STORM THAT MAKES NO SOUND

Storming into a bar, again. And I been storming all week. I just need to get off this tack. Storm clouds, storm front, storm in the sky, storm on the wind, going and blowing, storm indeed. Rain? Man, this is a storm. Get outta the storm, pal, if it storms, when it storms, will it storm? Just when you begin shearing the long grass it storms.

Stormin’ and swearing, swearing and stormin.’ Storming into town. Close that door, man, it’s storming outside. It’s storming in here, it’s like a hurricane between my ears, storm in the wind. It was storming so I could not see, it was storming so I could not hear, it smelled like a lightning storm. I was madder’nhell so I stormed off, and that pissed me off too, so I stormed some more.

I was in a sandstorm, the sandstorm was a wall of dust, you drove into the wall of dust, the lights went out and it got really quiet, a sandstorm near Ludlow in the Mojave, when the dust cleared I drove away from a junkyard of debris, a pile of potpourri, and sixteen tons of twisted steel.

Global dust storms blanket Mars. It was storming so it was hard to breathe, the storm was black, but the storm was yellow around the edges like a tornado, the storm swirled, the storm pushed, the storm rode, the storm shuddered, the storm stuttered, the storm lay in wait. The storm whimpered, the storm whined, the storm wandered.

The storm will tear the roof off of your home, the storm will tumble your car down the storm drain. The storm will ruin your weekend, the storm will ruin your life, the storm is powerful ju-ju, the storm is big trouble. The storm scowls, the storm tickles before it stings, storm tickles before it stickles. The storm blows itself out.

A storm huffs and puffs until the storm is blue in the face. Storming eliminates complacency, storming keeps you wide awake, it may be a little desperate, but at least it’s not boring. The storm in someone else, the storm in you. A storm of sunshine, a storm of flowers, a storm of laughter, a storm of sadness, a storm of welcome, a storm like an Olympic sized swimming pool, a tempest in a teacup, a storm of gaiety.

The storm is in your head, the storm of indignancy, the storm of the righteous, a storm of reality, the storm before the calm, the calm before the storm. Storm of all storms, the mother of all storms, the seventh sister twice removed of all storms.

Storm of noodles, the storm in the noodledome, a storm of happiness, a storm of a celebration, a storm of well being. The storm will flood the streets, the storm will cut the power off, the storm will poison the water, the storm will storm like cats and dogs. The storm split for the coast, the storm out on the water, the storming of the waves.

The storming of the drums in a Japanese orchestra, the storming of the drums out on the battlefield, the storming of the drums will jet you up, the storming of the drums. Storm alert, waders in the storm, writing in the storm, trying to get to the club in a storm, trying to get a cover charge in a storm, I hope anybody will show up, no one came last time I played a hurricane.

Heat inverted huge storm. Biblical storm, bigger than that storm, stand in the storm, from out of the storm, away from the storm, face the storm, the center of the storm, can’t get away from the storm, can’t get relief from the storm, can’t get a break from the storm. What storm?

That storm. Inside the storm, beside the storm, running from the storm in a car, running from the storm in a bathrobe, running from the storm on a freeway, so is everyone else. A towering storm, a storm like no other, a storm in her heart, a storm in his eye, a storm over the scene, looks like a storm coming. If it wasn’t for the storm, I’d be outta here.

The storm will rain your plants to the ground, the storm will rain your hopes to the ground. The storm speaks, the storm hides, the storm runs, the storm stalls, the storm slides, the storm grinds, the storm waits, the storm grates, the storm pauses, the storm sits, the storm parks itself right over your tent.

The storm scared the hell out of ’em, the storm was spooky, the storm has a nasty personality, the storm is conscious, the storm is out of it’s mind. The storm strafes, the storm rakes, the storm makes, the storm quits, the storm goes the other way. The storm doesn’t know where it’s going, the storm ain’t telling where it’s going. The storm is sneaky, the storm ravages, the storm demolishes, the storm breaks, the storm kills, the storm is responsible, the storm goes south, the storm goes where it wants to go, the storm is a loner. But storms get together, and turn into bbigger storms.

The storm will stop. The storm thrashes, and crashes, but then all of a sudden, in the echo of thunder like a sigh, the storm stops. And when the storm is over the sun comes out. Nothing makes a sound, but leaves dripping, and the noisy clear water torrent in the creek.

THAT’S ART

Art is invisible, art is a myth. Art is a rumor. Art is untouchable. But for the art sale, art barn, art walk, art market, flea market art, bargain basement art, cheap art, art for free. We’ll pay you to take this art. Art today only, art on Sunday, drive down Canyon road and see some art, art in a retail outlet, art is a hobby, or it’s a reason to believe unless it’s not, art store.

