VinceT

Our third week at the Blue Crab, saw us move the open mic from the

[smaller]

bar into the

[larger]

restaurant – and, for most of the night, we filled the room. In total, we had over 20 musicians play during the course of the evening – as Dot Nielson of Gramma’s Attic Promotions would say: “WOW!!!”

A wide range of styles were on show, even including a wandering sax solo

[literally]

Here are just some of the performances from last night – shaky iPhone camerawork by yours truly while sitting at the sound-desk!

Tim Quinn started us off in fine style:

And Noah Feldman was back to share one of his originals:

A new face to the Blue Crab Mic Attack!, Anna Lennard – who, for some reason, I got fixed in my head was called Rebecca (sorry, Anna!):

Talking of new, we were also pleased to host the debut of two young musicians, Nico & Gerard, who did a great job:

Cathy Yuhas debuted a couple of works in progress – IMHO good enough to share here:

And, if you looked carefully at that video, you’ll have seen Bob “the Bass” Mayfield who jammed with most of the performers last night at some point – here he is with the Ian and Dustin Meadows:

Here’s Mark and Dave (and Bob, of course) on one of the rare occasions when Dave wasn’t walking the room, sax-ing it up

[yes, he is Saxy and he knows it]

The Suiter family were back, with the last gig for a while featuring Carl (Dad) and James (Son), as James is heading down to Alabama this Friday – best of luck, James!

And, proving that they have the patience of saints, last up on the bill were Two Reasons:

Also appearing, though not video’d

[apologies, I only have so many hands]

John & Mike, Molly Bowers, Emiro and Jesse McKellan

[who does not play Gandalf in the Lord of the Rings trilogy ]

and, of course, yours truly.

I’ll be taking the night off from the Blue Crab next week, but Noah Feldman has graciously agreed to host in my absence, so be there to see the Blue Crab Mic Attack! open mic – Wednesday, 7-11pm.

And, as always, if you’re an artist listed above who I’ve not linked, let me know where you’re at online – and, please, get yourself a Reverbnation account!

A friend of mine is raving at the moment – RAVING – about Jonah Tolchin – it seems like every conversation of the past few weeks has included some mention of Jonah.

And, rightfully so, he’s very talented.

But this post isn’t about him.

It’s about me. And my friend.

More to the point, it’s about you.

See, earlier this week, after weeks of her recommendations, my friend asked me “what do you think of Jonah Tolchin?”

And, in all honesty, I replied that I hadn’t got around to listening to him yet.

There was a moment. One of those moments. We looked at each other, her with some measure of shock and hurt in her eyes, and me feeling that prickle of discomfort that I’d somehow done something wrong. The moment held, and then we got back to doing what we do best, blending energies to make everything move forward for the better.

But, as ever, I’ve been mulling it over.

We live in a recommendation-saturated world.

To build your online profile, to become “known”, is to draw eyeballs to your website, or band page, or gigs, regardless of whether those people stick around, whether they listen, whether they read. We’re being inculcated to equate passing interest with abiding care.

[and, yes, I did just use the world inculcated]

They’re not the same thing.

Is it better to have 20 people at a gig who are giving their full attention, or 40 who are talking all the way through the songs?

After the gig, in the telling, it’s always the higher number that wins out – but in the moment, I’ll take the 20 who are listening than the fat geezer at the bar holding court with his band of wankers, lording it over everyone’s conversation…

But I digress…

Fact is, I hadn’t said I’d listen to Jonah, so hadn’t broken any commitment, nor do I ever commit to following a recommendation, unless I fully intend to follow through.

I wish people were that honest and clear-cut with me.

See, one of the hazards of the online world is that artists can get, if they’re that way inclined, near-immediate feedback on listens, sales, reads, eyeballs, visits and probably, with the right skills, the mental health of visitors.

Put it simply: I know how many people listen to my songs, how many people buy my books, how many people read this blog post. Immediately.

And I know that those numbers are FAR lower than the number of people who say they’ll listen to my songs, read my books or visit the blog.

I wrote about how that feels last summer, and I don’t intend to rehash that here.

But I will say that, I think people have a knee jerk when speaking with an artist, of expressing interest and excitement, some of which is driven by wanting to be “nice”

[and the very American leaning towards passive-aggressive superficiality]

but most of which, I truly believe, is in very, very good faith – i.e. people say “oh, I’d love to hear you” and they really mean it. But then something happens, life intrudes, whatever, and they never quite get around to it. No biggie, right?

