Exercise in random prattling and how it effects lipstick

I resigned myself to just ramble on every once in a while.  I think we do that.  In our minds these thoughts that bump into each other and scuttle around, we need to give them time to wind down and finally make some kind of order or sense of themselves, like chaos theory only dumbed down a lot so I can understand it.  (Thanks Jurassic Park)  I talked to a good friend tonight and found out he always wanted to be a writer.  I can relate, but it's always the ones you least expect isn't it.  He had a good notion or two and it got me to thinking about some of my own "notions."  Whether or not they were good ones is yet to be seen and is in the eye of the beholder I suppose, but they were notions none the less.  I got to wondering why I had never turned them into more than notions.  My friend too couldn't come up with a good reason why he hadn't pursued his ideas either we both seemed to sit there in dumbfounded silence for a brief moment.  We could go with the usual suspects I guess: pressure of society and fear of failure, no time, etc.  I can only speak for myself of course but those are some big hurdles to clear whether we want to admit to it or not, which I suppose I am admitting to it at this point.  Self-confidence is a bitch you know.  The kind of bitch that stands up real defiant in a bright red dress and bold lipstick and laughs in the face of adversity one minute, then scampers away and hides in another when it gets to be too much.  It's happened to us all, to deny it is to become that scampering bitch I would say, hiding behind a thick globby wall of bullshit and claiming we've never had a moment of doubt in our lives and stand tall no matter what.  Gagith me with thy lipstick.  Writing is a great way to empty the soul out, banish the thoughts to paper and make sense of them.  I figure I may as well get back to doing it and if I have bouts of doubt well... I never looked good in a red dress anyway.  Pastels perhaps... 

And so after much contemplation, precious little of it productive, I decided I would revisit this here blog after a small hiatus, just pour things onto it, and see what comes out...  And here it was...  Some film Noir-ish stuff with a Jurassic Park reference...  Still, could have been much worse.  I could prattle on endlessly about the sorry state of affairs the world is in today, conveniently ignoring the last 12,000 years of human History which were equally ridiculous and troubling for those living in them.  I could rant about the flavor of the week celebrity and his or her recent bouts with substance abuse, random sex (Giggity), and violations of various state statutes or vehicle codes.  I could piss and moan-  Yes, you're right, that's exactly what I'm doing... 

Well, I guess the moral of the story is the whole "don't fear failure, take a risk, blah blah" kind of thing.  We all fail.  I've failed.  As a matter of fact, I've become quite good at it over the years and have come to realize that (and I'm saying this to myself as much as to anyone else) its not so bad, and eventually it goes away so you can do it all over again.  So I shall prattle on and piss and moan and write and sing and play, tra la la.  After all, what's the worst that could happen?  Don't answer that...

it's from Sin City... Its a gal in a red dress.  See what I did there?

Going Away

we put our lives into bags,
we come and go, and all we know,
there's no time to look back

I resolve to see whats in the mirror,
to see every pore, and what is more,
to find solace in all my errors

travellers sizes and fast food lines,
going through the motion and with only some kind of notion,
what we're really supposed to make of our lives

we'll see the other side, when we step off the plane,
we'll know what to share, and when and when not to care,
and always make the most of our time

Mashed Potatoes in Cellophane

Hello friends,

The Constable is a man of many obsessions, some long term and some brief and intense, the details of which, he will spare you...  And now that I have switched from the third person, I bestow upon you the latest of such obsessions:  The Black Keys.

Without boring you with too much of my personal history, I have to say that there have been a few musicians or groups in my life that struck me with an urgent desire to know as much about them and obtain as much of their music as I could.  We've all had that moment of "stop right there, who is this, and what was life like before I heard them," and I had one of these moments with these two gentlemen from Akron Ohio (home of Chrissie Hynde and Devo, whether that's a good thing or not I leave up to the reader, Me?  I'm a fan yes why not).  As a musician, I started in one direction and arrive at forks in the road where a group or artist is standing there, pointing me down another road or in another direction.  I got on the road with Eric Clapton, made a left at Pink Floyd, was ordered to slow down and yield by Howlin' Wolf, and now have stopped at a greasy diner on the side of the road taking in this group.  I admit my chronology is a bit warped, but that's how we discover a lot of music.  Find someone that you enjoy, find their influences, go backwards, etc. etc. blather, blather. 

Anyway, these guys, Dan Auerbach and Patrick Carney, hit me like a brick in the face.  Many of you may remember and relate to when Nirvana came on the scene, and suddenly all the hairspray in the world couldn't stem the transition away from glam-rock stylings to the straight meat and potatoes approach of a revitalized Punk music.  I had a similar epifany to an extent with regards to this music.  The Black Keys, to me at least, represent a kind of intensity and reality, a "down to earth" kind of feel.  They mainly record analog and they have a great rawness to them and a deepy deepy soul thing going.  It's not blues, it's not rock, it's not soul, it's not indie.  It's all of those and none.  I can't put a finger on it really, which may be part of the allure.  Their rhythms are driving and mezmerizing, the melodies are simply haunting, and the music is complicatedly simplistic (see what I did there).

