radical druid

The Wedding Singer

2009-10-04T22:26:21Z

OK, so I play a lot of weddings. And invariably, the wedding organizers will request that the band play a number of songs at key points in the evening - the bride and groom's first dance, the bride and her father's dance, the groom and his mother's dance, and so on.

Now, I'm all for dancing at these pivotal moments to songs that are special to the dancers (e.g., a song that the bride and her father love, the bride and groom's "song" or a particular song that perfectly captures the way the bride/father, bride/groom, or groom/mother feel at this special time). But ...

1. There are a LOT of really maudlin, overblown, sentimental and let's face it, poorly written and tritely phrased "wedding" songs out there. Most of them, particularly the country music ones, try to illustrate some special bond (between father and daughter, especially) that really only exists in fairy tales, greeting cards, Disney movies and 1950s TV shows. Do you REALLY want this moment (which will be captured on film for eternity, and hopefully will be in your hearts and memories even longer) accompanied by a cheesy, forgettable Hallmark song that usually, if you listen to the lyrics carefully, is more about control and stereotypical gender roles than about true love and the commitment it takes to make a relationship (let alone a marriage) work? How about something timeless? At least something well written? Not something you picked off a popular "Wedding Compilation"? If you're going to pick something (and you have to, because these dances have to occur), if there's not a particular song that is "your" song for this moment, at least pick a great standard - like "What a Wonderful World" or "Can't Help Falling in Love" or "You Are So Beautiful". These songs may be old and moldy, but at least they're well written, succinctly emotional and not overly sentimental, and most wedding bands can execute them passably. Don't pick a song like "When a Man Loves a Woman", because it's not really a happy song, it's about a guy's who's miserable. THINK about the lyrics, because they are speaking FOR YOU at this wonderful time.

2. Speaking of lyrics, most of these songs are written in first person. That is, they are from the point of view of the father letting go of his precious darling, the husband holding on the for the first time, the bride saying goodbye to her dear daddy or hello to her true love, etc. Do you really want these words (and by choosing these songs to represent you at this time, you're saying these words are what you would really like to say) spoken by someone else? In particular, so many of the father-daughter songs seem really inappropriate when sung by someone in the band who is at best an impartial, uninvolved and probably a little uninspired observer of this momentous occasion. If you really mean these words, you ought to be singing them yourself.

3. However, if you can't sing (and since you're dancing, it may be difficult anyway), IF you really love the song, and it really means something to you (both you and your dance partner), why would you want a cover band (who probably first listened to the song on the way to the gig) to blunder through and butcher it for your entertainment? I know you're paying the band for live music, but isn't the importance and poignant nature of this moment worth the price of the band NOT playing one or two songs, and letting the version that touched your hearts in the first place do the talking? I for one as a wedding band member would not be offended in the least if asked to pop in the CD or start the MP3 player.

4. The CD or MP3 player is EXTREMELY important if your song is deep in a particular genre, especially one like country music that probably uses instrumentation, arrangements and studio overdubbing that the live band you've hired cannot possibly duplicate. If they do better than stumble through it, it will be their own arrangement of the song, not the version that you and your dance partner (and/or wedding party) have come to know and love. While it may be sweet that they attempted your request (like Americans visiting Paris who attempt to butcher French at a sidewalk bistro), ultimately you need to put your trust in the interpretation that speaks best to you. It's your call, of course, either way. But if you're going to trust the band for your soundtrack, do the right thing and give them ample opportunity (at LEAST a week, and a copy of the CD would be extraordinarily helpful) to attempt to learn the song.

Just a few thoughts from a wedding band singer whose repertoire (and vocal range) includes Elvis, Louis Armstrong, Joe Cocker, Tim McGraw, the Righteous Brothers and quite a few others but does not, and will never, include Rascal Flatts.

Reflections of a Twentieth Century Bard

2009-10-02T04:19:25Z

After the "Song of Amergin"

I have been a fly on the wall of a corporate meeting
I have been a child lost in snow that drifted roof high
I have been a broke-winged bird, flightless through winter
I have been a prisoner in some Gothic dungeon
I have been a supporter of lost, hopeless causes
I have been a wandering fool, aimless and goal-less
I have been a prodigal son for whom died the fatted calves
I have been a homeless man in cities of great wealth.