But it is, because now, the artist can see that you haven’t followed through. And when that one becomes ten, becomes twenty, none of whom follow through – well, you can see how that begins to feel like an insult, right? It’s not just me. I know it’s not.

I’ve lived with this long enough now to have recognized the pattern. It goes like this:

Me: “Yes, that’s right… I have published a number of books.”

Them: “Really?! How exciting! What are they about?”

Me: “Contemporary fiction, stories….”

[for your sake, we're hitting fast forward on the description, but just know it's to the point and makes me feel awfully like I'm over-self-promoting]

Them: “I’ll definitely check them out!”

Me: “Cool, let me know what you think, OK?”

Them: “Definitely.”

[weeks pass - I know they didn't act - every day when I check the numbers - our paths cross]

Them: “Oh, I didn’t get around to it. I really do need to read your stuff!”

Me: “Great. Let me know what you think, OK?”

Them: “Definitely.”

[weeks pass - no, scrub that, rinse and repeat the above for several cycles]

Eventually, I don’t even mention it. The deflation is mine. Completely and utterly mine.

Though sometimes, they do follow through. And they let me know what they think, like I asked. And guess what? Words like excellent, a story that tells itself, couldn’t put it down, difficult to tell if it’s fiction or reality the characters are so real. I feel elated and, as ever, blissfully thankful that I have art in my life and that people have cared enough to have shared in the journey.

And for a little while, that elation erases the bitter taste of so many broken promises. For a little while.

I said earlier, this isn’t a whine, but can I ask a favor – if you’re not a reader, please don’t tell a writer that you’ll read his books; if you don’t listen to anything but top-40 radio, please don’t tell a musician that you’ll spend some time at her website. It hurts more when you do that than just saying, “best of luck, I’m sure your stuff is really good, but sorry I won’t get chance to check it out”. Honest, it really does.

If you tell me you sing, or you write, or you have a website and I meet the news with a poker face, please know that it’s nothing personal.

And, please, if you are madly in love with an artist’s work, and can’t hold back from recommending them, don’t expect anyone to follow up on your recommendation. Recommend by all means, but if someone is honest enough to say that won’t follow up, or that they haven’t followed up, know that they’ve been honest from the outset and unwilling to lie to your face while reverting to their truth behind your back.

Thank you for reading. As ever, you have my love.

Vince

PS: by the way, you really should check out Jonah Tolchin – he’s very, very good. After all… he comes with the highest recommendation )

A great open mic this week at the Blue Crab Steakhouse, Old Saybrook. Some known musicians and others new to me, all friends now!

As last week, we had some stage-sharing, new musical blends. Here’s a great example where Cathy Yuhas and Bob Mayfield are joined onstage by the fantastic Emiro on lead guitar – so pleased to have him visit with us again this week!

We were also treated to some great songs from Sue Mead:

Carl Suiter, family and friends were also in the house, first up his son, James:

Then Carl took to the mic, what a treat!

A little later on, we were joined by PJ:

Also joining us at the second Blue Crab Mic Attack! were The Meadows Brothers, Mark Proccaccini and his friend, whose name I unfortunately didn’t catch, but for whom I was happy to provide the backing for Stormy Monday!

We’ll be back next week – Wednesdays, 7-11pm – so bring your acoustic self down and enjoy a Blue Crab Mic Attack!

… Elton John said that. Or, more likely, Bernie Taupin did.

But I digress.

A good friend of mine was browsing my online profile t’other day

[thanks, Dianne!]

and dropped me a Facebook comment:

I like “You Say”, but Vince, why all of the darkness in your songs? Your life is extremely full, awesome and positive. MOST of your songs are dark. “You Say” has more of an upbeat melody, which I like, even though the words are still a little bit dark. Is it that sadness, in general, writes better music? Just wondering what drives your music.

It’s such a great question, and not the first time I’ve been asked – by others and, more importantly, by myself.

I’ve been writing songs for upwards of 30 years now and, while my capabilities have improved, my muse has proven pretty consistent. I didn’t always know how to say/sing what I wanted to, and when I listen back to earlier songs, they feel clumsy, indistinct, unrealized. But the core of them is true to what I wanted to share.

All of which is a way to say that I don’t know that I so much choose to write songs as much as these songs move through me and out into the world. Any musician, actually let’s expand that to artist, who has travelled into and through their muse, has given themselves up to it, will know what I mean here – the muse works through us.

As BB King said about Stevie Ray Vaughan – “Stevie doesn’t play the blues, the blues plays through Stevie.”

So, what do I know of my muse?

