Vinyl Painting Connects Music and Art

I was googling connections between art and music when I ran across Daniel Edlen, a portrait painter with a unique medium--vinyl records. Love his work! The YouTube video contains examples of his work and explains the creation process. Enjoy!

Suffering and Art

I found this eloquent portrayal of suffering in the creation of art here on the Art News Blog. There was something so poignant in this little clip--reminded me of Saint Exupery's Little Prince who, if you recall his relationship with the rose, knew something of suffering too.

I don't know that suffering is essential to the making of art, but art always seems to have the power to transform such experiences into something transcendant.

How To Lose Friends and Alienate People

Personal branding has become one of the buzzphrases of the modern marketing lexicon. And while it has its place, it's easy to take the concept too far and lose the personal side of the equation altogether. So where once people were dealing with individuals on a friendship level, now they find themselves dealing with commodities that market themselves relentlessly to everyone in their circle of acquaintances. My social (and social networking) circle comprises a number of musicans, artists, and writers, people whose work often is a major component of their identity. Consequently it's natural for them to engage in a certain amount of marketing in the course of their daily conversations and activities.

But lately I've noticed that the promotion to emotion ratio for many is increasingly tipping in favor of the marketing. Ironically, as businesses go out of their way to put a human face on their brand, and engage people in personal conversations, these personal "brands" seem to be headed in the opposite direction, slamming their contacts with post after post about events, book or cd releases, contests, etc. without so much as a how do you do inserted in between. Worst of all, many of these communications are either generated mechanically or sent out wholesale, further depersonalizing the relationship.

Conversation has become a lost art; people are in continual broadcast mode. Little wonder that societal relations are devolving to a point where polarized groups fire cannons of rhetoric at each other in an unceasing bombardment, and yet appear to be utterly unable to have a reasoned, thoughtful, respectful discussion of issues from a variety of perspectives. That would require listening, and a genuine desire to hear and understand the person on the other side of the table. It would require time. Tweets don't take much time at all.

It's a strange paradox: seems like the more contact social networking enables, the less genuine human interaction there is. And the easier it becomes to see people as mere profiles to target for the next "Brand ME" marketing campaign.

Autumnal equinox
Eternal paradox
Poised between light and dark.
Time to harvest the fruits
Of this year's labors
Into the root cellar of the soul
Storing experience against the unexpected.
The joys sustain us
Seeds of new ventures
Hidden in their juicy flesh.
The sorrows enlighten us
Exposing our frail humanity
To the grace of time's inexorable flow.
Shifting with the seasons
We all unbidden
Dance the circle
Of extremes
Seeking that one
Rare moment
Of equilibrium.

What Really Matters

I lost a friend and bandmate last Tuesday when Terry Peterson, the lead singer for The BluesBusters, passed away unexpectedly. At first, it was hard to believe it was true. Terry had a mischievous sense of humor. Surely this had to be another prank. I kept expecting him to turn up somewhere, saying aw guys, I was only kidding.

But bit by bit reality seeped in and I began to come to terms with the fact that we'll never play another gig together. I'll never get to hear that laugh or see those python boots scoot across the stage again. I'll never get to tease him about not carrying his own tambourine or forgetting the words to a song when an attractive girl in a skimpy outfit feels moved to dance in front of the band.

It's funny the things you remember about people. It's not the things society would consider important. It's little stuff. Human stuff. Like his total delight in pulling off a surprise birthday party for his sweetheart. His joy at the thought of a new grandchild. His volunteering to be "jailed" so he could raise money so sick kids could go to camp. His struggles with congas and cowbells. His ongoing debate about whether or not to grow a beard. His way of ending an outrageous story with "now that's funny, I don't care who you are." How he would break into a totally incongruous version of "What a Wonderful World" during a rehearsal and insist that we could work it into the setlist.

