Note to the Reader: This piece is merely a look back at events. It is not meant to stir up any political ire towards the former or current White House Administration. I encourage you to reflect back and if you feel the need to comment on the piece please try your best to keep politics out of it.
I can't remember all of the stupid things I've done as a stunt to get a laugh, growing up. I'm still sketchy, at times, on events I took part of in my time working with the radio station. Any specifics I might have said, on-air, escape me. But I can remember what happened 10 years ago, tomorrow, very vividly. I'm not the only one who can, either. I know, as your reading this, your thoughts are racing back to that day and where you were when you first heard the news and saw all those terrible events unfold, live.
Now, I'm not writing this piece as a way to capitalize on your emotions linked back to September 11th, 2001. Today I woke up and my first thought was, "Wow, has it really been 10 years?" And then my thoughts went racing to not just that day, but other defining moments that stemmed from that one day.
I was a sophomore in high school. It was second period, German I. When I sat down at my seat, close to the door to the room. I remember noticing all my classmates talking about some big event that just happened. Everyone was whispering one way or the other, and even the teacher was talking to a few students specifically about whatever just happened. I think he may have just taken ahold of the classroom when the intercom went off and the principal came over the line. I can't remember the specifics of the message, but I remember him mentioning that two planes had crashed in New York City, but that we should continue to focus on our school work for the day and that teachers should not be watching the news in their classrooms, if they had a television. After that announcement, we didn't do any of what he said. The rest of that period we just talked about what had happened and what we thought was going on. Fourth was my Kansas History class and our teacher had served in the armed forces, I think he may have been National Guard. At that point we had figured out that a plane also went into the Pentagon and he was elaborating on the layout of the structure and how the highest personal was was meant to be placed on the inner most ring for the obvious security reason, but how he knew that some officials had moved their office to the outer most ring because of the windows to the outside world. I can't remember the period but it was my English class that had the TV in the room, and it was on NBC. They had be replaying the second plane crashing into the second building over and over, then they cut to live where the first building was collapsing.
I don't feel I need to explain the rest, mainly for as anticlimactic as it would sound: "Then I went home and watched the news. Then I went to my room and turned on the radio and listened to the news..." I'm not trying to sound insensitive or anything, but it's what we all did that day, my story is no different from that point on. I sat and watched the horror unfold, trying to wrap my mind around that fact that this was all man made. That humans were capable of doing this to each other.
...Wow.
What's amazing was from that, watching people enlist into the military after the attacks. Taking those actions as a call to arms and make right what had just happened. Even more amazingly, watching people I knew answer that call. I had a few friends enlist, knowing full well what was going on in the Middle East. Yet they still mustered up the courage to sign their name on the dotted line. There is absolutely no way I could have done that, ever. Somehow they did. I'm one of the lucky ones who gets to say this: "...and they all came back." I know how privileged I am to get to say that, "they all came back." I know of a couple people who friends went out and didn't come back. Again, couldn't imagine being in that situation.
I started writing this yesterday at about 10a. I had to stop and take some time to get my mind off the subject for a bit because the reality became too much at times. Remembering watching those events live, and now, every channel with their different but similar shows. It's all a bit much at times. I didn't go into too much detail about all the different feelings of fear, hopelessness, and anger that took over me that day because really, I don't have enough time. And really, it's not about me. I shouldn't be so self absorbed with "what do I think about this horrible tragedy? WELL, let me get into the details!" As easy as it is to think back on where I was when I first heard and when I first saw live footage, even as today is a day to reflect, it's important to me to try and not reflect on my own dwelling about 9/11. I'm trying my best to think more about the families affected. Not to make myself sad and have a reason to be down all day, but more to acknowledge the reality of the day.
I'm trying my best here not to end on a 'sum everything up at the end' cliche, here.
"Never forget."
I really think it's impossible for most of us to forget.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Overview of the last week.
I'd like to start off with an apology right off the bat; the very last thing I want to do it write a self-loathing, "oh, whoa is me," feeling sorry for myself blog. It's not my intention to write up something that just all about 'how hard I've had it.' I'm going to try my best to recap the last week as factual as I can with some opinionated commentary, while at the same time, not making it about how bad it's been and how sorry you should feel for me. To be totally honest, this week was full of 'good thing, bad thing, good thing, bad thing, good thing,' and unfortunately ended on 'bad thing.' While some of the 'good v. bad' equally outweigh each other... others do not (like the last bad thing). BUT! This is not about whining and crying about it the events of this last week, or, adventure. It's about looking back and documenting what happened while, at the same time, looking for the very fine grey lining in the clouds.
"Going against the grain is never easy and there are always obstacles, but it's almost always worth it. Overcome and conquer." - M. Hain
This adventure started before I had even left to scout out Austin. Leading up to leaving on Monday I had been using an apartment search engine to look for a place to live, the problem I was running into was finding something affordable while in a good part of town (if I even knew where that was), and relatively close to UT or even downtown Austin. I had found a couple of places and even had set up an appointment but afterwords would read reviews on those apartments and just read horror stories. Now I know that reading reviews do come with a grain of salt, so I had figured that I would just look at them before calling to confirm an appointment. I had also known about Craigslist having a section for people with an extra room looking for help on rent. Austin has a lot of those, it's just all about weeding out the good from the bad (and there were bad ones; One was a house on the south east side, located in a ghetto neighborhood, when I pulled up the mailbox to the house had it's number spray painted on the side. I went up to just say that I saw the place: doors were spray painted, house smelt like dog piss, the 'leasers' were these nasty film wannabe's, one looked like a very unkempt Kevin Smith about two times bigger than me ...surprisingly). There were a lot of emails sent out in this search, for every fifteen emails sent out one would respond. I had finally got in touch with a gentleman who had a big condo in downtown that had room for my king size bed and needed furniture to fill the house. We had talked quite a bit, exchanged phone numbers, talked right up until I left town. At the same time that I had been house hunting, I found a couple of ad's from bands looking for a bassist. Just as the condo owner, one band I had talked to right up until I had left Wichita. The other band I had contacted and I think I got a reply around Wednesday.
I arrived at my hotel in Austin at around 7p-ish Tuesday night. When I showed up I texted Nathan (from the condo) and Brent (from the band) with a "Hey, I'm in town. When would be a good time to meet up?" It was about 9p when I left to grab a bite after first arriving in town, I was on the highway when Brent messaged me with "Let's do it now." So I turned around, back to the hotel, grabbed my bass, plugged in the GPS and headed down to the rehearsal space. I met the band and talked for a minute before plugging into their bass rig and jamming and trying to piece together an audition. They were exhausted from the day, I was exhausted from being on the road for nine hours, it sounded like an exhausted rehearsal. After playing for about twenty or thirty minutes we wrapped up because of it being so late and we didn't want to bother neighbors. We talked a little bit and I was left a "call us when you're in town." I got back to my hotel after 11p and notice that Nathan hadn't responded back. That stayed in the back of my mind as I went down for the night. "Dear God, what if I can't find a place?"