You really don’t know what art looks, or sounds, or feels like until you see it, hear it, touch it. Water colors, finger paints, art on the wall, art on a turntable, art like a silk tie with the painting of a bird or a naked lady on it. Art is a pretty girl, art is a car, art is a quilt, art is a waste of time, though it takes time to make art.

Art is everything to someone and nothing to some others. That’s not art. Art is jealousy, and art is big business. You call that art? The art went sailing over their heads. Art is a scrawling on a rock wall in the dark of a cave. Bring a flashlight. Art is a reason for doing it at all. You can never tell who might think this is art. Art on a back street, art on the side of a building, art on the Santa Monica pier, art in a foyer, the old gas station is a piece of art, the Brooklyn bridge is art.

The arrangement of flowers is an art on an easel. Or you can tour the Louvre in a quest for art. Many arts. Art for art’s sake, art is in the eye of the beholder. Art reaches out, art strives to, the art means something, art hangs on the wall, art stays in the background, art is upfront and personal, art is an insult, art presupposes, art considers itself the end all, beat all.

Art goes to the heart of the matter, art goes to the art of the affair, not everyone can do art, or sit up close to the blackboard, not everyone cares if it is art. Art is the expression of a lower life form. Art on a subway embankment, graffiti on a train, art like a landfill, art where you least expect it, art because you can. The art of tomorrow is trash today, trash today is art tomorrow. Garbage in garbage out.

Someone’s art is someone’s throwaway. Is there a measure of art? How do you know when you’ve had too much art? Can you get enough art? Can you sell enough art to pay the rent? Is art the only way, is art the place, is art a place? Is art for you? Do you like art? Is art a secret only they know? Would you tell me if it was art? Would you know if it was art? Can you bear to just look at art without copping a feel? You are art. Yer a babe, I just happen to have a background in art. I just wanna touch you like I just wanna touch the Mona Lisa. But I’ll tell you truly, I only like the Mona Lisa because she smiles at me.

But art is for others, though some is for us. Art for the masses, art for the individual, art for the army, art for the navy, art for the arty. Art wouldn’t matter except for the crap that people pass off for art. But who really knows art? Who would you you buy art from? Is art the same for everyone?

Are all Van Goghs painted equal? Are all Van Goghs as famous as all Van Goghs? When was the last time you saw a Van Gogh? Art for art’s sake, art for my sake, art for all of us. Art that makes a point, art that leaves the point over in the corner. Art for no damn good reason. Art for all the right reasons. Art doesn’t matter, except where there is no art. The art was lost. The art was found in an attic in Beaumont, at the bottom of the sea, in your closet, or in your minds eye.

In your eye my ass, write it down, paint it, make it look like something it’s not, make it look better than it is, don’t change a thing, enjoy it for what it is, if it ain’t broke… Let someone else decide if it’s art, I mean, what do you know? What can be said about art? What needs to be said about art? The art was right, the art was all wrong, but don’t cry over it, because there will be more art tomorrow coming from places you would never suspect, from places you don’t know exist anymore than they know you and your art…exist.

A ball of yarn, a ball of art, a ball of thoughts all tied up with an arty little bow. Cartoons are art, pen and inks are art, oils are art, cars are art, guitars are art, tools are art, severing tools that go down drilling pipes are art. In other words, if it’s not an art it’s probably a protein.

And lest I forget, women are, perhaps, the highest art, oh yeah. The way the wind blows can be art, the way someone breathes can be art, the sky is art everyday when the sun comes up, or goes down in the evening. Waves are art, the child is art, the mother is art, the good fellow is art, the smell is art, the color is art, the way you move is art, the sound is art, a smile is art, the frown is art, but who’s to notice?

The boat is art, the landscape is art, Paris is art, Oslo is art, pizza is art, when in Oslo have the pizza. Museums are full of art, schools teach art, big business supports art of some kind. Everybody wants to be an artist, what they don’t know won’t hurt ‘em when everybody is an artist anyway. If the good lord wanted you to be an artist he’d a growed one on yer thumb. The musical set you play is art. There is no standard of art, there is no monopoly of art, there is no quality of art, there is no field guide to art, there is no map of art, there is no one place where art is from.

The way you do business can be art. The way you tell off that accelerator pedal with a pencil dick can be art. The way you work alongside others can be art because they are such assholes. Insects are art, spiders are art, breakfast is art, dinner is art, grandma is art the way she can make a pecan pie from nothing but flour, baking soda, and lard, you are art. When I grow up I’m gonna be a artist, and inspire others to be as arty as me.

