It's late. Not as late in Washington state as it is in Boston, but still. Late enough that all the stars and in fact the broad stripe of the Milky Way itself is just visible. The moon is almost full, which is always -- call me superstitious -- a sign of something. Something is going to happen. Something is going to change.
I don't know what. I hope it's something good.
It'll be a fully full moon by the time we play this week. Thursday - Cambridge, Friday - Brooklyn, Saturday - Manhattan (details here): I'll have one day after returning from this woodsy trip in which to remember how to front a band working to put its passion out into the world (or an assortment of crowded bars, as the case may be) in the form of catchy pop tunes. Heh.
Out here in the Pacific Northwest, between counting stars and admiring madronas, I've been practicing the mandolin with the hope of being ready to play it (like, in front of people) by the end of the month. I almost have our new tune, "A Serious Mistake," learned and up to speed...now I just have to figure out how to play and sing it at the same time.
I'll tell you a secret about that tune. No, two. The first is that the lyrics (and title) were inspired by my favorite childhood book, Outside Over There, by Maurice Sendak. The second is this: the serious mistake is believing you can save anyone's life -- or that anyone can save yours.
I got an initial inkling of this wisdom some time ago from Dresden Dolls singer, Amanda Palmer; I started following her blog when I happened upon the entry from which this passage was snatched:
If only! I don't even have a closet. Anyway. My best unsolicited advice is to play your wonder horn for pleasure only, or maybe every now and then to make sailors wild beneath the ocean moon, if you're any good. But not to call someone back from where they can't return. You'll only get winded.
It's even later now. Must pack. Goodnight moon. (Go easy, eh?)
I don't know what. I hope it's something good.
It'll be a fully full moon by the time we play this week. Thursday - Cambridge, Friday - Brooklyn, Saturday - Manhattan (details here): I'll have one day after returning from this woodsy trip in which to remember how to front a band working to put its passion out into the world (or an assortment of crowded bars, as the case may be) in the form of catchy pop tunes. Heh.
Out here in the Pacific Northwest, between counting stars and admiring madronas, I've been practicing the mandolin with the hope of being ready to play it (like, in front of people) by the end of the month. I almost have our new tune, "A Serious Mistake," learned and up to speed...now I just have to figure out how to play and sing it at the same time.
I'll tell you a secret about that tune. No, two. The first is that the lyrics (and title) were inspired by my favorite childhood book, Outside Over There, by Maurice Sendak. The second is this: the serious mistake is believing you can save anyone's life -- or that anyone can save yours.
I got an initial inkling of this wisdom some time ago from Dresden Dolls singer, Amanda Palmer; I started following her blog when I happened upon the entry from which this passage was snatched:
one of the yoga teachers who was in montana left me with a choice
phrase that keeps reverberating around in my head.
we were in an incredibly long and hard pose, sweat pouring and people
groaning.
he said:
"Don't be fooled. HELP IS NOT ON THE WAY."
everybody cracked up laughing. we all knew what he meant. there is
that fantasy, in every moment of tension and struggle, that help will
magically arrive and make all the pain and suffering go away.
so many people in my life...my agents and managers and engineers and
producers and lawyers and accountants and bandmates, the list goes
on....the airport luggage carriers, the hotel clerks, the
taxidrivers, the people who make my sandwich....they're all helping,
and god knows i need them and they need me to function to
survive....no doubt. but they're not going to save my life, they're
not going to give me any answers, they're down here in the mire with
me, trying to figure this shit out for themselves. wondering, too, if
someone is going to open the door to their bedroom one night and say:
"i know you've been waiting for me for years and i'm finally here.
things have gotten way too out of control, my friend. before we get
to the meaning of life stuff (and believe me, we'll get there) let's
start with something simple, like your closet."
phrase that keeps reverberating around in my head.
we were in an incredibly long and hard pose, sweat pouring and people
groaning.
he said:
"Don't be fooled. HELP IS NOT ON THE WAY."
everybody cracked up laughing. we all knew what he meant. there is
that fantasy, in every moment of tension and struggle, that help will
magically arrive and make all the pain and suffering go away.
so many people in my life...my agents and managers and engineers and
producers and lawyers and accountants and bandmates, the list goes
on....the airport luggage carriers, the hotel clerks, the
taxidrivers, the people who make my sandwich....they're all helping,
and god knows i need them and they need me to function to
survive....no doubt. but they're not going to save my life, they're
not going to give me any answers, they're down here in the mire with
me, trying to figure this shit out for themselves. wondering, too, if
someone is going to open the door to their bedroom one night and say:
"i know you've been waiting for me for years and i'm finally here.
things have gotten way too out of control, my friend. before we get
to the meaning of life stuff (and believe me, we'll get there) let's
start with something simple, like your closet."
If only! I don't even have a closet. Anyway. My best unsolicited advice is to play your wonder horn for pleasure only, or maybe every now and then to make sailors wild beneath the ocean moon, if you're any good. But not to call someone back from where they can't return. You'll only get winded.
It's even later now. Must pack. Goodnight moon. (Go easy, eh?)
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