feat as I walked everywhere...and it was a few miles from our house to the mall...and there were hills. Still, I carried those records all the way home, gave them a spin on the turntable and dubbed the tracks I liked onto a cassette for future listening on the Walkman.


The the unthinkable happened. The records, slowly, started to vanish. In their place were shelves and shelves of cassette tapes. I was OK with this...but was already missing the records. And I still hadn't found the "Beatles For Sale" record yet! My sister and one brother had both been suckered into the Columbia Record House catalogue mess. 8 records for 80 cents, or something like it, provided you read the small print and had to buy X number of records at the regular price. I scoured the Columbia House catalogue for "Beatles For Sale" to no avail. I did buy a couple of records through my sister's account: one of them being The Rutles record. I always hated ordering records through the mail. They were usually scratched when you got them.

Around 1983 or so, my buddy Harry at National Record Mart introduced me to a new medium: the compact disc. He played me a Rolling Stones record on CD, and damn if didn't sound like they were right there in the room with you. But, at $20 a pop, compared to $8-10 for a record or $5-10 for a cassette, there was no way they were going to catch on...no matter how good they sounded. I knew then that the average listener didn't want quality...they wanted convenience. Some things haven't changed.

Cassettes were the norm for the next 10 years or so. Sure, some folks bought into the CD fad, and they eventually came down in price. By the time I finally got a CD player in 1998, I had a stack of discs that people had given me. Friends in other bands, friends at record companies, and of course the friends who worked at the so-called record stores (that no longer sold vinyl records)...I had quite a collection of music that I'd never listened to...because I couldn't.

When I started listening to these CDs, I liked the quality...but missed the warmth (and even the hiss) of vinyl. Music had completely gone from a collector's market to a convenience market...and the awful music being promoted by the major labels had only gotten worse. While the digital medium is easier to record and mix in, it loses a lot of the sound. I don't care what any of the great Google experts have to say on the subject, nothing sounds as good as a quality slab of deep-grooved vinyl played on a good turntable with a good stylus and decent-good speakers or headphones.

Record stores, for all intents and purposes had died. Gone were the racks of record albums. Even the shelves of cassettes were gone. It was all CDs...and they too started to die off. The download became king. I recall a commercial for an internet provider and there was an attractive Asian girl saying "Now I can finally download music...like everyone else". That was the death knell to me. "Everyone else". Music was no longer special.

People were downloading everything they could get their hands on...usually for free. Napster, SoulSeek, you name it...there was a way to get it for free. The musicians, songwriters, and even the labels cried foul! But the masses ignored them. Laws were passed. A few people went to court. Yet the downloads continued.  The people killed music. Plain and simple. Music died at the hands of those who claimed to love it.

Record stores have been experiencing a small resurgence. Don't get too excited. Most of what they're selling is old records. Sure, there's millions of hours of great stuff out there to be heard and bought. The prices are generally pretty good too. One trip to Jerry's in Squirrel Hill and you can drop $100 and come home with a good 10 or 20 new (to you) records. But the new releases are still few and far between. Even the indie bands are hit or miss on this resurgence. It's just cheaper to record digitally. Transferring from digital to vinyl is costly and requires a good engineer who knows his/her stuff. And why bother? Anyone can still just download the same song for free. Not a whole lot of incentive out there for the musician, aside from ego. (and yes, that's still intact)

Long gone are the old record stores. Lord knows where Janice is...but I can guarantee you she ain't selling records. She knew her business. She knew all about the records. She could recommend new stuff, old stuff, imported stuff. She was like a friendly drug dealer in a way. Sure, there are folks still selling records...but again, it's old stuff for the most part. It's more like an antique store. There's no cut out bin where you can find some cheap, weird record that no one wants. The whole store is a cut out bin. Imports? Who cares. If you can't find it in the record store, you can download it. For free. It's not special. People feel they deserve it for free. It's dead.

I still haven't bought "Beatles For Sale". I have all of the songs that were on it. I could easily buy a used copy. It just wouldn't be the same. I've had a recurring dream over the years. In the dream, Janice calls me from the old Listening Booth to tell me she found me a mint, unopened copy of "BFS". I run to the store and she gives it to me...and not just the record! Music carries memories with it...or at least it should. Good luck with that today kids. I'm sure you'll have fond memories of that first pirated bootleg you downloaded.

The War On Stupid

Believe it or not, I'm actually serious about this.

I am honestly worried about the state of the world. People are seriously becoming stupid. Someone that you know is probably stupid. You haven't said anything because you're a nice, polite person. That has to end. Stupid people have to be called out and I'll happily tell you why.