I woke up early the next morning. Like my alarm was set for 9a and I woke up at 8a, early. I just couldn't get comfortable with the thought of "what's going to happen? Will Nathan pull through? Will I have a place to live?" I had called at about Nathan at about 10a. In the time leading up to 10a, I had been online looking for other rooms available and had sent out maybe ten emails. When I called Nathan it went to voicemail. I left a message and then sent an email immediately following. I wouldn't hear back from Nathan again. I was 9 hours from home, in a hotel, with all my eggs broken. I spent more time emailing more people and around 11a figured I should get out and get some breakfast and breathe.
I was in Round Rock on my way to a place a friend, who used to live there, recommended for me. Under the IH-35 overpass headed northeast in the left lane on a 4 lane road with my lane continuing in front of me. The car ahead of me turned left after the light turned. I needed to go straight so I continued forward. I don't know what told me to look right at the time, but I was looking at a '03 Chevy Silverado turning toward me. Instinct kicked in and I tried to hit the gas but it was too late. The truck met me on the passenger of the car I was driving and stayed with my from the middle of passenger door to about the middle of the back passenger door. I pulled off and pulled over and got out to talk to the other driver. I asked, and apparently I was in a left turn only lane, he was in a left turn optional. I had missed the signs that said I was in the left only lane that were on the right of the road before the bridge overpass and was also blocked from it by a truck on my right. The damage to the car was only cosmetic, no damage to the interior or door handle. No tickets were issued but it was, legally, my fault.
By the time we had exchanged info, reported it, and left, it was 1p. So ...lunch, now. I had pulled off to another place I had been wanting to visit for a while, but after not being able to reach Nathan and the accident, I was numb. Food just tasted like paste, which was sad because I had been looking forward to visiting that restaurant for a while. I went back to the hotel and just sat there thinking "okay, so ...okay. What happened just now?"
The next 48 hours were of me constantly send out emails, looking up apartments, making calls, setting up appointments, scouting, scouting, scouting.
It was during one of these appointments that I had been contacted by a second band wanting to audition me. They had set up a day long jam session and were pulling in bassists all day to narrow their search down. We set up a time and I showed up. I was introduced to the group and we talked for a bit. They were trying to figure out which person I was and even asked "Are you the dude from L.A.?!" "No ...I'm from Kansas." "Oh..." We talked for a minute and they asked if I had heard their music beforehand. They sent emails out and sent copies of their music for the potential bassist to get familiar with the sound so they could try out a few of their songs with the bassist to fill-in. I was the only one who didn't get songs sent to, and upon hearing that information a silence went over the room. "Okay, um ...I guess we can show you some of the chords and you just fill in what you can." Little did they know that this was my strong point. Listen and play. This was how I learned covers. This was how I first started playing music in bands. This was my in. One of the two guitarists showed me the basic chord structure for one of their songs, after three minutes of him showing me the parts we tried out the song. I could tell I was surprising them with how quickly I was falling into place. I can't really describe the feeling, but when all the other parts of a band are playing a song, in my head, I just know where I need to fill. It's just natural to me. I know I need to go from a F to a C# and back to the F, but I need to fill in with this part and time it with the bass drum kicks for this song. We went over three of their songs and jammed out two. I did my attempt at the Red Hot Chili Peppers version of "Higher Ground" bass line. That bass line is the song. It takes over where Stevie Wonder's organ/keys sound made the song originally. On the RHCP version that's a slap crazy bass line. Lots of moving and funk bass in that and with the right band or group of people of even show has the potential to take a vibe from mediocre to electric if you can land that bass line just right. It all depends on the landing. Off by a little, it's a joke. I couldn't be more on. The drummer was on the back deck smoking a cigarette and came running in as soon as I started that. It was a winner by a long shot, definitely left a lasting impression with the group. We wrapped up and talked for a long time by the car. I told them my story and the crisis I had been dealing with since I rolled into town. One of the singers, Gus, really helped me out with info on where I should look, what side of town, even had a realtor friend who would be able to help me out. Throughout the rest of the house hunting ordeal, Gus would regularly pop into the picture and check in on what progress I had made and gave me his two cents on either I place I was looking at or places I should look to. Even after I found a place (spoiler alert) he told me it was a good find and even told me there was a chance for me to audition again after I moved down.
It was Friday. I had my bags packed and was ready to check out of the hotel. This was the last day, something had to work. Tension was in the air. I either had to find a place or ...find a hotel and give it one more day. (I was out of clean clothes, thats why tension was in the air. Lots and lots of smelly tension) I had a couple of appointments with someone with a room and an apartment, but both places just weren't clicking. That inescapable feeling of 'this isn't good. Hold out. Hold out!' was just knotting up my stomach. I had just left a place and went to a Starbucks to make use of their WiFi. When I had first started looking I had accidentally emailed an apartment realtor and he sent a personal message with a phone number. When I was in Starbucks I saw another ad of his online and figured that he would be my best shot. I called him and introduced myself and he immediately remembered who I was from the week before. I had told him about having a place figured out, then getting to Austin and the owner going MIA and me spending a week in heavy search mode and not finding anything. He told me to meet him immediately and help find me a residency. His name was Louie. Louie is a character in every since of the word. He's bald stout fellow and rocks these thick framed circle glasses. Like looks like a cartoon characters round glasses. Just a goofy, but a genuinely nice fellow. I gave some of my information and what I was looking for. He made a couple calls to some places and asked me some more info. I let it out that I was a musician and he took that information very seriously. I thought he might have been leading me on a bit, but after a while I learned that he was serious. I was a musician and that was important to him for his search. He asked what all I played and made a call.
We found an opening at this place called The Metropolis. I had actually passed by this place once before and it looked funky. It has these 1950's-60's cars sitting on property facing traffic. The cars are bright colors and sort of rusted, so there would be a pink car, blue, green, orange, and behind the cars and fence and in front of the building were these huge metal letters that spelt out 'METROPOLIS.' The buildings are multi-colored as well. Every ten feet or so would be a different color on the building, as well as 'METROPOLIS' painted into the colors. Palm trees out front and around the property. The property looks like an 1960's-70's hotel that should be close to some beach side somewhere. The funky coloring continues inside of the property and even in the rooms themselves. The rooms, multi-colored walls ceiling and floors, all concrete. Jacuzzi bathtub with a huge bathroom. Huge bedroom, living room, everything. We found a 1 bedroom unit, 800ft2, for $625 monthly.
...
Paperwork please!
App fee was paid, Deposit is in the mail and I should get the final word Tuesday about a move in date.
The headache was finally over, I have a place in Austin Texas and the move became that much more real. Time to unclench a bit and head back home. It was 4p when I left which meant it would be 3a before I made it home. Unfortunately, it wasn't the end of my roller coaster.