I have been a harsh word whispered in a darkened alley
I have been a silver slick carp, no good for the fry pan
I have been a glee-man singer for spare change and train fare
I have been a ragged voice crying in the wildness
I have been a drowsy student of life's strange instructors
I have been a trust fund baby given deceptive means
I have been a reed in the wind blown aside by gale force
I have been a poet stoned with drunk and swollen words.

I have been a teacher of some useful knowledge
I have been a night janitor in the halls of justice
I have been a poor cross-maker, Pharisee and martyr
I have been a young soldier, grown old in the battle
I have been a raging fire made from drenched matches
I have been a quick perceptor without a portfolio
I have been a childhood plowman, tiller of the earth
I have been a knowing victim of victimless crime.

I have been a cold white speck in a snowfall blizzard
I have been a big, loud fish in an empty trout pond
I have been a moving current and the dry of drought
I have been a helpful force to some creative light
I have been a drifting cloud on the face of the sun
I have been a changeling spirit of the moonless night
I have been a watcher of winds that shape the noon sky
I have been a friend of the trees that breathe the earth's air.

Who, more than I, can claim to have been loved?
Who, having also being lost, can with more conviction believe themselves found?
Who else, having for so long lived under a curse of their own making,
Has been more blessed?

29 MAR 2000

The Holy Fool's Lament

2009-09-27T19:23:09Z

for Pietro

My blood is thinned from summer's passion;
where I once could stand
the chill of winter's disposition,
now I am unmanned
by this untimely season;
and the harvest I once sought
I find now sells for such a price
it won't be quickly bought.

So I who once was drowning
in the glow of love, find drought;
and you, who I thought my soul's twin,
decide to do without
what I believed was mother's milk,
and manna from above:
my life as sow's ear, turned to silk
with the touch of your love.

For years I sought you out, I thought
to win love, like a prize;
but found a bitter-sweet reward:
just laughter, in your eyes,
where I found nothing but regret
for all those wasted years
I spent in search of some ideal
to best both lust, and fear.

Such fantasies may feed and grow
but offer nothing real;
they hide what you already know
in shadows, and conceal
the simple truth as your time wanes
in frivolous pursuit,
and as you near the harvest
leave just rotted, bitter fruit.

So what is love? What do I know?
I thought myself immune,
but strangely find September
feels alive and much like June;
and you, who I imagined just
one half of my extreme,
have turned into the one I must
both have and hold, and dream.

27 SEP 2009

Ground Zero

2009-09-17T21:13:44Z

What conversation would you like rejoined,
pretending that no years have intervened
and that the cares we once thought so immense
still weigh in at their same old magnitude,
when those long idle hours spent in talk
with no intent except to measure time
with Prufrock’s gilded set of coffee spoons,
pretending some profundity in words
that seemed so easy then, rolled off the clock
like AWOL soldiers beyond duty’s fence?

What alternate reality would seem
the right place, now, to take up where we left,
imagining somehow the world had stopped
at just that precise moment when we two
in some ungainly ballet both were cast,
commanding neither balance or much grace,
and fumbled blindly at each other’s steps?
The music for that dance has long since stopped.
An awkward silence echoes from the stage
that swallows whole all kinds of might-have-beens.

What conversation that we never had
(at least, aloud in words, in the same room)
needs finishing at this point in our lives?
There is more water underneath that bridge
than fills the seven oceans of the world.
No, if we speak again, let’s talk as friends
who simply compare mileage and confess
no secrets, or regret for past mistakes;
what participles dangle in the mist
are sentences we’ve both served long enough.

17 SEP 2009

High School Reunion Musical

2009-09-14T13:51:06Z

Someone told me once we never grow
beyond the point we turn the age eighteen:
what insecurities we carried then
still manifest themselves throughout our lives.

That makes those speeches every June
(you know the ones that say life's just begun)
much more than naive lies, and still the truth:
depends on just how much you would believe.

I wonder if it's like the weakling boy
who overcomes his limited physique
by spending endless hours in the gym
to change the image in the mirror,
but never runs quite fast enough to flee
the sickly shadow he would leave behind.