Before you think this can't happen here...it can. It's already happening. The state of Queensland government (in Australia...a beautiful place filled with great people) is seriously considering passing laws whereby "the Government can declare any group a criminal organisation without having to present evidence to prove it." The original aim of this is to curtail outlaw biker groups like the Hell's Angels. I have no beef with the Angels, Bandidos, Grim Reapers, Pagans, or any other MC. Rock on brothers and sisters! Rock on! If a person or persons commit an illegal act, they should be prosecuted. But to call any arbitrary group a criminal organization without proof is just bullshit. It's....stupid.

The new Australian government is led by their version of our Tea Party. Ultra right wing conservatives who are incapable of looking forward because they're too busy looking backward. Had Romney won the election, I can almost guarantee you we would be looking at similar laws being passed here. Hell, isn't the NSA bad enough? Imagine the Girl Scouts or any local club you belong to being declared a criminal organization...without proof. It could happen. I'm not being paranoid. I'm watching it happen.

All of this can be blamed on the rich and their corporate entities. Let's face it, they have the money to change whatever the hell they damned well want to. Rupert Murdoch, an evil SOB if there ever was, and his corporate media empire, do a damned fine job of brainwashing the ignorant. Sure, we all laugh about Fox News...but a lot of people watch it and use it as their ONLY news source. These folks believe the whackjobs on there. They believe Jesus was a gun-toting, money lover. And of course, he was white...just like Santa.

Remember all of the states that filed for secession? How about the Republicans trying to pass laws on women's bodies? Yeah...doesn't sound so crazy now, does it? We're all essentially slaves to the corporate world already...and don't even want to admit it. Most of us probably don't even realize it. We've come to a point in time where the corporations run almost everything...and they're not done yet. They won't be finished until the very thought of freedom is a distant memory. What they want is control. Control over our minds and bodies. In their thinking, we are here to serve. Period. If they can keep us babbling on about abortion and gun laws, they can conduct business in DC without anyone watching. They can change our laws for us. And then what? Then we are fucked is what!

War On Christmas? War On Christianity? All media-based scare tactics to keep YOU from seeing the man behind the curtain, paying off the politicians to give him what he wants. And we keep allowing it to happen. That's just more "stupid".

Our kids are stupid. We are to blame for that. Parents should not try to be their kids' friend. Be parents instead....that's what the kids need. Parents make the rules...not kids, not social workers, not the media...parents. Parents need to quit being....stupid.

I can, and probably will go on and on about this...but hear me now, war has been declared. I've had enough of it. I don't want to live in a world where corporate-owned governments can tell me what I can or cannot do, think, eat, drink, say, sleep with, or associate with.  But guess what folks? With all of the STUPID going on...that's where we're headed.

Feel free to join in on the War On Stupid! It's not just mine. It's for ALL of us. If you see someone acting, being, saying, doing, posting STUPID...it's your duty to call them on it. Tell them to quit being STUPID. Take a few minutes to educate them. That's how this war will be won. Fear is based on lack of knowledge. Ignorance is not bliss...it's a deadly force that will destroy the world as we know it. Don't let stupid win.

Bitchathon

I'm grumpy today...so I'll bitch. I probably don't bitch enough...basically because I tend to be a happy, content man. I have problems, just like everyone else - so I usually don't complain. We all tend to bring shit and misery on ourselves.

That said, it's time for a Metzger Bitchathon.

I'm sick. No, I don't mean I have the flu bug going around - although how I've lucked out thus far is beyond me. I have a lot of health problems. Some, I've probably exacerbated, but never asked for in the first place. I have arthritis. I'm half deaf. I'm slowly going blind in my left eye. I have memory problems. I have a bad ticker. In the cold, winter months I am more aware of it. I pay a lot of attention to what my body does and what it's telling me. As part of my heart is quite literally dead meat, it takes a lot more work on the remaining part to do the job. Staying warm and comfortable is a lot of work for the body.

I also suffer from not one but two chronic sleep disorders. For starters, I have chronic obstructive sleep apnea. In short, I tend to stop breathing frequently when I sleep. My body will jerk awake for a split second, usually without me being aware of it. My blood oxygen levels drop to dangerous levels and when I do finally wake up, I feel like I'm on some really bad drugs. I really can't recall ever having a good night's sleep. The docs have tried things like CPAP masks (a torture device if there ever was one) for me but I'm one of the many that they don't work well for. When I use them, I'm prone to night terrors and worse, panic attacks. Once, the power went out in the middle of the night while I was wearing the damned thing and I nearly suffocated. Lots of fun, really. The cause of this sleep apnea is most likely my giant, over sized, constantly inflamed tonsils...which although I've had tonsillitis 40 TIMES, no doctor has ever had the brilliant idea to yank them out. If I EVER have health insurance again, these fuckers are coming out! 47 years of obstructed airway is enough, thanks.