Dad and I had traded vehicles in order for me to drive Grandma's car that save on fuel mileage. It was about 9:30p-10p when I got a call with "Something catastrophic happened to your truck." Dad was on his way to meet with some co-workers when he pulled onto the highway. In the middle of the acceleration/merging process he experienced a loud explosion. After the explosion he heard knocking and say a trail of blue smoke following him. He was able to pull off the highway and over to gas station's parking lot, about a miles worth of driving before finally stopping. He made mention that he had experienced this before when he was younger and it sounded like the engine had thrown a rod. Usually, before the bearings give on a rod you hear knocking in the engine which is a sign that maintenance needed soon. There were no warning signs. The oil pressure light didn't turn on, there was no knocking noise. He accelerated and then, Boom!
I spent the last five hours of the drive trying to figure out what I had done to be given the ride that I had the last week. Highs and lows that left me just numb. I couldn't be sad, I was just off. I couldn't take anymore emotional turmoil I was just a void.
I made it home after 3a and slept for about seven hours, got up and met with Dad to look at the truck and figure out where the rod came out. The only way throwing a rod can be decently alright is if it's thrown through the oil pan at the bottom of the engine. If that happens there is a possibility of saving the engine. If the rod is thrown anywhere else it has enough force to shoot out, through the engine. We retraced Dads steps in the day light and found no debris. It either didn't come out or was cleared off turning the night. We made it to the truck and inspected the engine. It took a while but we did find the hole ...through the engine. The engine is scrapped.
There are many different ways to look at this. 1) Thank goodness I didn't take it with me this last week. 2) Glad it didn't happened during the move. 3) Glad it didn't happen a week after I had moved down. If it had to happen, 4) glad it happened up here.
The replacement engine could cost up to $4k with labor included. A plan devised is to get a bicycle and continue with the move. It could be up to two months or more to get the truck fixed and either I take the truck back use it in Austin, or sell it and I'll get another vehicle with better fuel mileage. Personally, I'm looking for a motorcycle.
This isn't an essay that ends with a 'glimmer of hope' message. Right now, this is just where I'm at. I made plans, life made plans; we're meeting in the middle somewhere. But the good that comes from this is I continue forward. Big steps were made, few steps were backtracked, but the momentum is still going forward. I'm just hoping that through it all this roller coaster of 'good thing, bad thing, good thing, bad thing' lands back on 'good thing.'
And last's more than five hours, this time.
-Kevin
p.s. please take some time and check out the new apartment I'm moving into at The Metropolis.
"Going against the grain is never easy and there are always obstacles, but it's almost always worth it. Overcome and conquer." - M. Hain
This adventure started before I had even left to scout out Austin. Leading up to leaving on Monday I had been using an apartment search engine to look for a place to live, the problem I was running into was finding something affordable while in a good part of town (if I even knew where that was), and relatively close to UT or even downtown Austin. I had found a couple of places and even had set up an appointment but afterwords would read reviews on those apartments and just read horror stories. Now I know that reading reviews do come with a grain of salt, so I had figured that I would just look at them before calling to confirm an appointment. I had also known about Craigslist having a section for people with an extra room looking for help on rent. Austin has a lot of those, it's just all about weeding out the good from the bad (and there were bad ones; One was a house on the south east side, located in a ghetto neighborhood, when I pulled up the mailbox to the house had it's number spray painted on the side. I went up to just say that I saw the place: doors were spray painted, house smelt like dog piss, the 'leasers' were these nasty film wannabe's, one looked like a very unkempt Kevin Smith about two times bigger than me ...surprisingly). There were a lot of emails sent out in this search, for every fifteen emails sent out one would respond. I had finally got in touch with a gentleman who had a big condo in downtown that had room for my king size bed and needed furniture to fill the house. We had talked quite a bit, exchanged phone numbers, talked right up until I left town. At the same time that I had been house hunting, I found a couple of ad's from bands looking for a bassist. Just as the condo owner, one band I had talked to right up until I had left Wichita. The other band I had contacted and I think I got a reply around Wednesday.
I arrived at my hotel in Austin at around 7p-ish Tuesday night. When I showed up I texted Nathan (from the condo) and Brent (from the band) with a "Hey, I'm in town. When would be a good time to meet up?" It was about 9p when I left to grab a bite after first arriving in town, I was on the highway when Brent messaged me with "Let's do it now." So I turned around, back to the hotel, grabbed my bass, plugged in the GPS and headed down to the rehearsal space. I met the band and talked for a minute before plugging into their bass rig and jamming and trying to piece together an audition. They were exhausted from the day, I was exhausted from being on the road for nine hours, it sounded like an exhausted rehearsal. After playing for about twenty or thirty minutes we wrapped up because of it being so late and we didn't want to bother neighbors. We talked a little bit and I was left a "call us when you're in town." I got back to my hotel after 11p and notice that Nathan hadn't responded back. That stayed in the back of my mind as I went down for the night. "Dear God, what if I can't find a place?"
I woke up early the next morning. Like my alarm was set for 9a and I woke up at 8a, early. I just couldn't get comfortable with the thought of "what's going to happen? Will Nathan pull through? Will I have a place to live?" I had called at about Nathan at about 10a. In the time leading up to 10a, I had been online looking for other rooms available and had sent out maybe ten emails. When I called Nathan it went to voicemail. I left a message and then sent an email immediately following. I wouldn't hear back from Nathan again. I was 9 hours from home, in a hotel, with all my eggs broken. I spent more time emailing more people and around 11a figured I should get out and get some breakfast and breathe.
I was in Round Rock on my way to a place a friend, who used to live there, recommended for me. Under the IH-35 overpass headed northeast in the left lane on a 4 lane road with my lane continuing in front of me. The car ahead of me turned left after the light turned. I needed to go straight so I continued forward. I don't know what told me to look right at the time, but I was looking at a '03 Chevy Silverado turning toward me. Instinct kicked in and I tried to hit the gas but it was too late. The truck met me on the passenger of the car I was driving and stayed with my from the middle of passenger door to about the middle of the back passenger door. I pulled off and pulled over and got out to talk to the other driver. I asked, and apparently I was in a left turn only lane, he was in a left turn optional. I had missed the signs that said I was in the left only lane that were on the right of the road before the bridge overpass and was also blocked from it by a truck on my right. The damage to the car was only cosmetic, no damage to the interior or door handle. No tickets were issued but it was, legally, my fault.
By the time we had exchanged info, reported it, and left, it was 1p. So ...lunch, now. I had pulled off to another place I had been wanting to visit for a while, but after not being able to reach Nathan and the accident, I was numb. Food just tasted like paste, which was sad because I had been looking forward to visiting that restaurant for a while. I went back to the hotel and just sat there thinking "okay, so ...okay. What happened just now?"
The next 48 hours were of me constantly send out emails, looking up apartments, making calls, setting up appointments, scouting, scouting, scouting.