Sad as I feel at his loss, I have to smile, because whenever I picture Terry in my mind, he's smiling. He's smiling, and laughing, and engaging people with a compliment or a hug or some generous gesture, making them feel important and included. Because Terry's greatest gift wasn't singing or writing lyrics or telling jokes, it was caring about other people. And that's the quality we will all miss the most.

Following Your Bliss

At 1:30 in the morning, I'm trundling a dolly full of heavy gear to the back end of the Downtown Disney parking lot while carrying my bass in the other hand. The night was plagued with equipment failures: tuner, mic, buzzing amp. But in spite of it all, we managed to pull off two great sets for an appreciative audience. And I can't remember when I've had more fun playing than the last two nights at the House of Blues Kitchen.

Looking up at the strange gibbous moon in a clear Florida sky, all I can think about is how lucky I am. I get to do something very few people in this world will ever have a chance to experience. I get to put a smile on someone's face or a dance move in someone's feet playing music I love with people I enjoy. And then drive home past palm trees with the sweet night air blowing in the window. For most people, just being here is a vacation they save for years to enjoy. For me, it's daily life.

That's living the dream. That's following your bliss. That's something to be very, very grateful for.

The Healing Power of Music

While listening to the radio on Memorial Day, I happened to hear a caller to Coast to Coast Radio mention this program for Veterans. Musicians in the Milwaukee area donate time to provide guitar instruction as well as guitars to injured veterans. The healing power of creating music seems to be especially helpful to those suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The initiators of the project have acquired non-profit status, and hope to expand the program throughout the country. For more information, visit guitarsforvets.org .

Cigar Box Guitars

The 2009 Cigar Box Guitar Extravaganza will be held at the Flying Monkey Arts Center in Huntsville, Alabama on Saturday, May 30th.  Microwave Dave, Ben Prestage, and Johnny Lowebow are just a few of the performers on the schedule.  If you're in the neighborhood, stop by and see how much amazing music these folks can get out of a box, some sticks, and a few strings.

Just Gotta Vent

Okay, so I get this Federal Jury Questionnaire in the mail. I have 10 days to respond. I put it in a safe place so I won't lose it, forget about it for a week, then spend two more days trying to remember where the safe place was. 

This morning I finally remembered, and went to fill it out like the dutiful citizen I am. Then I read the instructions. It must be filled out with a #2 pencil. I laugh. They've got to be kidding, right? I mean, it's bad enough they're still doing this via snailmail, but seriously, a #2 pencil? I haven't had one of those since I took the SATs, and even if I did, the chances of finding a pencil sharpener are about nil. 

I look through the instruction sheet for an alternative. Certainly in this day and age there's a website you can go to to fill out the form. Or maybe you can use a black marker like they have in voting booths. But no. No alternatives. It's a #2 pencil or nothing: "If a questionnaire is not completely filled out, unsigned, and/or completed with something other than a number 2 pencil, it will be remailed to you for corrective action." Hmmm. I don't like the sound of that corrective action thing. 

After turning the desks in several rooms upside down, and shaking out a variety of containers with pens, markers, crayons, and other assorted implements of construction, I finally locate a badly chewed Dixon Ticonderoga 3/H and fill out the form. I wonder how long it will take them to track me down and send me to pencil reeducation camp? Geez, that might go in my permanent file. 

Seriously, how can we expect even our existing systems, much less anything remotely novel, to function if the government is stuck in this kind of timewarp? And if they insist on retaining their archaic methods because somebody's brother-in-law has a monopoly on electronic score sheets, couldn't they at least include the stinking #2 pencil with the form? Heck, they could foil stamp it with some kind of advertising (AAA BAIL BONDS? The Law Offices of Snipp, Snapp, & Snurr?) and make a buck or two in the process . . . 

Getting Back to Bassics

I had the privilege of attending a bass clinic given by Victor Wooten last weekend at Bass Central in Orlando.  Together with bass player Anthony Wellington, he gave me a whole new perspective on what bass playing . . . no, what being a musician . . . is all about.  The discussion centered on the fact that most players concentrate on notes--are "addicted to notes," as he put it.  He pointed out that notes are just one of many factors that are involved in playing music, and that most instructional materials and techniques ignore many other important elements: space, listening, tone, articulation, groove, etc.  As one who struggles with theory, but loves to play, it was mind-opening and validating.

