. . . The drum groove; the laser light show finale exploded into light waves dancing around the drums and drum cage.  Soon the bass guitar, played by Stone himself, rif’d in and joined the drums.  This next bit was where Jake’s band shined.  They were great showmen, but they were better at just being “kick-ass rockers,” as the last issue of Rock Magazine had said, “They share one heart beat.”

This kind of groove; a “kick ass deep pocket groove” of course a truly technical definition, was like loose big pockets in comfortable jeans.  Their music had been called “Zen Rock,” a term coined by a music critic named David Shimmer, who smoked way too much reef, but re-invented the band in the write up from the release party of the album that the JCB was touring now.

“The Murph” was then unleashed to lay down the guitar back-groove “crunch”, of the century. As he did, his cigarettes, one hanging smoldering from his lips, and the next-one-up tucked between his strings at the head of his guitar, the already massive rhythms became even fatter and deeper, drawing musical blood like a arterial gash.  It was a ball peen hammer to the chest.  A heartbeat had no choice but to adjust to the tempo of this groove.

It couldn’t have been a better hand off.  The band built the perfect foundation to the lyric.  Jake’s job, now, especially in the last encore, was to make love to the audience with the microphone as if each audience member was the only one in the room, and screaming for it.

He felt the need building . . . a sexual hunger, the need to let escape, the first words of this, his favorite song in the set.  It was no wonder that performing, when it was right, Jake described in sexual terms. He smiled, and allowed the rhythms being laid down to bring him to the place he wanted to be—and to bring the audience to the place he knew they needed to be.  The crowd held its breath, waiting for the first words.  Jake’s ability to transport an audience was already legendary. He helped them escape to a new world, if only for a moment.

Jake stepped up to the microphone, and looked at the faces in the first few rows. Then he closed his eyes and swayed a bit with the groove.

     For this moment, I know

     I can see it, in you

     That’s the place, we will go

     Until I

                 Scream in you

                 Cry in you

                 Die in you

                 FOREVER.

The audience was breathing in unison, short of breath, a few hundred close to the stage proscenium hyperventilating; Jake continued,

     From this moment, no will

You and I, then until

     Now’s the time we will go

     Until I

                 Lay you down

                 Hold my breath

            Live in you

            FOREVER.

Completely hypnotized; male, female; in unity.  No tragedy and no pain.  Free from life, fear, everything.  A moment away, from struggles and stresses, jobs and problems—every man, woman, child, brought falling into the soul of the song, the singer, and the chorus.

A thousand years

            Take my soul

     All my tears

            Make me whole

     All of me

            All my life

From this moment

From this moment

I know.

FOREVER.

An instrumental break came next, and a drum rif followed by a razor cutting guitar solo, ripping open the wounds and tearing away what was left of the defenses.  The guitar raked over the crowd, leaving them gasping.

Then came a crazy eternal tom run. Down from the high can,  traveling as if through a rack of a thousand toms, through the cross toms to the floor, leading to the moment unexpected to the audience: a planned explosion timed by a tech-sideman triggered by the cross-snare hit, this set off several massive pyro-techniques and lighting effects explosions.  At that very second, when the blast charges fired, blinding, deafening explosions, Drummer Dave’s cross snare against the rim of the giant brass snare-drum, a “rim shot” like a freaking cannon stopped all the hearts in the room.  It was ear splitting loud and amplified through the sound system, almost broke eardrums.  The explosives timed to the exact same moment, the lasers flashed, the “light cannons” aimed right at the audience fired, blinding the already deaf.  It took seven computers, on a trigger time code, working twenty banks of dozens of relays, all on split-second time, triggered by Dave’s rim shot, and a couple of 12 dollar an hour side techs hit the final cue – a complete sound and lighting black out at the very second of the explosions.

The lights . . . out.

The band . . . silent.

The Techs holding their breath for fear their breathing could be heard, in the middle of the pristine silence.  The full back engineer even shut off his board light, thinking he was being lit up like a Christmas Tree, and it might spoil the effect.   The kind of total effect and detail oriented planning that had given the band that extra something. Their crew was one of the best! Jake thought,  it all seemed to go perfectly.

That final drum crack . . . reverberating for what seemed an eternity, echoed through the amphitheater, out of the park and into the streets, bouncing off buildings, street signs, bill boards and echoing and ebbing for miles. The crowd’s collective gasp was audible throughout the amphitheater. The sheer drama of it was incredible.

Stunned, everyone held his or her breath, waiting for what was next.

Then something even more stunning happened, unexpected to everyone. Something so incredible, no one would have believed it was possible. While hearts thumped waiting, as if the world stopped turning; the deafening silence and wonderful darkness from that beautiful dramatic musical break, in that glorious song . . .

Stayed . . .

forever.

Ethiopia has given coffee to the world and now we give back to their farmers through Fair Trade Organic coffee. Enjoy the caramel taste of this medium dark roast and give Ethiopian workers a just wage.

Dark roast coffees offer a balance between a smokey dark roast and a lighter high caff

I have found a really cool coffee roaster.  Plus buying coffee from them, helps their charitable activities, and also we make a little coin on it too.