It was during one of these appointments that I had been contacted by a second band wanting to audition me. They had set up a day long jam session and were pulling in bassists all day to narrow their search down. We set up a time and I showed up. I was introduced to the group and we talked for a bit. They were trying to figure out which person I was and even asked "Are you the dude from L.A.?!" "No ...I'm from Kansas." "Oh..." We talked for a minute and they asked if I had heard their music beforehand. They sent emails out and sent copies of their music for the potential bassist to get familiar with the sound so they could try out a few of their songs with the bassist to fill-in. I was the only one who didn't get songs sent to, and upon hearing that information a silence went over the room. "Okay, um ...I guess we can show you some of the chords and you just fill in what you can." Little did they know that this was my strong point. Listen and play. This was how I learned covers. This was how I first started playing music in bands. This was my in. One of the two guitarists showed me the basic chord structure for one of their songs, after three minutes of him showing me the parts we tried out the song. I could tell I was surprising them with how quickly I was falling into place. I can't really describe the feeling, but when all the other parts of a band are playing a song, in my head, I just know where I need to fill. It's just natural to me. I know I need to go from a F to a C# and back to the F, but I need to fill in with this part and time it with the bass drum kicks for this song. We went over three of their songs and jammed out two. I did my attempt at the Red Hot Chili Peppers version of "Higher Ground" bass line. That bass line is the song. It takes over where Stevie Wonder's organ/keys sound made the song originally. On the RHCP version that's a slap crazy bass line. Lots of moving and funk bass in that and with the right band or group of people of even show has the potential to take a vibe from mediocre to electric if you can land that bass line just right. It all depends on the landing. Off by a little, it's a joke. I couldn't be more on. The drummer was on the back deck smoking a cigarette and came running in as soon as I started that. It was a winner by a long shot, definitely left a lasting impression with the group. We wrapped up and talked for a long time by the car. I told them my story and the crisis I had been dealing with since I rolled into town. One of the singers, Gus, really helped me out with info on where I should look, what side of town, even had a realtor friend who would be able to help me out. Throughout the rest of the house hunting ordeal, Gus would regularly pop into the picture and check in on what progress I had made and gave me his two cents on either I place I was looking at or places I should look to. Even after I found a place (spoiler alert) he told me it was a good find and even told me there was a chance for me to audition again after I moved down.
It was Friday. I had my bags packed and was ready to check out of the hotel. This was the last day, something had to work. Tension was in the air. I either had to find a place or ...find a hotel and give it one more day. (I was out of clean clothes, thats why tension was in the air. Lots and lots of smelly tension) I had a couple of appointments with someone with a room and an apartment, but both places just weren't clicking. That inescapable feeling of 'this isn't good. Hold out. Hold out!' was just knotting up my stomach. I had just left a place and went to a Starbucks to make use of their WiFi. When I had first started looking I had accidentally emailed an apartment realtor and he sent a personal message with a phone number. When I was in Starbucks I saw another ad of his online and figured that he would be my best shot. I called him and introduced myself and he immediately remembered who I was from the week before. I had told him about having a place figured out, then getting to Austin and the owner going MIA and me spending a week in heavy search mode and not finding anything. He told me to meet him immediately and help find me a residency. His name was Louie. Louie is a character in every since of the word. He's bald stout fellow and rocks these thick framed circle glasses. Like looks like a cartoon characters round glasses. Just a goofy, but a genuinely nice fellow. I gave some of my information and what I was looking for. He made a couple calls to some places and asked me some more info. I let it out that I was a musician and he took that information very seriously. I thought he might have been leading me on a bit, but after a while I learned that he was serious. I was a musician and that was important to him for his search. He asked what all I played and made a call.
We found an opening at this place called The Metropolis. I had actually passed by this place once before and it looked funky. It has these 1950's-60's cars sitting on property facing traffic. The cars are bright colors and sort of rusted, so there would be a pink car, blue, green, orange, and behind the cars and fence and in front of the building were these huge metal letters that spelt out 'METROPOLIS.' The buildings are multi-colored as well. Every ten feet or so would be a different color on the building, as well as 'METROPOLIS' painted into the colors. Palm trees out front and around the property. The property looks like an 1960's-70's hotel that should be close to some beach side somewhere. The funky coloring continues inside of the property and even in the rooms themselves. The rooms, multi-colored walls ceiling and floors, all concrete. Jacuzzi bathtub with a huge bathroom. Huge bedroom, living room, everything. We found a 1 bedroom unit, 800ft2, for $625 monthly.
...
Paperwork please!
App fee was paid, Deposit is in the mail and I should get the final word Tuesday about a move in date.
The headache was finally over, I have a place in Austin Texas and the move became that much more real. Time to unclench a bit and head back home. It was 4p when I left which meant it would be 3a before I made it home. Unfortunately, it wasn't the end of my roller coaster.
Dad and I had traded vehicles in order for me to drive Grandma's car that save on fuel mileage. It was about 9:30p-10p when I got a call with "Something catastrophic happened to your truck." Dad was on his way to meet with some co-workers when he pulled onto the highway. In the middle of the acceleration/merging process he experienced a loud explosion. After the explosion he heard knocking and say a trail of blue smoke following him. He was able to pull off the highway and over to gas station's parking lot, about a miles worth of driving before finally stopping. He made mention that he had experienced this before when he was younger and it sounded like the engine had thrown a rod. Usually, before the bearings give on a rod you hear knocking in the engine which is a sign that maintenance needed soon. There were no warning signs. The oil pressure light didn't turn on, there was no knocking noise. He accelerated and then, Boom!
I spent the last five hours of the drive trying to figure out what I had done to be given the ride that I had the last week. Highs and lows that left me just numb. I couldn't be sad, I was just off. I couldn't take anymore emotional turmoil I was just a void.
I made it home after 3a and slept for about seven hours, got up and met with Dad to look at the truck and figure out where the rod came out. The only way throwing a rod can be decently alright is if it's thrown through the oil pan at the bottom of the engine. If that happens there is a possibility of saving the engine. If the rod is thrown anywhere else it has enough force to shoot out, through the engine. We retraced Dads steps in the day light and found no debris. It either didn't come out or was cleared off turning the night. We made it to the truck and inspected the engine. It took a while but we did find the hole ...through the engine. The engine is scrapped.
There are many different ways to look at this. 1) Thank goodness I didn't take it with me this last week. 2) Glad it didn't happened during the move. 3) Glad it didn't happen a week after I had moved down. If it had to happen, 4) glad it happened up here.
The replacement engine could cost up to $4k with labor included. A plan devised is to get a bicycle and continue with the move. It could be up to two months or more to get the truck fixed and either I take the truck back use it in Austin, or sell it and I'll get another vehicle with better fuel mileage. Personally, I'm looking for a motorcycle.
This isn't an essay that ends with a 'glimmer of hope' message. Right now, this is just where I'm at. I made plans, life made plans; we're meeting in the middle somewhere. But the good that comes from this is I continue forward. Big steps were made, few steps were backtracked, but the momentum is still going forward. I'm just hoping that through it all this roller coaster of 'good thing, bad thing, good thing, bad thing' lands back on 'good thing.'
And last's more than five hours, this time.
-Kevin
p.s. please take some time and check out the new apartment I'm moving into at The Metropolis.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
"...they're just afriad to Change."