Following the workshop, I made a point of purchasing his book, The Music Lesson, A Spiritual Search for Growth through Music.  Set in the form of a fable, it covers many of the points he emphasized in the workshop, and explains them in an entertaining and memorable fashion. For me, this book is a keeper.  It's going on my shelf of favorite books, right next to Zen Guitar, to be read and reread when inspiration flags.  

I will never play bass the way Victor Wooten does. My abilities are different.  My background is different.  My choices are different.  If music is a language, my voice is different.  But I think what brings me to the music is not so very different at all.   And I'm grateful to have had the chance for this "music lesson" from a teacher who has something truly fresh to say to all of us who love Music.

Never Too Old to Play

Recently, writer Becky Blanton posed a question in a forum I read regularly. If you had to write your memoir in six words, what would they be?  My response was, "never got too old to play."

One of the catalysts for my answer was this video of Jerrie Thill produced by songwriter/artist Allee Willis.  I first encountered it after listening to a radio feature from Growing Bolder, a media enterprise that presents inspirational stories of older Americans doing interesting things.  The video captivated me. It gave me a role model, a goal to aim for.  

Will I still be laying down basslines when I'm ninety-something?  I sure hope so.  Means I've got about 40 more years to play.  Maybe I'll learn how to solo by then . . .  

Finding Beauty in the Unassuming

When I stepped out my door the other day, I discovered a mushroom had popped out of the ground seemingly overnight. Since my yard can't even seem to grow grass, I was a little amazed that it had the potential for mushrooms. My first whimsical thought was that the fairies had been dancing there. My second thought was to pull out the camera. You never know when you're going to need a good picture of a mushroom. After a little cropping and a photoshop filter or two, it became something expressive, something iconic for me. 

So many times when we think our creativity is blocked, a barren landscape with nothing growing, we're really just overlooking great little ideas that come popping out of nowhere. There's nothing wrong with our imagination. There's something wrong with our focus. We're looking for the big idea, the million dollar baby, and overlooking the fertile growth, half hidden by leaves, that requires nothing more than our attention to become a thing of beauty and a catalyst for creativity. 

For a little while, I think I'll keep the macro lens on, think small, and see what treasures I can find in unexpected places. 

Visual Tool for Songwriters

I happened across a wonderful tool on Alice Hancock's Design blog that might be useful to other songwriters. Wordle is an online program that turns your words into pictures which can then be printed or exported as pdf's.  The frequency of a word's usage determines its size in the visual.  Results can be randomized, or you can customize them by selecting fonts, colors, etc.  I decided to experiment with the lyrics to one of my songs, and then used the graphics to create a video.  Wordles could also be used to generate posters, t-shirts, album covers or whatnot.  And they might prove valuable in providing a visual tool to examine your writing style.  Have fun with it and see what you can come up with!

The Importance of Being Idle

"Idle hands are the devil's workshop."  At least, that's what I remember the nuns telling me when I was young.  Consequently, the overtones of guilt that accompanied time spent daydreaming, imagining, or lazing in the sun destroyed the pleasure of those activities.

But as I've grown older, I've put away foolish proverbs.  Today I shamelessly declare that idleness can be the angels' playground, and is as necessary to cultivate creativity as water is to maintain life.  

We have become a society that emphasizes more and more doing. Even children are frequently shuttled from home to school to sports activities to specialized classes with no time to just be. And just being is an essential part of the creative development our society is going to depend on if we're to remain innovators rather than drones.