When we speak the words come out like a painting. Silly art, art is art, industrial art, sanitized art, art for the masses, art for a political party, art for the party on Saturday night. But just because I say so, does that make it art? What about anybody else? So if everyone is an artist in their own right, why are there reviewers to read to tell you what art is? Are you just lazy, or arty.

Art can’t, art won’t, art ain’t, art is. Do some art, some do art, display your art, stand up for your art, reach for the art, go out of your way for the art, pay for the art. Pay the artist, get him off your back. Recognize the art, recognize the poor fool that did the art. Give your friends art for a special occaision. Art is an enrichment. Art is an opinion, and an opinion can’t be wrong. But, and this is a big one, deny there is any art to it and somebody will beg to differ just to show how clever they are, and how wrong you can be. That’s art.

EVEN THE ROLLING STONES

I grew up with the the music of the 60’s. Way back there at the beginning, it said something sexy about you if you were fluent in the lingo, and looked good in the threads. So you dressed, and acted the part daily. If you spoke music you always got attention.

And everybody liked music, and musicians like nobody trusted politics, and politicians. The clock marked time in minutes and seconds of the last release of the latest popular group. There were a flock of different ones every year. As soon as one would drop off the charts and out of the public eye, another would rise through the wreckage of the Top 40 like a phoenix. Songs were anthems and radio stations were like bullhorns in the hip parts of town.

In the clubs nearby the music wailed nightly and you lived, and worked up the stairs somewhere close by as the sixties fell away in the rear view mirror. You got most places by bicycle in those years as you started paying your own bills. But, there were new songs, new books, and new paintings every morning down in that part of town. Some days they were yours.

In that forgotten part of town, the lawns were a wilderness surrounded by rusting chain link with back streets lined with broken down cars here and there, and shattered glass at the intersections. So the rents were cheap. Perfect place to ignore the Jehovah’s Witnesses at the door and write with your head down. But if you wanted to get your works in print and on vinyl like the Rolling Stones album that season you had to muscle in at the very bottom.

So you scored the gig at the local bar. You grew a Godiva head of hair. That way the gigs you could get on the other side of the tracks would better appreciate your striking resemblance to the circus of pop stars that made the scene in the first place. In time though, you ventured outside the cozy confines of your town.

And you needed more than curls to get the gigs. You needed a booking agent. Then you had to have a manager to get the booking agent to get the gigs. As it turned out, you further needed a recording label, or a publisher to get the manager to get the booking agent to get the gigs. Having show biz people in your behalf was like a fashion statement, you rarely made enough money because of it to keep the same apartment for long. So, you sold a lot of fireworks on the side. The couch circuit was a real deal. If you didn’t wanna pay, or couldn’t afford to pay the percentage you booked it yourself.

So the journey was the bliss. And I’m not talking about the interstate. Five tour buses and a 50 man crew would put a severe hitch in your economy of verse. Five tour buses and a 50 man crew had nothing to do with music, or verse.

The lyric taught the language. The highway taught the road. If you told your wanderings well, and trained yourself to write more, what began as a song on an AM radio when you were a kid became a worthy lifelong endeavor. The reward was to be able to do it again in both hemispheres. And if you could reach the nice couple that showed up in the rain just to hear what you had to say you would always have something to offer. It was wise to be so advised. Especially worthy things happen all over this planet and are covered by a half a foot of soil in the blink of an eye. Even the Rolling Stones

THANKS FOR THE HELP

Help that cat…

Don’t let it worry you, help is on its way. Help is what we need. I know, you couldn’t help it, but that doesn’t matter now. The help that you could use. The help that you thought you would get by now. So help it along, help them get by. Help yourself before you help someone else.

Help some, help others, help them get down the line, help stop the wrong, help out, help because, help in spite of, help because nobody else will. Help me get my feet back on the ground.

Maybe I could make it if I could just get a little help. So, don’t help. A lot of help, a little help, a cry for help, a world of help, the sound of help, it looked like help, but it wasn’t. Not enough help, not any help at all, help it along, help it go away. No really, I could use some help, put your finger right there.

Don’t need any help, don’t want any help, don’t stand around helplessly, don’t come around here asking for help. If you need help call a cop, dammit. I couldn’t get any help, so you won’t get my help, there. Help me with this TV set, help me push this car, help me pay my bills. The help I got didn’t amount to much. I could help, but I probably won’t.

I could help keep trouble away, a helping hand, a helping heart, help get the wasp out of the bedroom. Don’t put off helping, don’t ignore helping, you’ve got the time, help out. Call the help line, give help and don’t ask for anything in return. Help the animals, help the bugs, help the environment, help the needy, because you can’t help it, because you wouldn’t help it if you could.

