Tickling the Ivories

…writing to figure out what I think

Today’s other important event was the release of Wilco’s new album “Sky Blue Sky.”

Oh maaaan it’s luscious. It’s classic. It’s dance-able. It feels good to listen to. Great guitar work. Hummable, yet inventive melodies. What more of a review do you need?

BUY IT!

… is my album of the week. It is Bruce Springteen’s finest record among his earlier material. I know “Born to Run” has that triumphant vibe to it, but “Darkness…” is so much more fulfilling as a whole—it is more ambitious, proves that Bruce can rip shredding and short, yet high impact, guitar solos, introduces his classic cast of working class characters who work in the factory all day and race cars at night;—what else do i need to say? It’s The Boss being The Boss at its best!

…gathers no moss.
Last night I played in a show at The Mill with Coach Mahler. He has adopted the moniker Wounded Raven over in Oberst-land Omaha, though only for a few open mic nights. The atmosphere at the show was circus-like—not only because of the crazy array of acts that were on the bill, but because the club was packed with people. It was hot in the main restaurant area and it felt good to step into the privileged coolness of the adjoining band member/equipment staging area. The only thing hot about that room was my Twin Reverb amp, which was plugged in to warm up the tubes, because tubes function better when hot.

The Coach and I went on third out of four. I felt slightly guilty about this, especially after I found out the first group traveled from Minneapolis solely for this show. The slight guilt was ratcheted up a notch after they took the stage and proved to be a tight group. Having just learned half of the songs the Coach and I were performing that day, I figured we would not be at all tight. The second act put some much needed separation between us and the openers. Their songs were lyrically akin to 50s Buddy Holly-ish teen bop pop. Their sound, however, was more a mix of grinding and slowed down Ramones punk played on out of tune guitars. The effect was definitely jarring, and a little of their sound went a long way.

After a brief interlude where a DJ, with turntable set up off to the side of the stage, spun a few records, the Coach and I were on. Our performance went about as good as I could have hoped. Whatever uncertainty there was with the songs worked itself out under the spotlights. It’s tough performing in a duo. Unlike a full band, no hiding place exists in a song—more precision is needed. This aspect of performing with the Coach has always made me sweat, but I always try to convince myself that being onstage is no different than plunking around in my livingroom. It’s hard to maintain this illusion in front of a large audience of half-attentive, chattering college students. Yet as the show went on, I found it easier to take risks in the notes I was playing. The Coach’s innate ability to heckle the audience, thereby keeping them involved in a strange dialogue with him, helped me to do this. Coach is a born performer: part trickster and part poet—totally original.

By the end of the night, I remembered why I don’t think I could handle being a regularly working musician. Even though performing is the best way to advance one’s musical ability, I couldn’t take the weird hours for very long. Sometimes it seems that I can gather more benefit from playing alone in my livingroom, with nobody but God to witness my mistakes.