First of all, it reflects – I spend most of my time watching the world, watching people, sensing patterns within the chaos, gradually piecing together my ‘grand theory of everything’. It’s lonely over here – a thread about connection and belonging shows up all over the place in my songs.

All of that stuff, drops down into my subconscious which just chews over and over. Eventually something burps up to my front brain – I can usually sense it brewing; in dreams or idle moments. Sometimes it’ll be a song fragment, or a story idea, or a blog piece, or whatever form it takes.

Having done this for my whole life, I’ve got pretty good at letting my subconscious be, and trust it’ll tell me when it’s ready. I’ve also learned to give it a kick every now and then – my poetry prompts at Facebook, using Plinky, forcing myself to write on a given subject, all ways of keeping the wiring alive.

To Dianne’s question, though, why does my music tend toward the dark?

Well, firstly, I’ve come to believe that certain chords and progressions resonate with me – when I’ve spent time thinking on it, or discussing it, I wonder about physical resonance, the length of vocal chords, resonant cavities in the head

[you know, the ones that fill up with snot when you have a cold]

and know that certain tones just work for me – A minor, for example, shows up all over the place in my songs. Some of that, though, is the form-factor of the six-string guitar in standard tuning. A minor is part of a walking set of chords, C, F, Em, G, Dm that just work for most songs.

So, physically, I ‘get’ minor chords and they’re natural for me to play on the guitar. That leans my music towards the dark.

But it doesn’t cover lyrical content, does it?

Dianne is right, my life is full, awesome and positive – and has been for as long as I can remember – I am truly, truly lucky in life and love. But my muse knows that, even then, I experience doubt, sadness, and fear. And that dreadful loneliness. We all do. It is the human condition – all those survival instincts and neurons don’t disappear just because life is good. We’re wired to respond to threat.

We’re also painfully aware of our own mortality.

“Even if time is just a flicker of light, and we all have to die alone” (The Finn Brothers, “Won’t Give In”)

And I think, when it comes to my muse, that’s what shows up. Most of my art has a yearning for life – it’s touched by wonder of what is, and the crushing sadness that one day it won’t be there any more. Each moment looking in my kids eyes, knowing that moment can’t be lived again. There is so much life to be lived and so little life in which to live it. And, though I never want to lose a single moment, that next moment looks oh so enthralling.

So, Dianne, that’s the core of my muse, the yearning and melancholy of my own mortality. But I’ll throw the question back, maybe I’m lucky in this life because my muse let’s me discharge the things that could sabotage me? If I play out my neuroses, anxieties and stress in my songs and stories, aren’t I removing them from the enormous hopper that is my subconscious? If I connect with anyone who listens or reads, aren’t I looking that loneliness in the face.

But there’s more. When I say my muse reflects, I also mean that it means something to my audience. To take a personal experience, emotion, sensation and turn it to universal meaning is the ultimate artistic act. Think of U2, who took a personal reaction to intra-band tensions during the Achtung Baby sessions and turned it to the truly universal anthem, “One”.

For this reason, I don’t often describe what’s going on in songs, or more specifically the writing of them

[except For Granted, which is dedicated to Jo Short, a dear friend who we lost to cancer]

I’m always trying to expand my muse to encompass and engage others’ experience. I don’t always get it right, but when I do I know, because people tell me.

And so, we come to the final part of this extended answer. Why do I write these songs, with their melancholic dark edge?

Simply because, no matter how the surface may seem, how much people exist in their story, everybody experiences some of what I’ve been describing and if I can offer even a moment of understanding, solace, reflection, or sympathy – to let people know they’re not alone with it – I will. That’s my muse, that’s why I sing, that’s what I offer to the world.

There, D, now you see why I couldn’t fit it in a Facebook comment!

And, as ever, thanks for being here, you have my love.

Stan looks me
straight in the eye
“I can’t take much more
I really can’t”

“It’s one thing
and then the next
Each turn
confounding”

“I step
get blocked
Step again
Get beaten”

“Down
down
down
no chance of the up”

“Come on
Stan”
says I
concerned

“It can’t be
as bad as
all that
surely?”