Could be the "eighteen" theory's full of shit;
What would the world be if we never grew
beyond the high school notions that we held
to be so absolute and crystal clear?

A playground laid out on a global scale,
with territories marked in black and white,
a constant "them" and "us" dividing up
the haves from the have-nots, and so forth.

We must evolve. I'd like to think we do,
although it often takes ten years or more
to come to terms with who we thought we were
(in contrast with what we had yet to prove).
How many of us reach the other side
with anything but memories left alive?

14 SEP 2009

I do not wish to change the world

2009-09-11T13:51:46Z

I do not wish to change the world;
its own design is near enough
some muddled state of constant flux
that nothing I could add or try
would make much difference in the end.

I do not wish to shape or mold
young minds to fit my own intent;
Ye gods! Imagine them grown up
and emulating my life's work!
Why duplicate such a mistake?

I do not wish to change your mind,
or gain your trust or force your hand;
my own revolt at such nonsense
turns my own stomach into knots;
I can imagine your dismay.

I do not wish to change the world.
I cannot even change my mind
or stay a course for long enough
to make a ripple in a pond;
one moment here, and the next, gone.

11 SEP 2009

Water seeks its own level

2009-09-01T16:47:11Z

Here's a poem I wrote some time back:

"Wherever I look, I see men quarrelling in the name of religion ---
Hindus, Mohammedans, Brâhmos, Vaishnavas, and the rest. But they
never reflect that He who is called Krishna is also called Úiva, and
bears the name of the Primal Energy, Jesus, and Âllâh as well --- the
same Râma with a thousand names. A lake has several ghâts. At one
the Hindus take water in pitchers and call it 'jal'; at another the
Mussalmâns take water in leather bags and call it 'pâni'. At a third
the Christians call it 'water'. Can we imagine that it is not 'jal',
but only 'pâni' or 'water'? How ridiculous! The substance is One
under different names, and everyone is seeking the same substance;
only climate, temperament, and name create differences. Let each man
follow his own path. If he sincerely and ardently wishes to know God,
peace be unto him! He will surely realize Him."-- Sri Ramakrishna
(1836-1886)

Water seeks its own level,
on a quest to find the sea;
The answers we seek taste of metal,
our understanding like liquid drawn from a well
that finds the hard edges
of knowing, the galvanized pail
holding the essence of our being
in one place, in this world.

What is outside this frame of steel,
this skeleton that time binds to this space?
To where are we going?
From where did we come?

What can we know of answers,
we who will be one day poured from this bucket
into the ocean?

What need is there of questions then,
when we are part of the wave?

And to those who are still on the shore, separate,
how shall we describe
what is gained, what is lost?

21 DEC 2004

Face to Face

2009-08-26T14:34:30Z

We reconnect through wireless means -
no strings attached, just memories
like wisps of smoke we can't inhale
without a self-accusing stare.

Like ghosts, we shuffle wall to wall
and watch as life unfolds somewhere,
where we could be, on different paths,
some roads less traveled, others not.

We fondly look in retrospect
at days long gone, and former lives;
our innocence, perhaps, our joy -
some part of us we think now lost.

It's just illusion that we weave,
this semblance of the village square
that in an instant may be gone.
It's really just us, standing there.

And what do we have left say?
Not much. We share our politics,
or random thoughts about the world
that make us feel as if we care

beyond this circle in the dust
of wild electrons spinning 'round
that gives us substance in this mist
and makes us seem alive again.

26 AUG 2009

Gladrags and Cold Bags

2009-08-24T15:47:46Z

Pop Hymes, drummer extraordinaire, Natchitoches fishing legend and general all-around bon vivant, is fond of telling jokes, particularly ones that focus on musicians in some way. For example:

Three guitarists arrive at a studio to audition for a band. The first one is called, goes into a side room and finds the rest of the auditioning band waiting. He does his thing. When he's finished, the listening drummer shakes his said and says, "sorry, man, you've got too much loft."The first guitarist is not sure what that means, but understands the rejection. He returns to the waiting room, and signals the second guitarist to go on in. The second guitarist completes his audition, and this time, the bass player grimaces and shakes his head - "sorry, dude, too lofty." Likewise rejected, the second guitarist confusedly goes back to sit down. The third guitarist finally goes in for his audition. When he's finished, the lead singer says, "Nope. You've got desire, but your performance suffers from loft."At this point, the third guitarist goes back outside and joins the other two previous guitarists, who are waiting to see if any of them got hired. One says, "I don't know what these guys want. They said I had too much loft! What the hell is loft?"The other two guitarists describe their experiences too. None of them can figure out what "loft" is. So they decide to find out. They return together to the audition room and say, "what is loft, anyway?"The drummer shakes his head, laughing. "It's not loft. It's LOFT. Lack of F***ing Talent."