Help it along, please help, why don’t you help. I wish they would help, help, go help someone that could use it, do you really think they can use your help? Just when you thought it was all over except for the crying help arrived. Help showed up, help is on its way, help inch it up a little. Help stop it from hurting, put a band aid on it.

Just when you least expected it help came out of nowhere. That was the kind of help we needed. The help file, the help button, the help, where in the world can I go for help? If I didn’t need your help I wouldn’t ask for it. You can’t get help till you pay for help, because help isn’t free. Help doesn’t grow on the trees. Help isn’t just anywhere, help is in a menu on somebody’s computer.

Help is a big deal when you need help, help from an angel, help from the devil him, or herself. Help from the place you expect it least. Thought I was a goner till help arrived. When help arrives, if help arrives. Can you just give me a little help? Don’t stop helping, let someone else help. Help from the helpless, helpless to do anything about it, helpless to send it away.

Helplessly hoping. Helplessly trying to make it better. Anything, but helpless. Everything for the helpless, anything for the helpless. I wish I could help, then why not? Helping makes you feel better about yourself, help is a therapy. Help only happens because you’re helpful like being helpful when you’re needed, like being helpful when there’s no one around, like being helpful when no one else could help. You can’t be that helpless. Hell, I’m not that helpless.

Looking for help, grousing about for help, beating the bushes for help, seeking help, if that’s what you call help, maybe I don’t need your help so bad after all. Thanks for the help.

NOT THE LEAST BIT

Talent ain’t what it’s cracked up to be because talent is an opinion. And opinions are like the leaves on the trees. When the wind blows they all turn the same way. Talent is subjective, talent is an excuse, talent is for the taking, talent is green with envy.

Talent is overblown, talent is confused with something else, or many else’s. Talent is lazy, and hides from the steady pursuit of excellence which is a talent. Talent is on a marquis advertising talent. Talent can be confused, talent can be ignored, talent is a liability, talent is a sham, talent is an exaggeration, talent is a boast, talent is a ruse, talent is a lie, talent is a guess. Talent is a wager, talent is a dream, talent is a millstone around your neck. Talent is an advertisement in a magazine, talent is a way to get you to buy the ticket, talent is an advice from a friend. They say talent is rare, but that’s what they want you to believe.

But no one really knows if what they see is talent, or something tricked up to look like talent, they are talented at that, too. You never hear the word talent if you’re talented. You don’t wanna break the spell, you don’t wanna let on, you don’t wanna let them know who you are.

Still, an appetite for talent only comes along here and there. But talent can be made, talent can be bought, and talent can be engineered to look like talent. But talent can’t be taught and talent can’t be easily steered, because talent is headstrong and talent is singular as far as the talent is concerned. Though it’s really something that comes with every single person, you just have to look for what your talents may be.

Try your talent on something difficult, work your talent on something that needs fixing, make your talent benefit everyone you see. Decide what your talents are. Make your talents benefit you. If talent won’t get it, figure it out the old fashioned way…work at it till it’s done, and everyone thinks you did it because you’re talented. You’ll do more before 9 o’clock in the morning than the US Army.

Talent is an edge in an argument, some people are just good at being ugly, talented at being an ass. Back when I was talented. Sometimes it won’t make any difference even if you are talented. Talent show, talented monkey. It’s not that the talented monkey looks like a man, it’s that the talented man looks like a monkey. Talent my rosy red butt. Talent ain’t the reason you’re here, you’re just good at something. Same diff.

I live for her talents. Take me home, I’ve got a talent I’d like to show you. She’s got the most admirable of talents, maybe two. Talent doesn’t. Talent won’t. Talent is not everything, but a little talent will go a long way. A talent for finding talent. You get awards for talent, but all you have to know about awards is that Mozart never won one.

You get respect for talent, you get money for talent, you get doted on because you’re talented, talent will get you a date, nevertheless you get just as forgotten after a while because someone comes along differently talented than you. Talent helps, talent works. Talent will take you to the top, of what? You can ride talent like a pony, till the pony throws you off.

Some talents are for a lifetime. Some talents are for a moment in time. A talent can come from your heart. A talent can be skin deep. A talent can be abused. The talent the world gave a planarian. No talent at all, no talent because, no talent anywhere in sight. He was more talented than me. She was more talented than him. We all suffered a lack of talent when it finally came down to it, so we did something else. Smoke this, you’ll grow wings on your feet.

Throw some talent at it, throw some hard work at it. Throw the precious talent down, or out the window, and go get a paying job. That’s a talent, too. A talent for trouble. A talent for staying away from talent. A talent for staying out of trouble, yahoo. It didn’t look like talent, but we treated it like a talent. So he acted like he was talented though he didn’t know what the hell he was doing. Let him have his talent.