Stan looks me
straight in the eye
“You know not
the half”

“That may be true”
says I
with a conspiratorial
wink

“I might have
no clue
about whys
and wherefores”

“About
troubles
so real
or only imagined”

“I can’t be you
Stan
No matter
the trying”

“But what I do know
my friend
What’s come clear
‘cross these years”

“Encoded
in moments
by your
whining complaints”

“You, Stan
the endless
victim
of yore”

“Get it straight
in your head
no-one’s out
to get you”

“Shit happens
Stan
Got that?
shit happens”

[from Faith's prompt: happenstance]  

“The city did not collapse in a shudder
The rain it never came
At least my confessions made you laugh
I know it’s a little crazed
But these dreams
They seem
So real to me”

REM – Sing for the Submarine (Accelerate, 2008)

Well, 2012 is here and so am I

[and, I guess, you]

and, as far as I can tell, the world outside is continuing pretty much the same as it was yesterday.

Which was 2011.

Yup, we’ve crossed another man-made rubicon, a date point defined by international agreements

[only, of course, my family in the UK, crossed it five hours earlier than I, and eight hours earlier than my family and friends on the west coast]

and folk are posting their reflections on the year just passed, and their hopes and commitments for the year to come.

This is a good thing; a small chance for self-reflection in a world that would steal oxygen from the pursuit of alignment.

I’ve written before about the importance of now and how I don’t look back in regret – so there’ll be no resolutions here, no prescriptions for how I will be a better person than I was last year. Every day is a resolution; every waking moment an opportunity for transcendence and redemption.

2011 was the year when I stopped trying, stopped denying, and simply accepted my story-telling self. 12 lunar cycles came and went, bringing me 2 novels, Family Rules and Escalation, 2 screenplays, Team Building and Inventing Kenny, and a collection of poetry, Garbled Glittering Glamours; bringing me friendship with James and Timmy, my screen-writing partners on Inventing Kenny; bringing me the joy of making music with Pete and Tony in Monkey68 and, every so often, wailing a few leads with The Rivergods.

2011 came and went in calm, busy tranquility, with me flowing into the cracks and rendering life smoother in the sailing.

And who knows what is to come in this story-telling life? After all, I’m the guy who was surprised by the initial idea for Escalation in April of last year and who’d finished the first draft by August, publishing in December. I’m the guy who has these weird dreams that just demand to be written.

I’m the guy who’s already laid the structure of the next project out on a restaurant table last week with James.

That’s me… Telling stories.

So, roll on 2012 – in every breath and beat of my heart, I’ll be resolving to be more of what I have the potential to be. In each moment, I’ll be loving my friends, family and the world we share. With each word, I am a commitment to tell the story as it should be told; honest, clear and true to my muse.

Roll on 2012… this world is not ending, it’s just becoming what it’ll be next.

My new novel, Escalation, will be published in December 2011. The fantastic artist Rob Edmonds was kind enough to create this stunning front cover:

I’m very excited to see Escalation come to life in hard copy and eBook/Kindle in December – stay tuned!

Biblical tales
in mind
Samson
and Delilah
Honey from
the strong
Thorns from
lion’s paws
Heat
from
frozen
cold

Warming
all the way
down
Slick
burning
Effervescent
buzzing
Cauterized
Imbibing
one
more
shot

Frozen
Heated
Dreaming
volcanic
of heroes
and villainous
temptations
This
bottle in
hand
and ideas
running
plentiful
through
cavernous
echo-chambers

Drink
be merry
Drink
be well
Drink
until tomorrow
when waking
will remind me
why I
once said
“never again”

[from Chrissie's prompt: "Vodka"]

Two hares
sit in the wood

“A turd in the hand
worse
two in the tush”

“Better mate then,
Heather?”

“Every grounds
got a silver
mine in”

“Better mate then,
Heather?”

“What…
Is that
hope
practico?”

[from Michele's prompt: "Hope"]  

There was an old man from…

Wait…

Was it Kentucky?
Arkansas?
Are they even
on the East Coast?
No
He couldn’t have been
from there

OK…

There was an old man from…

Wait…

Just how old was he?
I mean
doesn’t it depend
on when
the rhyme was written?
200 years ago
40-years old
was considered
old age
Hollywood ideals
of wise elders
white bushy beards
nothing of the sort
Our impending
middle age
was their
old-and-wise

OK…

There was a man from…

Wait…

Why wasn’t it a woman?
What if he/she was transgender?
Or gay?

OK…

There was a person from…

Wait…

What if he/she was only visiting?
What does it mean to be “from”
anyway?

OK…

There was person
(possibly male, female
or some mixture
of the two)
from
(or maybe visiting
or relocated
potentially
though for now
we’ll agree
that “from”
covers
his/her/its
relationship to place)
from?
OK?
from Nan…

Ah, fuck it!
I give up!

[from Michele's prompt: "Nantucket" - in short, I don't do limericks!]