This reminds me of things my father used to say:

"You should probably sing tenor. Ten or twelve miles away."
"Why don't you take a solo? So low we can't hear it."
"You ought to be in Hollywood. The walk would do you good."

And my favorite ...

"You should be on the stage. It leaves in five minutes."

A definition of punk

2009-08-12T18:39:19Z

You know how you can tell if it's REAL punk music? And not stadium punk, pop-punk or some other homogenized derivative? Real punk draws you into thinking and reacting to the world personally, as an individual. Not as one of the lighter-lifting masses, but as a unique voice of dissent. You may be singing the same lyrics as the person next to you, but you're separately digesting their meaning.

@everyone

2009-08-10T23:39:58Z

It's all exposed online, you understand:
my life is more or less an open book:
my birth, my education, then my work,
and shared, too, all too soon, sickness and death.

The details that might make my trip unique
are no more poignant, pithy or sublime
than those comprising your own storyline;
if you want juicy gossip, look within.

This fascination with the small details
that keeps us all so spellbound with delight
as constant updates try, in little bites,
to feed our self-important appetites:

where does it end? And can such urgent lives
except in death expect to find much peace?

10 AUG 2009

Working on a Building

2009-08-07T13:39:07Z

You are what you are because of your past daily habits. Day by day you must make or break your body. You either build it up or tear it down. - Angelo Siciliano (Charles Atlas)

The way we live our lives is not one choice
that made, concludes the match or casts the die
beyond a moment's span or single day.
Like a deep breath once taken, it expires

and needs to be renewed, or else will fail;
and like that ring inscribed "this too shall pass"
that brought a sense of balance to a king:
when happy, knowing there was coming sad,

while in great sadness, finding seeds of joy,
so the decision that we make each day
to sow new life (or increment our death,
as Henry Miller put it so damn well)

determines who we are - not for all time,
but for each precious second of our lives.

07 AUG 2009

Other Colors Besides Black

2009-08-05T15:02:15Z

I often wondered, when I was a goth
(did we have that name back in '85?)
about the downward spiral of the world;
and contemplated shadows, where I thought

the secrets of the universe were kept.
From chiaroscuro, I firmly believed,
a balance quite long-lost could be restored.
But just how deep I thought, I question now;

it could be I was restless, young and bored
with trying to achieve so-called success,
and plotted revolutions in my mind
that would require no real degree of work.

With who I used to be, I'd like to share
a lesson learned from twenty shadowed years:
there are so many colors besides black;
the only limits are imagined ones.

05 AUG 2009

No Time But the Present

2009-08-04T17:40:22Z

Time was when I used to write a sonnet a day - for about two years, if you care to look back through the archives here. I think it's time to kick start that old tradition. You know the saying "There's no time like the present"?

I could pretend that life is fine as is:
an endless string of cloudless, sunny days
that start and end in some exquisite bliss,
a smile that finds my face and somehow stays.

And yet, to just imagine such a place
seems such a boring, pointless waste of time;
to think that at least half the human race
is waiting to retire there, is sublime.

For most can barely make it through a day
without expecting more, right here and now;
Eternity? Quite frankly, there's no way
to even fathom it. I think, somehow,

that what we have right now is all we need.
You use it, or you lose it. Guaranteed.

04 AUG 2009

Blast from the past ...

2009-07-29T16:35:25Z

Thoroughly enjoying listening San Pedro's own Minutemen. Haven't listened to D, Mike and George since, well, since the 80s in San Pedro, remembering how cool it was for punk intellectuals when the skinheads weren't around.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sAmQlXUtcG0