I also have chronic insomnia. I don't mean the typical "I didn't sleep well last night". No sir. There are two main types of insomnia; slow sleep (which means it takes forever to fall asleep) and premature waking (which means waking up before the body is rested). Lucky me, I have both. So, it takes me forever to fall asleep. When/if I do, the apnea kicks in. I lay there suffocating all night, and then my body keeps trying to wake itself up long before the sleep process is finished. Sleep, which most take for granted, is for me, pun intended, a nightmare. If I never had to sleep again, I'd be thrilled. Unfortunately, that ain't an option. Sleep is important for the body. If you've ever tried to function without sleep, you already know this. Now imagine 47 years of it. My sleep disorders put me at high risk for a number of fun little ailments...like heart attacks (had one!), kidney problems, stroke, high blood pressure (got it!), and a whole bunch more. Remember...this is every night for me. Not just once in a while...every night.

A few years back, I went through a much worse than usual patch where during a six week period, I averaged 20 minutes sleep per day. This wasn't a consecutive 20 minutes either. More like 5 minutes here, 10 minutes there. I was a zombie. I took to self-medicating with caffeine and cocaine just to function. Not my best idea.

As it turns out, the coma I was in back in 2002 had seriously screwed up my serotonin levels. Mucho important for sleep! After six weeks of this and a mild psychotic episode, I was hospitalized for 4 days. The first day, I slept for over 20 hours. Mind you, this wasn't restful sleep. The apnea and premature waking insomnia was still there. When it appeared I was sleeping "normally" again, I checked myself out of the hospital, against medical advice.

The docs put me on an antidepressant...and it actually worked! The first night on it, I fell asleep around 11pm and woke around 7am. I felt pretty good. Groggy from my low blood oxygen levels (I'm used to that) but all thing considered, I felt pretty good. Too good to be true usually is. After a week or so, I developed tremors in my arm. Bad ones. I had to keep my hand in my pocket or my arm would just shake. Doc told me to stop the antidepressant IMMEDIATELY. Seems my body was gearing up for a major seizure. Just what I needed. I stopped the pills and my sleep went back to shit.

I've survived two bouts of cancer. I'm too stubborn to let something like that get in my way, so I just dealt with it. Saw the docs as needed. The basal cell carcinoma left me cut up and bloody. Imagine a cut bleeding nonstop for over a week. Now imagine a bunch of them. On my face, chest, and back. When the doc cut away the cancer, that's what I was left with. That and a bunch of pills to take every day. I ruined sheets and shirts but beat it pretty quickly. My 2nd bout, with prostate cancer, was to me, a non-event. The worst part for me was having to go and have blood drawn all the time and having my big, fat Polish doc's finger up my ass every week. Through a miracle, I beat the cancer. It literally just vanished. I'm sure my doc was thrilled to not have to play 'finger puppet' with me anymore.

Back to the coma. I won't go into the where's how's and why's, suffice to say "shit happens". I died for 7 minutes then spent a week or so in a coma. Long story short, I was left with brain damage resulting in short term memory problems. I have little memory of certain parts of my life and I go through an amazing array of rituals to remember things now. Doesn't always work either. My girlfriend and I can discuss something, and two hours later I have no recollection of it. I shrug it off...but this has to be hard on her. I'm really lucky to have her in my life. She's the main reason I rarely bitch. She's a good woman.

In 2007, I had a massive heart attack. I had gone through a seriously bad financial patch and was coming out the other side when it happened. If the heart attack wasn't bad enough, I had no health insurance. I almost had another heart attack when I got the $80,000.00 bill for it. That plus the $600 a month I now had to spend on medicine...talk about fucked.

The pharmacist and my docs worked together and got my medicine costs down to about $200 a month, but with zero income, it still didn't matter. I was lucky enough to have friends and family in the medical field, so I was able to get most of my meds for free for a good while. Finally, the doc took me off of my most expensive meds and my monthly bill was down to about $75. Even just working as a musician and King Of All Things Freelance (writing, photography, truck driving), I was able to swing that.