Enough of a developement has happened that I can post an update to the world of followers I have so they can see where my adventure are headed. Or in other words; some shit went down and I can tell you all about it. Take which-ever one you like.
So when I last wrote I was still in the process of finding a new residency; I may have found something. A gentleman who owns a condo has a room open for $500/month, all bills payed. We've talked and he sounds cool, when I head down to Austin this week I'm going to meet up with him and hopefully everything works out and I'll have a roof over my head. It's the condo owner and another roommate, which is good in that it'll force me to be social and get to know where I'm living.
In bigger and (fingers crossed) better news: I may have found a new group to perform with. They are called Aqua Jones (http://facebook.com/aquajonesmusic and http://www.reverbnation.com/aquajones). They did a craigslist ad, not too long after contacting I recieved a call from their guitarist, Brent Merchant, and had a nice conversation about what they're aiming for as total sound and what they're looking for as a potential band mate. This is where it gets good: They own bass equipment from their former bassist, so all I have to do is get down there and audition while I'm down in Austin figuring out living situations (which should be done quickly), and not have to worry about bringing down my own equipment until the actual move around labor day weekend.
I'm scared, excited, anxious and ready all at once. This is a good sounding group and I hope I'm able to bring it full on. They've already have an nicely sized based audience and have toured to some big name gigs, they have a lot of potential ahead of them but are just needing a body to help them move forward. I'm not even kidding myself, this is something I've been looking forward to for a while; a talented group where I can't get away with bringing a half-assed game to. Where I have to keep on my toes and stay fresh to not only fill in, but also bring a presence to an already functioning unit.
I'm learning how to keep an open mind and be every mindful of the events that happen to and around me so that I never miss an opportunity to expand, learn and grow. I'm always thankful of what opportunities I have had, and ones that I will learn in the near future. Never shut yourself off to a new way of thinking, and never limit yourself. In the words of Shannon Hoon: "When your deepest thoughts are broken keep on dreaming, 'cause when you stop dreaming it's time to die (and right now I don't want to die)."
So when I last wrote I was still in the process of finding a new residency; I may have found something. A gentleman who owns a condo has a room open for $500/month, all bills payed. We've talked and he sounds cool, when I head down to Austin this week I'm going to meet up with him and hopefully everything works out and I'll have a roof over my head. It's the condo owner and another roommate, which is good in that it'll force me to be social and get to know where I'm living.
In bigger and (fingers crossed) better news: I may have found a new group to perform with. They are called Aqua Jones (http://facebook.com/aquajonesmusic and http://www.reverbnation.com/aquajones). They did a craigslist ad, not too long after contacting I recieved a call from their guitarist, Brent Merchant, and had a nice conversation about what they're aiming for as total sound and what they're looking for as a potential band mate. This is where it gets good: They own bass equipment from their former bassist, so all I have to do is get down there and audition while I'm down in Austin figuring out living situations (which should be done quickly), and not have to worry about bringing down my own equipment until the actual move around labor day weekend.
I'm scared, excited, anxious and ready all at once. This is a good sounding group and I hope I'm able to bring it full on. They've already have an nicely sized based audience and have toured to some big name gigs, they have a lot of potential ahead of them but are just needing a body to help them move forward. I'm not even kidding myself, this is something I've been looking forward to for a while; a talented group where I can't get away with bringing a half-assed game to. Where I have to keep on my toes and stay fresh to not only fill in, but also bring a presence to an already functioning unit.
I'm learning how to keep an open mind and be every mindful of the events that happen to and around me so that I never miss an opportunity to expand, learn and grow. I'm always thankful of what opportunities I have had, and ones that I will learn in the near future. Never shut yourself off to a new way of thinking, and never limit yourself. In the words of Shannon Hoon: "When your deepest thoughts are broken keep on dreaming, 'cause when you stop dreaming it's time to die (and right now I don't want to die)."
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Two seconds of breathing and then back to it.
I have been doing a horrible job with posting on here. I just have too much on my mind as of late to be on here trying to think up another essay to right. Needless to say, the realities of moving have been getting to me lately. It's excitement mixed in with fear, anxiety, tons of questions, and a little bit of gas, all based at the pit of my stomach. So many "what ifs" are floating around and making me nervous. Right now the mission is get this "where am I going to live" situation figured out.
The apartments I was looking at aren't open until October, even then, it's a question of is anyone going to move out? ...apparently those complexes were a good find, (go me!). But even then the plan was to live there a year in 1br then upgrade to a 2br/2 or 1ba later. So it's not like that option isn't there, just delayed a bit. So now I've been looking for someone offering a room, which is plentiful in Austin. Emails have been sent and some replies have come back.
This week is going to be a busy one: Headed down one last time to Winfield Friday-Sunday afternoon-ish, then head back to Wichita early if Dad and Michelle are coming over for dinner that night. Dentist appointment again on Monday (I'm really not a fan of them... just really too focused on "we don't want to leave you in pain." "...It's just a cleaning. Scrape and Clean!" They just scraped.) Then Austin bound Tuesday-Thursday to either sign an apartment or rent out a room with someone. I'm favoring living with someone because that's going to force me to get out and get acclimated to the environment. But I won't really know what I'm doing until the very last minute, until i get down there.
So that's about it in my book today, here's where I'm at until about the end of the month which is coming faster and faster... AAGH!
-Kevin
The apartments I was looking at aren't open until October, even then, it's a question of is anyone going to move out? ...apparently those complexes were a good find, (go me!). But even then the plan was to live there a year in 1br then upgrade to a 2br/2 or 1ba later. So it's not like that option isn't there, just delayed a bit. So now I've been looking for someone offering a room, which is plentiful in Austin. Emails have been sent and some replies have come back.
This week is going to be a busy one: Headed down one last time to Winfield Friday-Sunday afternoon-ish, then head back to Wichita early if Dad and Michelle are coming over for dinner that night. Dentist appointment again on Monday (I'm really not a fan of them... just really too focused on "we don't want to leave you in pain." "...It's just a cleaning. Scrape and Clean!" They just scraped.) Then Austin bound Tuesday-Thursday to either sign an apartment or rent out a room with someone. I'm favoring living with someone because that's going to force me to get out and get acclimated to the environment. But I won't really know what I'm doing until the very last minute, until i get down there.
So that's about it in my book today, here's where I'm at until about the end of the month which is coming faster and faster... AAGH!
-Kevin
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Limitless.
This is an interview with an artist whom I really like. He has motivated me to look at music and making music in new ways, and has also motivated me to go further than what I thought I could do with everything. To think beyond my own limitations that I put in front of myself. It's a trait we all tend to exhibit. Most of all, he's helped me learn that I shouldn't be too quick to discourage myself. Potential in what you love and believe in is limitless.
This is a blog my sister wrote that I read immediately afterwords. I hope these two things, if you actually can understand the interview, inspire you to stop reflecting on the past and help you better live in the moment.
Aimée Hain's Family Blog Post: I Like Originality
Not quite one of the typical blogs I've been producing lately, enjoy this "highlight reel" of a post.