So talent is a fancy, and talent is a confidence, and the tolerance for talent only comes around every once in a while, or so they say. So talent is misunderstood, and talent is rewarded, but talent is not something you can put your finger on. Why be talented when you can be well with less talent? This is the bottom line with being talented. You can be ever so adorably talented, but not be the least bit talented at paying your rent.

NEVER START A BOOK

No beating around the book. Write a book, read the book. Books and wine,
books and bread. Books in the hall, books in the car, books on the table.
Books in the bookcase, books in a paper bag.

Books abound, books cost, books weigh you down. Books float your boat,
books turn you on. Books leave you flat, books disappoint you. Books turn
you on to stuff you didn’t know. Books let you sleep, books when you don’t
sleep. Bookseller, book binder, book stop, book mark, book jacket. Rack of
books, bevy of books, wall of books, or two.

Room full of books, shelf full of books, how many books? Who knows. The
holy books, the ends of books, the only books, the other books, the
picture books. The coffeetable, the window seat, the shelves in the
kitchen, every available space, every room in the house. Every time I go
to the mailbox, special delivery, delivery on Sunday, delivery from UPS,
delivery from FedEx, delivery from Amazon. Day time, night time, anytime
now. Maybe it’ll come tomorrow.

Book check, for the book, of the book, make the book, girly book. When I
write my book. When I found the book. Curl up with a good book, curl up
that book and put it in your pocket. Book me a room, book the band, book
‘em Danno. Booking your trip, booking your gig, rocking n rolling. Booking like a bandit, booking like a fast car, booking with determination. Book up the time. Book down to the bar. Book it. Don’t wait for me to book it, if he can book it.

Leave the book on the table, leave the book in the car. Take the book with
you, hold the book up, nice picture. Scan the book, skim the book. Bring
books back. A book is just a book until you like something about it.
Something about that book, the worst books sometimes make the best movies. I have friends in books, some have their own books. Some are writing a book, some are editing a book, some are touring their books. Some are not.

Sometimes a book is all you have. You can like books, you can stand books, you can endure books, you can loan books, whether you want to, or not. You can share books, you can buy books, you can pawn books, but I don’t know any. A book like an album, a book like a bible, a book like a bestseller. A book like a brochure, a book like a codex. A book like a compendium, a dictionary. A book of fiction, like a novel, a book of novel fiction, a thesaurus, an encyclopedia, a volume, a tome, a chapter, a hero, a villain, the love interest, a scroll, a speller, a book of books, a good book, on the books, turn the pages of a book.

Turn the pages of the book. If you can’t get the hardback get the paperback, the paperback is cheaper. When it comes to the internet it will be free, imagine that. Something worth everything that doesn’t cost anything?

Off print, print both sides, times Roman, justified, both sides, 200 pages, 600 pages, 6000 pages, which volume do you want? Is it on microfilm? Do they still have microfilm? Is it seasonal? Is it a cookbook? When will you get the book? When can I get the book? That book, the one with the cover. I guess they all have covers unless they’re manuscripts. Do they have pictures, or illustrations? The monograph, the omnibus, the agenda, the record, which one is the good one? Which one do you like? Which one do you like the most? Which one should I get? Which one is free? Two, for less than that.

Books rule someone’s life, books rule many people’s lives, maybe it’s because they’re predictable like a mystery, like the imperceptible mechanism of a clock, but without the hands. Maybe it’s because they don’t talk back, they just tell the story, and maybe they have a story to tell. One worth your time, one worth the buck. That’s not very much to pay for a good book, is it? Some of my best friends are books. But I wouldn’t introduce my sister to a book. Y’can’t trust ‘em. Book on round the corner, and get me a paper, and a beer. D’ju ever notice you never start a book in a bar? Why do you think that is?

Who booked this tour?

Yes, I contributed to the whole mess.

The Real Deal


Sal Valentino

If it’s real you can touch it, hear it, see it. If it’s real it’s like a bird in your hand. If it’s real you can find it on a fretboard, maybe. If it’s real it’s a comfort, if it’s real it’s something you can depend on. If it’s real you can bet your bottom dollar, if it’s real you can bet your life on it, if it’s real you can marry the damn girl. If it’s real you can do it again in real time.

If it’s real you can ask your songwriting friends to show up in the mountains of New Mexico. In Texas everything is big, in New Mexico they don’t talk about big, because things are so big you can’t see that far.

If it’s real you trust it like a tuned up guitar. If it’s real you always come back for more. If it’s real you might even applaud so they play another song. If it’s real you might do it all year long, but not much in the summer. If it’s real you might just hang stage curtains and play music for a decade where you park your car.