I worked for 25 years in the MH/MR (mental health/mental retardation) field. I loved it. My 2nd day back to work after the heart attack, I was attacked by a client. I pushed him off of me. His family filed assault charges and after nearly 3 years of harassing the DA and dragging me into court after court, I was found guilty. It had taken me 2 years to find a job in my field again...and I was lucky. My boss at the time was cool with the whole situation. She valued my work, my knowledge, and my years of experience. Two years ago, thanks to our fascist governor, there was a 60% across the board funding cut to our field. The site that I worked at, and worked hard to keep under budget, was closed down. Why? We were too efficient. I spent my last two months there doing my regular work plus trying to find new supports for my clients. I was officially unemployed January 1, 2012. That was two years ago.

I was unemployed for all of 2012. 2013 found me working a temp job doing computer crap for a corporate pharmacy. Not the best job but not the worst. That ended in May. In June, I started working a factory job. It made all of my health problems worse...but I kept at it until a little d-bag with a chip on his shoulder thought he'd make life difficult for me. The physical threats started. I can only take so much. After it was made clear that management wasn't going to do anything, I explained to this little shit stain that I already had one assault charge on my record...a second probably wouldn't make my life any worse. IF I had to go that route, I would make damned sure it was worth it. I thought he was going to shit himself.

The next day, I quit. I could not allow myself to be put into that situation. My life was already a mess, I didn't need to allow myself into a situation that would make it worse. I spent the summer painting houses, offices, and apartments and working as a musician. I had to sell my car. I was getting by.
As fall came along, the work dried up. I had to start selling off gear and some collectibles, as well as working as a musician and writer. The money came in dribs and drabs...enough to keep me afloat. Again, my better half was a Godsend. No unemployment left for me, and I've fought going on disability for years. I feel I can work, so that's what I would rather do.

The holidays came and went. I had been looking at a well-paying holiday party gig and a NYE gig...those would have got me through January, but nope...shit happens. They both fell through. It happens.

 I'm still looking for work...but with a criminal record and a mess of health problems, I'm not exactly the most desirable hire option out there.  I have an amazing resume...and employers are excited at first...until they realize that their company policies won't allow them to hire me.

My arthritis hurts bad these days. Yesterday, I could barely use my left hand. That's really bad for a musician. I don't have a car anymore, so I have to walk most places. Cold weather + arthritis + bad ticker = This Sucks In Too Many Ways.

I'm just about broke. I don't mean "Gosh, money is kinda tight right now"...I mean I have a very small amount of money in the bank and a fuckload of bills eyeballing it like a hungry feral dog. I don't see any income on the horizon. I'm trying to sort out ways to keep the utilities on. Something has to happen soon.

Tomorrow, I'm supposed to play a benefit. I'm not too fucking happy about it either. I feel bad for the guy the benefit is for. I don't know him. From what I understand, he had a seizure and broke his arm...and now can't work. That sucks. Really, it does. But part of me, a very small yet bitter part in the back of my mind asks "WHY DIDN'T ANYONE EVER THROW A BENEFIT FOR ME????" Yeah I know...pity party...world's smallest violin playing sad sad songs for me. I have busted my ass for years...and all I gets the bone. I rarely complain. I find that to be counterproductive. I keep looking for the light at the end of the tunnel...I keep applying for job after job. In the past three months, I've had one call back. Upon hearing about my misdemeanor conviction, they passed. I'm running out of options.

Next week I will be applying for welfare. I'm not happy about this. I have never asked for help before. I will probably be turned down. I will also be looking into filing for disability. I'm close to giving up. I have to file bankruptcy this year. I will probably have to stop playing music for a while. I can't continue to do shows that cost me money. I will keep on writing and writing music. All I have left is that, my girlfriend and her love & devotion to me, our cat and this house. And my friends. And this ashtray...and this paddle ball game....

I don't like to bitch. I don't like to complain. Yeah, I have it rough. So do many. There are lots of folks out there far worse off than I am. But dammit...I'm tired. I'm exhausted. I'm sick. I woke up yesterday morning and was awake until 8:30 this morning. I fell asleep, woke back up at 9:30, fell back asleep til 1. Fell back asleep til 2. I'm cold, exhausted, and feeling miserable. I don't like it. I feel helpless right now...and that's new for me. I wish I could focus right now...but I can't. There's too much going on. My brain won't stop.

If you read all of this....damn. I hope it shows you something. I don't know what...but I'm not you. Reading it back, all I see is a man venting. Sometimes, it's what one needs to do. It will get better.