This is a blog my sister wrote that I read immediately afterwords. I hope these two things, if you actually can understand the interview, inspire you to stop reflecting on the past and help you better live in the moment.
Aimée Hain's Family Blog Post: I Like Originality
Not quite one of the typical blogs I've been producing lately, enjoy this "highlight reel" of a post.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Life Wasted.
The behind the story of the song "Life Wasted" by Pearl Jam. Cited via Wikipedia.org:
"The lyrics for "Life Wasted" were reportedly written about the death of Johnny Ramone and about the feelings one has after driving home from a funeral. In an interview with Rolling Stone, Vedder stated:
If you haven't seen it I'll paint a picture: the scenery is a highway based in the desert, in all different directions you see remains of a post apocalyptic world, charred debris; all weathered by the, not a cloud in the sky, sun. The band is driving through the "remains" in a beat up convertible, all dirtied up and covered by some form of cuts, bruises, bandages, and as the title would lead you to believe; scars. The story of the video is just of the band driving along looking for some form of life and re-piecing together some form of the former life. A visual limbo. At the time of the 1999 Californication release (and the time of the video, of course) the band had just gotten their guitar player, John Frusciante, back who had been suffering from a heroin addiction in his time away, along with front man Anthony Keidis who had suffered a relapse of heroin usage. Up until the '99 release, the band had been falling apart at the seams and all signs pointed towards the band collapsing under the stress of it all. The video was made as a metaphor of that uncertain time; broken, beat, and scarred, they were now back on the road towards an unknown future.
I whenever the mental DJ plays "Life Wasted" again I'm taken back to a rush of feelings all from my time working at Baby Dolls for the three plus years I was there. That place, no matter how I may have portrayed it to family or friends, was just one big roller coaster with the On/Off leaver broken off years ago. There was absolutely nothing healthy about that atmosphere for me. I had "upper management" that absolutely despised me for no explainable reason. Really, nothing never was explained to me what I was doing wrong or what triggered all the negativity, but for some mystical reason I was always looked down on. I put A LOT of my time into making that place an echo of it's former self from ten years prior. I do mean "a lot," most of my friends referred to my time there as "being in a black hole for three years," (the interior walls were covered with mirrors, and because of that phone signal seemed to never come into, or, went out the of club. So there was no communication ever going out to friends, and because of that my list of people I would call friends was diminishing rather quickly.) At three years I had resigned, I actually set a record of being the first manager to just walk away and not be fired... if that isn't alarming in some form, I don't know what is. But the idea was to just walk away, wash my hands of it, and not to burn any bridge; I still had work friends that I would've like to be able to see every so often. I left in July of '10, not quite a year later I came back up to Topeka for NHRA Summer Nationals. At Dolls I had picked up a couple of friends that worked with the NHRA circuit, it was always a fun time when NHRA rolled into town; club was always very busy since it was just a mile north of the track. This year I went up to the track, met back up with the NHRA friends and eventually headed over to Dolls sister club, Club Orleans. It was that night, after I had walked in, that my former "upper management" walked in after my Dad and I. I had tried to give a polite head nod a couple of times to "upper management" but was ignored, both times. Dad and I left and stayed home Saturday with plans to head back up Sunday for finals. Saturday I received a text from a number I had deleted on my last day of work at Dolls, but instantly recognized. I remember thinking "Oh this should be good" when I saw the number. "Don't bother coming back to Orleans." My whole body became hot, I don't think a kind word could have been found within a mile of my thinking, just thoughts of so much negativity that I won't dare retype any of it here or anywhere. I think that a whole ten seconds had passed before I had sent my reply: "alrighty! ;)" (the only insult I could think up, make it sound homoerotic.)
That was about the time the mental DJ started playing "Life Wasted" on heavy rotation. All I could think of was all my time I had... I guess at this point, just thrown away. All the years of stress and work to try and bring that place back to it's former glory it had been years prior. Learning the in's-and-out's of sales and marketing, promotions. Learning how to work an atmosphere, all the times I had thrown my voice out and risked my personal health to make myself and that place a little bit of revenue. Friends and family I had told "oh, I'm sorry, I'm busy working" to, and missed some major occasions because of. And I think most painful of all, missing out of time I could have spend with my grandfather in his last months, weeks, days, hours, minutes. All that time, really, just wasted at this point.
Those feelings have subsided a bit now, but every so often (such as now as I type this) it comes back and just leaves a burning feeling from the pit of my stomach, all the way up to about the middle of my chest. I think of all the animosity I felt on that Saturday, all that negativity that, again, I promise I'm not writing or expressing. But also mixed up with that hurt and animosity, I have this all encompassing, feeling of excitement and hope. Almost as if I'm looking outward and knowing that yes, I had messed up and ended up bloodied up, bruised, and scarred. But, there is still plenty of this highway in front of me, and after straying, I might as well not quit. It's best to just keep going forward. Lessons learned, I'm ready to go. "There's got to be some sign of life out there." A positive that I do take away from my time there is that I did make a few friends that I consider very close, and do wish to keep in touch with. I never know, I could run into them again.
But in the mean time, with the song "Life Wasted" on continuous repeat, the top down, the bandages applied and scars healing, the message right now couldn't be more clear:
"I've have faced it; a life wasted. I'm never going back again.
I escaped it; a life wasted. I'm never going back again.
Having tasted; a life wasted. I'm never going back again."
"The lyrics for "Life Wasted" were reportedly written about the death of Johnny Ramone and about the feelings one has after driving home from a funeral. In an interview with Rolling Stone, Vedder stated:
When you leave that funeral, that drive is as important as any single stretch of road you'll travel on. You've got a renewed appreciation for life. And I think that feeling can last through the day, through the week, but then things start getting back to normal and you start taking this living and breathing and eating thing for granted. I think that song is there to remind you, 'This is that feeling'....The truth is—I'm a little sensitive and this is a close, personal relationship. I'll just say it. Fuck it. Right up front. Half the record is based on the loss of the guy who turned out to be the best friend I ever had on the planet. And that was Johnny Ramone.[1]"This song has been on repeat in my head a lot lately. I feel a lot of different emotions to this song, all stemming from about the same place. I always imagine someone driving, open air, all beat up (much like the Chili Peppers "Scar Tissue" video) just screaming these lyrics, blasting down the highway, onto something bigger, better... almost a new beginning. It's really kind of fitting that I'm brought back to the "Scar Tissue" video when I think of this song, that video had been explained as being a visual representation of where the band was at that time.
If you haven't seen it I'll paint a picture: the scenery is a highway based in the desert, in all different directions you see remains of a post apocalyptic world, charred debris; all weathered by the, not a cloud in the sky, sun. The band is driving through the "remains" in a beat up convertible, all dirtied up and covered by some form of cuts, bruises, bandages, and as the title would lead you to believe; scars. The story of the video is just of the band driving along looking for some form of life and re-piecing together some form of the former life. A visual limbo. At the time of the 1999 Californication release (and the time of the video, of course) the band had just gotten their guitar player, John Frusciante, back who had been suffering from a heroin addiction in his time away, along with front man Anthony Keidis who had suffered a relapse of heroin usage. Up until the '99 release, the band had been falling apart at the seams and all signs pointed towards the band collapsing under the stress of it all. The video was made as a metaphor of that uncertain time; broken, beat, and scarred, they were now back on the road towards an unknown future.