I've found my best work comes when I'm not looking for it; when I've put my mind in idle and just let what happens happen.  I'll be noodling around on my guitar with no defined purpose, and whump!  A new song lands on my head fully formed without any apparent help from me. I'll snap some pictures of whatever takes my fancy while I'm out and about (the one accompanying this post was taken while exploring the St. John's River with my bandmates), and next thing I know I have an idea for a new blog post.  I'll take a single silly line that pops into my head as I'm falling asleep and play around with it until it weaves itself into the chapter of a book.  No planning, no direction, no overt effort.  The work seems to want to do itself, disguised as play.

So consider this your invitation to be idle, to explore the no-wake zone.  Let's float down that river with the sun on our backs, open to whatever inspiration may come.  Even if it's just for a day . . .

The Joy of Being Authentic

"The authentic, I said 

breaking the handle of my hairbrush as I 

brushed my hair in 

rhythmic strokes: That’s it, 

that’s joy . . ." 

Denise Levertov, Matins 

There's a lot of advice out there about the right way to do things. As if there was only one right way. As if every marketing solution was outside in. As if with the right picture, the right body language, the right typeface you could leapfrog past the competition and sell a million dollars worth of whatzits to somebody who wouldn't give you a second glance if your twitter background was cobalt rather than cerulean. 

Maybe the pundits are right. But I'm done twisting myself into a knot over it. When push comes to shove, I think the real task is having something authentic to communicate. And making over a product to fit the latest marketing paradigm is like stuffing a hefty lady into a bodyshaper--something absurd is bound to bulge out at the most inopportune time or place. 

Being authentic is an inside job. It doesn't require perfection; In fact, wabi sabi thing that it is, its very flaws are part of what attract us to it. It communicates nakedly from heart to heart in the power of its truth. It creates immediate recognition in the receiver--an "aha!" moment. 

What would happen if instead of carefully micromanaging every aspect of your product to suit the trendiest advice, you gently but ruthlessly stripped away the unnecessary and allowed the authentic to be revealed? 

What is your daughter doing this summer?

Looking for an experience that will make a lifetime difference?  Look into Rock Camps for Girls, programs that encourage girls to create music together and find their own voice.  The movement originated in Portland, but camps are now held in CA, DC, GA, NC, NY, OH, PA, TN, TX, as well as Canada, England and Sweden.  Many areas have started additional camps for women. 

Contact information is available from the Girls Rock Camp Alliance.

The movie is now on DVD and paperback book Rock 'n Roll Camp for Girls: How to Start a Band, Write Songs, Record an Album, and Rock Out! was released last summer.

The Universal Language

                     

A musician friend shared this video with me, and I think it speaks volumes.  We often talk about music as the universal language, but this demonstrates it so clearly.  It's part of some incredible documentary footage put together by Playing for Change, which describes itself as "a multimedia movement created to inspire, connect, and bring peace to the world through music."  A laudable goal, and the movement has certainly provided me with some inspiration. As economic distress reduces the funds available to schools for music programs, and pits different groups against each other, let's think about what micro-movements we might undertake in our own communities to create unity through the language of music.  

In The Pocket

There's a phrase musicians use for a rhythm section that finds the groove and stays there: "in the pocket."  It's a zen thing.  Like being in the zone.  Being the ball.  Once you're there, it's effortless, intuitive.  It just flows.  Getting there isn't quite so easy, though.  It requires practice, confidence, and the ability to make infinitesimal adjustments to rhythm and tempo that bring all the players into alignment with each other.  If you make a conscious effort to make it happen, you lose it almost instantly.  But if you reach out with your heart to the others in the band, feel where they're playing from, the groove catches you all up to a new level of playing, where it's not just a song anymore, it's genuine music.

Life has its "in the pocket" times too--days when everything  just seems to fall into place without any help from us.  Serendipity.  Synchronicity.  Even the traffic cooperates to get us where we need to be right when we need to be there.  It can't be forced any more than a groove can.  But it can be invited by being prepared to do our best, believing that the universe wants to cooperate, adjusting to the changes we encounter along the way, and reaching out with our hearts to those who are along for the ride.