If it’s real you’ll have to rent the chairs, every time. If it’s real you’ll have to put on your gloves and stack the chairs you put out. If it’s real you’ll have to take them back, every time. If it’s real the writer stays in the guest room. If it’s real they’re playing tomorrow night in Taos, or Albuquerque, or Los Alamos.

If it’s real there is no sound check, if it’s real there are great lights. If it’s real there’s not another seat in the house. If it’s real everybody brings food.

If it’s real all the money goes to the musicians, real money, and you don’t charge for the room. If it’s real it’s worth being the best gig in the state of New Mexico. Somebody’s gotta do it. How come when you say that, it sounds like you’re talking to me?

If it’s real you gotta sell their merch. The real writers, the real authors, the real players, the real people that would appreciate them, sounds like a dream. Good gig is just a good gig. If it’s real you have to make room for all the parked cars, if it’s real it won’t snow the night of your show (The only cancelled show: Peter Case…too much snow).

If it’s real enough people will show up, if it’s real you sweat enough people will show up, every time. If it’s real your act won’t break a string, if it’s real you’ll have to do the first set after putting out the ice, and the chips, and the free beer, if it’s real that won’t matter. If it’s real you’ll probably trade tunes later.

If it’s real that won’t stop you, if it’s real you can do it your own way. If it’s real it might just be gooder’n hell. If it’s real it might just be how it has always been done, simple, ingenious. No smoke, no mirrors. Just the music, and the road. The Real Deal, 2003-2013. Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Don & Victoria Armstrong
The Banded Geckos


Eric Brace & Peter Cooper

Bill Browder
Scott Cadenasso


Dana Cooper

Layton DePenning


Jerry Faires


Steven Fromholz & Tommy Elskes


Butch Hancock

Bill & Bonnie Hearne


Michael Hearne


Sarah Hickman

David Moerbe


Geoff Muldaur & Bob Neuwirth

David Olney


Mark Olson & Ingunn Ringvold


Chuck Pyle


Sam Richardson

Donald Rubenstein


Shake Russell


Keith Sykes

Eric Taylor


Trout Fishing In America


Sal Valentino


Ben Zeller

If it’s real you can also put on a Writers in the Round and read from books, recollections and cowboy poetry, and you can take the Real Deal to Hyde Park Theatre, in Austin, before all was said and done: Geoff Muldaur, Bob Neuwirth, and I got real on stage together, and Austin’s Denim and I did an encore date after that. Oh, yeah. Got real if you want it.

STEP IN TO TOMORROW

“Funny what’ll happen to you
when all you’re trying to do
is sing the right notes
and get the chords right.”

“Phoenix” is my first album. Geoff Muldaur and Steven Bruton play guitars, John Cale plays piano, Bill Rich plays bass, and Victoria Williams and Lyle Lovett sing. Bob Neuwirth is the Producer. It’s a helluva first album for anyone. But I’ve told you that story. We move to the Texas Hill Country, reviews come, gigs appear, and I play my tunes in Europe, the US, and Texas, all over the radio. There’s a border collie named Katy on a long lead in the side yard next to the house. Tennis ball dog.

Business as usual over the next few years, driving miles and miles of dear
old Texas, then on the way to Nashville, Tenn. When we get to that Country & Western town, we pull into the shaded gravel drive of a cabin on the 100 Highway, ten miles outta town. It’s a charmer in a hollow in the deep woods that drape over the little place like a huge green, leafy umbrella. In the summer it’s cool in the shade. Where the sun shines it’s hot and humid. We rent it from a good fellow named Hooter. He says a rental house is a road manager’s retirement fund. He road managed the Everly Brothers for thirty years. Pleasure doing business with him.

The cabin has a window in the bedroom that used to be tricked out like a counter in order to sell beer to the drivers passing by. Rumor has it they were growing a little smoke up in those hills, and might have passed some across that ledge too. We’re there for a couple of years before we change the license plates from Texas to Tennessee. Don’t ask.

I put out two albums and a book while we’re in that cabin. Robin Eaton produces “Texas Plates” for Paladin/Warner Bros. It’s an ingenious CD with a compliment of Nashville’s finest: Al Perkins is on this recording. Maura O’Connell and Kami Lyle do the harmonies this time. Pat Berguson, Pat Buchanan, Chris Carmichael, Dave Jacques, Brad Jones, Ross Rice, Aly Sujo, and Eli Shaw is E-bow and Engineer. Robin Eaton with bass, the percussionist Mickey Grimm, and I take that show to SXSW…Mickey brings the plastic trash can from the hotel on stage: he likes the sound.