I whenever the mental DJ plays "Life Wasted" again I'm taken back to a rush of feelings all from my time working at Baby Dolls for the three plus years I was there. That place, no matter how I may have portrayed it to family or friends, was just one big roller coaster with the On/Off leaver broken off years ago. There was absolutely nothing healthy about that atmosphere for me. I had "upper management" that absolutely despised me for no explainable reason. Really, nothing never was explained to me what I was doing wrong or what triggered all the negativity, but for some mystical reason I was always looked down on. I put A LOT of my time into making that place an echo of it's former self from ten years prior. I do mean "a lot," most of my friends referred to my time there as "being in a black hole for three years," (the interior walls were covered with mirrors, and because of that phone signal seemed to never come into, or, went out the of club. So there was no communication ever going out to friends, and because of that my list of people I would call friends was diminishing rather quickly.) At three years I had resigned, I actually set a record of being the first manager to just walk away and not be fired... if that isn't alarming in some form, I don't know what is. But the idea was to just walk away, wash my hands of it, and not to burn any bridge; I still had work friends that I would've like to be able to see every so often. I left in July of '10, not quite a year later I came back up to Topeka for NHRA Summer Nationals. At Dolls I had picked up a couple of friends that worked with the NHRA circuit, it was always a fun time when NHRA rolled into town; club was always very busy since it was just a mile north of the track. This year I went up to the track, met back up with the NHRA friends and eventually headed over to Dolls sister club, Club Orleans. It was that night, after I had walked in, that my former "upper management" walked in after my Dad and I. I had tried to give a polite head nod a couple of times to "upper management" but was ignored, both times. Dad and I left and stayed home Saturday with plans to head back up Sunday for finals. Saturday I received a text from a number I had deleted on my last day of work at Dolls, but instantly recognized. I remember thinking "Oh this should be good" when I saw the number. "Don't bother coming back to Orleans." My whole body became hot, I don't think a kind word could have been found within a mile of my thinking, just thoughts of so much negativity that I won't dare retype any of it here or anywhere. I think that a whole ten seconds had passed before I had sent my reply: "alrighty! ;)" (the only insult I could think up, make it sound homoerotic.)
That was about the time the mental DJ started playing "Life Wasted" on heavy rotation. All I could think of was all my time I had... I guess at this point, just thrown away. All the years of stress and work to try and bring that place back to it's former glory it had been years prior. Learning the in's-and-out's of sales and marketing, promotions. Learning how to work an atmosphere, all the times I had thrown my voice out and risked my personal health to make myself and that place a little bit of revenue. Friends and family I had told "oh, I'm sorry, I'm busy working" to, and missed some major occasions because of. And I think most painful of all, missing out of time I could have spend with my grandfather in his last months, weeks, days, hours, minutes. All that time, really, just wasted at this point.
Those feelings have subsided a bit now, but every so often (such as now as I type this) it comes back and just leaves a burning feeling from the pit of my stomach, all the way up to about the middle of my chest. I think of all the animosity I felt on that Saturday, all that negativity that, again, I promise I'm not writing or expressing. But also mixed up with that hurt and animosity, I have this all encompassing, feeling of excitement and hope. Almost as if I'm looking outward and knowing that yes, I had messed up and ended up bloodied up, bruised, and scarred. But, there is still plenty of this highway in front of me, and after straying, I might as well not quit. It's best to just keep going forward. Lessons learned, I'm ready to go. "There's got to be some sign of life out there." A positive that I do take away from my time there is that I did make a few friends that I consider very close, and do wish to keep in touch with. I never know, I could run into them again.
But in the mean time, with the song "Life Wasted" on continuous repeat, the top down, the bandages applied and scars healing, the message right now couldn't be more clear:
"I've have faced it; a life wasted. I'm never going back again.
I escaped it; a life wasted. I'm never going back again.
Having tasted; a life wasted. I'm never going back again."
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Write A Song Out Of It.
Some time ago I wrote a small little collection of chords that formed a decent skeleton of a future tune.
An advantage of owning an iPhone is that not only do you have access to a very organized and 'nifty' Notes application, it also comes with a Voice Memo application. Talk about handy, the only way that I would ever switch is if any other phone comes with an application closely related, if not a 100% copy... that and it's ability to also play iTunes mp4's so Apple doesn't have a monopoly over the iTunes generation of music collectors (also known as 'suckers') but then again iTunes is property of Apple. ...that's another blog.
Back to the opening paragraph: I wrote something that sounded decent. Only two chords and two power chords, sounds good enough to be a verse. I tried piecing together a chorus or a bridge variation, but nothing has taken me as much as this verse structure has.After a while of playing what I had written I grabbed my iPhone and pulled up the Voice Memos (the 2011 version of the tape recorder) and played my guitar piece.
I can't really describe the feelings I was experiencing as I pieced together and played, I can only really describe what I was thinking about: That piece was actually written two weeks (give or take) before tonight over at my former projects rehearsal space. When I wrote it the singer/songwriter I was working with was sitting next to me intently listening to see if it had potential to add to his arsenal. After I had jammed it out and was in the middle of writing it down for future reference, he tried to give me some pointers as to "what he would do with it." "Your bass playing style is very fast. You're playing a lot of notes in the time that we're playing our chords. Try not to apply that same style to the guitar, give the chords sometime to ring out." At the time I took the suggestion with a grain of salt. I thought "that's how you would play it." So I wrote the rest of what I was doing down and closed my phone and didn't bring it up again.
I also thought back to a time several years ago right after the very first band I was with split up. Around the end of the venture our Guitarist/Singer, Ryan, was convinced that our group needed some outside help in the form of a manager. The group maybe had a show every month or so at the time we started working with the person we were looking to "hire on." She had gotten us a couple shows and was very intent on signing us to a contract to her "management firm." I still remember the night she brought over copies of the contract for us to read and eventually sign, it was so full of lawyer and contract lingo that I was having problems wrapping my head around. Just longer and longer nonsense, intentionally confusing, "hereunto" words that were making no since to the situation we were in, and to what aspirations all four of us were wanting to accomplish as a "group (dot dot dot) with (dot) a manager." At some point the question of "where did you get these?" was asked and answered with "I just copied it from online and replaced some titles and names." A copy and paste contract? ...that's a good idea. Jake and I stalled on signing our names on the "contract," which turned out to be a good idea (for another reason than the obvious one): Ryan had met with us less than a week after the "contract negotiation," and told us he was done. He told us that the fire that had motivated him to this point had given out, that he wasn't wanting to go on in the direction that we were headed. His love for the music just wasn't enough anymore. He apologized and then he left. I was very fresh with the group and had just purchased a new bass and sound system for the band, now I was looking at the equipment in Jake's basement asking myself "well, what do I do with this?" I was in the middle of packing when Jake came down and we just stood there, still in shell shock. I looked at him at some point and just said "I'm not done yet. There is no way. This isn't over." The group was done but I wasn't. It was maybe an hour before I got the call from the would be manager of the now former group to inquire about what we were doing. I shouldn't have told her, but I said that Jake and I weren't done and would start another project. I remember her very vividly saying "I'm in. Whatever you're doing I'm with you. You're my meal ticket."