Let me say, right up front, I would never represent anything that I did not think was the best, so I don’t do much “representing.”  I am a coffee lover as anyone who knows me can attest, and I have been on a lifelong quest for a great coffee roaster, because I really have found that fresh roasted coffee is way better than any of the coffee you buy in stores or in retail coffee companies.

HOW TO MAKE THE BEST COFFEE EVER:

1)     Use fresh roasted whole bean coffee, do not buy coffee pre-ground but grind it only as you intend to use it.

2)     Use a Bur style grinder.  Not the less expensive blade grinder, if possible.  The blade grinders heat up the beans prematurely and leave less robust flavor and can make the resulting coffee a tiny bit more bitter.

3)     Buy FRESH roasted coffee beans, roasted to the darkness that fits your taste, from a company that ships its coffee fresh roasted.  The fresher the better.

4)     Order only what you will use in a couple weeks, and then order again instead of ordering enough to last a month or more.  Coffee has a shelf life once roasted.  Most coffee you buy in the store is already far past that shelf life by the time it even arrives at the store.

5)     Use only filtered, or pure cold water for pressing or brewing coffee.

6)     Coffee drip makers are good.  Or old school percolators.  And believe me different coffee makers taste different.  I have tried many, and it is a “taste subjective” thing.

And finally, the final set of tips for the best cup of coffee ever.

Click on the Mystic Monk Coffee link/graphic, they are the best roasters I have found.  Order a nice dark roasted, or medium roasted bean, shipping fresh to you.  Use a bur grinder, and grind the amount you need to make one pot – and grind them to a coarse even grind for using with a coffee press. (grind will vary for other coffee makers).

Instructions for using a french press: I brew with a “coffee press,” because this is just, simply, the best and sweetest way to make coffee, old school great coffee. It is less bitter, more robust and will amaze you. Use filtered water, and heat the water to 195 degrees.  Not hotter, and not colder.  195 degrees! and then using your coffee press, stirring twice during the steeping, Steep for 4.5 minutes, not more and not less, and then press the coffee, and enjoy black, or with cream and sweetener of choice. This method will give you the coffee experience of a life time, and you can enjoy it every time.

The simple pleasures in life that matter most.  A blessing from God himself for those who are God believers, and if you are not a God believer, you may well believe in God after tasting such good coffee, a blessing that only a superior being could provide: a really well roasted and brewed cup of coffee!

P.S.  Mystic Monks have a gift shop on line as well, and also make some of the world’s best tea, for you non-coffee drinkers.  In the gift shop are recording of the monk’s themselves in great chanting form too.  A relaxing experience, listening to beautiful chants by the monks.

The flight,
disguised as freedom.
the end of my dreams,
the sands fall to sand
though the light seems
far from coming.

The sand,
brooding, smothers
the tailings of life,
the moment of judgment,
and the just, fight
the slings of darkness.

The stone,
whipped, guilty, fast,
through the bone of my head,
dividing the beat of my heart
and spread the silence,
final and welcome.

My heart,
cooled down and quiet,
lay down like a virgin,
hopeful for wonder and love,
purged in, the kindle of pain,
blood and endings.

The love,
nurtured, it’s bounty
swings from the rope,
like a king’s feast,
before royalty and slave,
watching and hearing,
keeping and failing,
silent and burning,
deaths arrows sailing,
silent tears from the corner
of my deepest
darkest
grave.

There are many poems, written in the midst of the darkness and the madness.  I’m never sure whether to post them.  But they are real, maybe more real than about anything else I write.  This poem, written in 2001, and others like it, when I read them now sometimes surprise me, give me a feeling of a dark nostalgia.  I don’t go to places like this very often any more, thank God.  I don’t remember writing this one, but I remember more, being in this place for what seemed like eternity each time.  And what seems like a very, very long time ago.   

Warning:  some adult language.

Gibberish, gibberish, makes
no slamming sense.
The words are come.
The words are go.
The patterns of sounds
squeezed into some uniform,
yet naked running through
the dark empty streets.

Dance and say,
fuck yourself, you fuck,
you, master of this castle,
plaster the mantel,
fish for men,
what is a mantel fish?

Watch and wonder,
blunderfully said, Fred,
but spread, and asunder
my words like thunder.

Lingual congruity?
no change
no annuity
standing
at a loss,
is the dead,
boss,
next to
my investment
lay the real cost.

So, bla, bla, bla,
the doctor says ah,
for a change
I stick things into him.

The last vestige
of dignity,
royalty, and
lay down to
rectal trembling,
and my head,
spitting open,
the bones separate,
there in cerebral tomes
the words of hope
I miss the most.

The ghost, I find
that my kind
sublime in my mind,
is in reality, just
a stupid rhyme
but it has a time
as in the empty lines
waits the demon,
like for an “e” ticket ride.

I’m screamin`
and scheme`n
you dogs and pigs,
you see and they
mate, and then what?
A dogpig?
What else?
The demons there
the boxes arrive,
the table scratched
the movers are high,
my head is so full,
god take it away,
fill it with hay, something
anything, any damned thing
that does not fucking think!