The book is the first edition of “One Man’s Music,” self-published, and funded by Wayne and Lisa Lawrence. The story of my accident and recovery, I begin it in Berkeley, write 30 pages, and say I’m done. It grows in Texas, and I write 212 pages in 180 days: the goal is a page a day. Sometimes I get six pages, sometimes I get none.

One day the phone rings and Vince Pawless, whom I’ve not met in person yet, says “Let’s make a guitar.” We do, but that’s another story. The day the V2 is finished, I pick it up in Texas, walk it across the street, and sit down and play a house concert: the recording, done famously by David Byboth, is “Live in Texas.”

That cowboy town soon fills the rear view mirror and we take the border collie, a little button-eyed dog, and three cats to Santa Fe, NM. That’s a lotta animals on a motel bed. We drive back out of the forest in the hollow and into the mountains of the West where you can see for days. In good time I record an album, “Recado,” with Cam King as Producer and guitar player, in my garage. He brings the board, mics, the whole kit and kerfluffle in the backseat of his car. Cam is brilliant, and better off the cuff than most with fair warning and a rehearsal. He can also build a pyramid with a yardstick.

Cam ingeniously hangs bedding sheets around the three car space to create sound barriers in the now tent-like setting, and we record the album like we are in complete silence on top of a mountain…in a large residential area. There’s a basketball court in the driveway next-door . He takes the tapes back to Texas and adds Bill Browder, Freddie Krc, Tammy Rogers, and Michael Woody. The cover for “Recado” is a Peter Hurd watercolor, painted and handed to my father-in-law in 1945.

Then my pal, publicist, and literary agent, Kevin Avery gets my now two books published by University Of North Texas Press. Karen DeVinney and the University’s President suggest “One Man’s Music” and “SixtyEight TwentyEight,” be edited together into one book. (“SixtyEight TwentyEight” is a series of essays/blogs I’ve been running on my website, “Out Here on the Edge of the Desert,” along with a podcast, a decade before there were podcasts: LiveMusic’sCool/InLiveMusicSchool, with friend Jim Alderman on toy piano and plastic swimming pool: there’s something about those percussionists…nobody more free than the drummer). The two books together make the definitive volume of “One Man’s Music.” and I record CD of the same name, of the songs mentioned in the book, with Ned Albright as Producer and piano player. Gardner Knight is our Engineer. I turn the book into a one-man play — you guessed it, with the same name. Ghost Ranch Films makes a DVD of a live show, recording songs that had gotten lost between my accident and Phoenix: “New Lamps for Old.”

After a trip to New York, I write a longish collection of prose poems called “Empire Of Storms,” and a song called “Ojo.” Bob Neuwirth, Dave Soldier, and Patrick Derivaz record me in an abandoned bank on Wall Street for three…but that’s the story that’s in the telling these days.

From Phoenix to Ojo.

“Funny what’ll happen to you
when all you’re trying to do
is sing the right notes
and get the chords right.”

[I’ll be in deep voodoo with management if I don’t at least mention that these are all for sale at the vincebell.com store]

GET MY DRIFT

The words in this Improv series are like the notes musicians play in musical improv. They are not about my summer vacation, they are not organized, necessarily. They are not in a straight line, they are not apologetic, they are not literary, neccessarily. They are not for the wealthy, or political, though they might be one and the same. They are not for the supposed righteous, they are not for those that think they are righteous. They are not the only way to say anything, they are not, neccessarily.

And you best believe the good fellow that wrote these words probably has a story to tell. Still, the words don’t have to say what you want to hear, they just are what they are. They are welcome to be what they will be. I’ve been writing them for years, but it seems like I could have a good time just putting the pieces together. These pieces move fast, they don’t suffer a lot of pause. They talk about everything at once. They are not terribly thematic individually, but varied in topic, and subject. What subject? You’ll figure it out.

You’ll understand as much, or little as you will. You’ll tell your friend, “Can you believe he said that?” But so much for the negative. Sometimes the words fall on you like rain, or blow around like leaves in the street, or gather like clouds in the sky, or move like a line of ants on the ground, or simmer in a pot like beans in a restaurant, or huddle like the ladies on a team, or assemble like children on a playground, or cluster like a bunch of flowers, or group like a crowd of well wishers, or hang out like a hoard of hippies burning it down, or round up like a herd of cattle, or swarm like a hive of bees, or grate like the sands between your toes, or ascend like balloons at a festival, or not.

They don’t have to make sense in a literal way like the manual for your cellphone, or the pamphlet on venereal disease. They are not required to be readable. They are not necessary to understand the story line. They just are using the tools and techniques I have taught myself to inflict maximum interest on an audience of my choosing. Sounds preconceived. That may be actionable, and certainly entertaining. Good.