That phrase really bothered me; we hadn't even figured out how we were going to go about replacing the void that was left, much less, when our next show was, and already I had a hand that I had to provide for. It wasn't too much longer after that phone call that I had called her and said that there was no way I would have her tag along. That, in turn, turned into a huge unnecessary fall out between us and her and, for some reason, her boyfriend. The experience left me scarred. After the huge fall out that ensued hours after I had called her back, a friend of mine who argued on my behalf to the would be manager's boyfriend, walked back with me into the bar we were at and held me as I broke down after the fight.
I was hurt. I had just lost a very close friend and almost all hope in his departure, I was trying to deal with the frustration of 'what am I going to do now?' And now, I had just had a show down with people that were counting on me to "be their meal ticket" with a skeleton of a group that had a void in it's line-up and no direction to go to in it's very immediate future; a very intense 24 hours. While he was with me in that very delicate time he told me, "Hold onto this feeling you have right now. This emotion, keep it with you and write a song out of it."
Years later, in the 2 minutes 30 seconds I had recorded that song structure all those memories came back to me in every vivid, excruciating detail. I stopped and listened to what I had just laid down. Whatever feeling I had from then, from Ryan's departure to the point of breaking down from the hurt I felt 24 hours later, has finally started to leave me and manifest itself into this skeleton of a song that is still being written. I can hear it in the song now. The other parts: the rhythm section, lead and harmonics are still floating around. I can hear them, but have yet to figure it out and write it all down. It has taken time for me to learn how to become a better songwriter, how to apply music theory into writing and actually use it, but I finally feel like I've been able to take that experience and all it's emotions and "write a song out of it."
An advantage of owning an iPhone is that not only do you have access to a very organized and 'nifty' Notes application, it also comes with a Voice Memo application. Talk about handy, the only way that I would ever switch is if any other phone comes with an application closely related, if not a 100% copy... that and it's ability to also play iTunes mp4's so Apple doesn't have a monopoly over the iTunes generation of music collectors (also known as 'suckers') but then again iTunes is property of Apple. ...that's another blog.
Back to the opening paragraph: I wrote something that sounded decent. Only two chords and two power chords, sounds good enough to be a verse. I tried piecing together a chorus or a bridge variation, but nothing has taken me as much as this verse structure has.After a while of playing what I had written I grabbed my iPhone and pulled up the Voice Memos (the 2011 version of the tape recorder) and played my guitar piece.
I can't really describe the feelings I was experiencing as I pieced together and played, I can only really describe what I was thinking about: That piece was actually written two weeks (give or take) before tonight over at my former projects rehearsal space. When I wrote it the singer/songwriter I was working with was sitting next to me intently listening to see if it had potential to add to his arsenal. After I had jammed it out and was in the middle of writing it down for future reference, he tried to give me some pointers as to "what he would do with it." "Your bass playing style is very fast. You're playing a lot of notes in the time that we're playing our chords. Try not to apply that same style to the guitar, give the chords sometime to ring out." At the time I took the suggestion with a grain of salt. I thought "that's how you would play it." So I wrote the rest of what I was doing down and closed my phone and didn't bring it up again.
I also thought back to a time several years ago right after the very first band I was with split up. Around the end of the venture our Guitarist/Singer, Ryan, was convinced that our group needed some outside help in the form of a manager. The group maybe had a show every month or so at the time we started working with the person we were looking to "hire on." She had gotten us a couple shows and was very intent on signing us to a contract to her "management firm." I still remember the night she brought over copies of the contract for us to read and eventually sign, it was so full of lawyer and contract lingo that I was having problems wrapping my head around. Just longer and longer nonsense, intentionally confusing, "hereunto" words that were making no since to the situation we were in, and to what aspirations all four of us were wanting to accomplish as a "group (dot dot dot) with (dot) a manager." At some point the question of "where did you get these?" was asked and answered with "I just copied it from online and replaced some titles and names." A copy and paste contract? ...that's a good idea. Jake and I stalled on signing our names on the "contract," which turned out to be a good idea (for another reason than the obvious one): Ryan had met with us less than a week after the "contract negotiation," and told us he was done. He told us that the fire that had motivated him to this point had given out, that he wasn't wanting to go on in the direction that we were headed. His love for the music just wasn't enough anymore. He apologized and then he left. I was very fresh with the group and had just purchased a new bass and sound system for the band, now I was looking at the equipment in Jake's basement asking myself "well, what do I do with this?" I was in the middle of packing when Jake came down and we just stood there, still in shell shock. I looked at him at some point and just said "I'm not done yet. There is no way. This isn't over." The group was done but I wasn't. It was maybe an hour before I got the call from the would be manager of the now former group to inquire about what we were doing. I shouldn't have told her, but I said that Jake and I weren't done and would start another project. I remember her very vividly saying "I'm in. Whatever you're doing I'm with you. You're my meal ticket."
That phrase really bothered me; we hadn't even figured out how we were going to go about replacing the void that was left, much less, when our next show was, and already I had a hand that I had to provide for. It wasn't too much longer after that phone call that I had called her and said that there was no way I would have her tag along. That, in turn, turned into a huge unnecessary fall out between us and her and, for some reason, her boyfriend. The experience left me scarred. After the huge fall out that ensued hours after I had called her back, a friend of mine who argued on my behalf to the would be manager's boyfriend, walked back with me into the bar we were at and held me as I broke down after the fight.
I was hurt. I had just lost a very close friend and almost all hope in his departure, I was trying to deal with the frustration of 'what am I going to do now?' And now, I had just had a show down with people that were counting on me to "be their meal ticket" with a skeleton of a group that had a void in it's line-up and no direction to go to in it's very immediate future; a very intense 24 hours. While he was with me in that very delicate time he told me, "Hold onto this feeling you have right now. This emotion, keep it with you and write a song out of it."
Years later, in the 2 minutes 30 seconds I had recorded that song structure all those memories came back to me in every vivid, excruciating detail. I stopped and listened to what I had just laid down. Whatever feeling I had from then, from Ryan's departure to the point of breaking down from the hurt I felt 24 hours later, has finally started to leave me and manifest itself into this skeleton of a song that is still being written. I can hear it in the song now. The other parts: the rhythm section, lead and harmonics are still floating around. I can hear them, but have yet to figure it out and write it all down. It has taken time for me to learn how to become a better songwriter, how to apply music theory into writing and actually use it, but I finally feel like I've been able to take that experience and all it's emotions and "write a song out of it."
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