I've hoarded only three of their albums so far, and mostly I want this blog to feature local or regional talent and not so much just kiss the a** of famous people that don't give a rats arse about my review, but these guys, as Van Morrison might say, they stoned me.  I must...  blog...  The first album I managed to get my hands on was Brothers (2010) which is the album that broke them through and got them radio play.  "She's Long Gone" and "These Days" are two of my favorites here but the whole album is great.  It's one of those where you never have to say, "Eh, where's the skip button? How inconvenient that I have to get out of the shower, drip all over the damn place walking over to the $20.00 boom box I brought into the bathroom and placed on the counter after pushing all the various shaving equipment and face creams out of the way, and hit the skip button..."  Yes, that scenario will not occur with this album. 

As with a lot of my music, I work my way backwards.  The next album I managed to snag was Magic Potion (2006).  More magical things on this one too.  (Ha, play on words number 2 for those keeping track.  It's horrible) "Strange Desire" and "Goodbye Babylon" are excellent here.  Great, immediate, and raucus guitar.  Auerbach's tone is fantastic.  He gets a great reverby, nasty, fuzz-faced, driving sound.  (these are all technical guitar player terms of course)

These guys have a great range of influences from the hypnotic bluesman Junior Kimbrough (check him out, "Sad Days, Lonely Nights" and "Lord Have Mercy on Me," if you love the Black Keys, you WILL love Junior) and his contemporary R.L. Burnside, to Linkwray and Captain Beefheart, and everything else from bluegrass to hip hop.  From interviews I've seen, they are also a fan of fast food, but who is not.

Bottom line: I love this band, I will be hoarding their material and obsession over it for a while and emerge from within my inner sanctum (office) a better human being for it. 

Keep on keepin' on dear friends.

Long Rest the Gamblin' Man

My friends in the world of the Blues, we have lost a pioneer and must celebrate his life. 

David "Honeyboy" Edwards at Cat Head Mini-Fest 2010

I speak of David "Honeyboy" Edwards who passed away on August 29th, 2011.  Honeyboy is and was one of the last links we have to the first generation of  bluesmen from the Mississippi Delta.  Walking history, a custodian to the legacy of Robert and Tommy Johnson, Charlie Patton, and countless others he rubbed shoulders with all along the Mississippi from Clarksdale to St. Louis and on up to Chicago.  Honeyboy has joined his contemporaries Big Jack Johnson and Pinetop Perkins, who both passed away earlier this year.  But, let us not dwell on their friends, for they have left us their music and lives and we are enriched for the experience. 

I, (being a spoiled suburban white guy from Illinois) cannot pretend to be any kind of authority on the Blues.  I play the blues, but I am not a "bluesman."  I am merely a humble student of bluesmen, of which Honeyboy certainly was.  He played and traveled the rural Mississippi delta, played with Robert Johnson, was recorded by Alan Lomax for the famous Library of Congress recordings in 1942 (Check out "The Army Blues"), and travelled the path of the Great Migration. Up he travelled along the Big Muddy through Memphis and St. Louis and on to settle in Chicago.  It was in Chicago he would begin a recording career, starting with Who May Your Regular Be in 1951.  He enjoyed a long career and long life, winning two Grammy's:
                                                             Best Traditional Blues Album 2008
                                                             Lifetime Achievement 2010

He wrote a book about his life and experiences, "The World Don't Owe Me Nothing" in 1997 (Chicago Review Press), was featured in Antoine Fuqua's 2004 documentary Lightening in a Bottle, and even had a cameo in the 2007 comedy spoof Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story.

Honeyboy and Big George Brock

I had the pleasure of briefly meeting Honeyboy in 2010 at the Juke Joint Festival in Clarksdale Mississippi.  He was gracious and kind and appeared to really enjoy performing.  He spoke briefly to me and to my boss, Mr. Big George Brock.  They spoke of old times and how, even in their twilight years, neither of them would give up their blues, and continue to perform until they "couldn't anymore."  I stood close by so that I (with no shame of course) could eavesdrop and register in my mind the great experience of seeing these two bluesmen reminisce.  As I listened, giddy as a young school girl (no offense to young school girls) I couldn't help but think I was witnessing a small piece of Blues History.  I soaked in as much as I could, without making a complete goober of myself (no offense to goobers), but I am unsure if I succeeded.  I would have the pleasure of Seeing Honeyboy play on the main stage a year later at the 2011 Juke Joint Festival, which I believe was one of his last performances and I consider myself fortunate. 

So let us think on Honeyboy fondly and keep his music and spirit alive.  The Blues may not be the mainstream medium and at the forefront of the music industry, but sometimes I think it would diminish the spirit of the Blues if it was.  The Blues is the foundation that all other popular music is built on, and men like David "Honeyboy" Edwards were the Masons whose sweat and tears built that foundation.  (Man, how do you like that sentence!  Took me a week)

Farewell for now friends, Keep on Keepin' on.

If you'll permit a prideful photo with some of my heroes