They are suggestive, they are emotive, they don’t have to have a thing to do with what the front row is talking about over what you say. They are free to be whatever they want, whatever you want. The audience is a very big part of Improv, so I guess their conversation is part of the show.

New perspectives, a new pair of shoes, a novel idea whose time has come. Sometimes the words come in backwards, or upside down, like gibberish, like garbage. Like something not together, like something confused. But read between the lines. But hear them for what they say. The hints are everywhere, the hints are off the cuff, the hints are on the back of a box of cereal, the hints are hints because they have something to hide, maybe a surprise in every box.

But you’ll figure it out, sooner, or later. Sometimes they come in on top of one another, sometimes they don’t come in at all. Like water that won’t be constrained, or constricted, the words can’t be held for long before the embankment that pretends to hold them springs a leak. Rest assured, when the dam is long forgotten the words, like the water, will still be there. But you get my drift.

Pardon, but do you have…

Photo Credit: Jay Hamburger

Pardon, but do you have……the time?

Do you, really, know what time it is? Do you wear a watch to tell the time? Or do you tell time with your cellphone? Or do you mark the time on the sundial in the square, or is it the changing of the season?

It’s time to leave. It’s time to go home. It’s party time. It’s time to get some work done. It’s time to quit complaining. It’s time to get moving. It’s time to rest. It’s time to relax. It’s time to go away. Vacation time. Work time. Down time. Slow time. Go time. Half time. Full time. Four-four time. Three-four time. Cut time. No time. Summertime. Timeless. Some other time. Split time. Good time. On time. No time for you. No time for this shit. No time. Spend time. Some time. Borrow time, but pay it back. My time. Your time. Our time together. It’ll take more time, what’s a few more minutes? It’ll happen in it’s own good time. Dream time. Big time. Short time. Stop time. Mountain time zone. Central time zone. Pacific time zone. Eastern time zone. Any place, anywhere, anytime. Once upon a time. Give me some time. Did you think it wouldn’t take some time? Not enough time. It’s time to go. The time on the wall clock. It’s time for dinner. It’s time to play some tunes. It’s time to feed the parakeet. It’s time to go see who is stealing the newspaper from the doormat. It’s time to give that so&so a piece of your mind. Being with you is timeless. Diamonds are timeless.

Timelessness. The time with you has seemed like a breath of air, time was we had more piece of mind before theses lines were drawn that have become our face, time went slower when I was shorter, time goes ticking by, but who has the time to notice, how much time has passed, how much time is left, every time I look at my watch I smile, every time I look at you I smile, time is an ally, time is short, time is long, who knows where the time goes? is it time? time flys, time drags on and on, what time is this flight? If I just had more time, one more time, in time, out of time, golden time, dark times, time is like a fruit fly, as time goes by, it goes too slow till it goes too fast. every time, most time, less time, good time, only time, out of time, stop time, rig time, less time, any time, stand time, face time, one time, just give me a little time, time goes by, the world goes as the time goes, one time, a little time, time for you, time for me, time for the tiller man, time for you, time for me, time for someone else, the time before you go, the time before you arrive, the time before the guests arrive, don’t mess with time, don’t waste time, lose time, buy time, rent time, sometimes, next time, only time, one time, spent time, arrive on time, no time, all the time, worth your time, not worth your time, done time, save time, time at the center of the planet, over time, quitting time, work time, break time, old time, same time, under time, time is just a way to keep everything from happening at the same time, time on earth, time on Mars, time on the water, time on land, time in the air, time before Trump, time after Trump, time after time, time and again, time doesn’t matter, time won’t make a difference, time won’t help, time you won’t notice, time you won’t care about, time on the court, time in the pool, time on the baseball field, time on the links, time on the field, time behind the plate, time in the joint, time behind bars, time in jail, time in solitary confinement, time in a plane, time in a car, time on a bicycle, time on skates, time on the slopes, time on a stage, time in a dressing room, time in the dentist chair, time in a doctor’s office, time in a department store, time will heal you, time to forget, time until tomorrow, time until it’s over, time doesn’t matter, time is irreversible, time bomb, timed out, time zone, time is a fluid, time is an ether, time on the highway, time on the backstreets, time goes by when you’re not paying attention, time warp, time dilution, the time stops here, time machine, time is inconvenient, the time is correct, time never stops, time never waits, time goes by, all the time, in the time it takes to blink an eye, in the time it takes to tie your shoe, in the time it takes to sail across the ocean, in the time it takes to fly a plane to Europe, in the time, with the time, stopping time, any time.

Give me time, a moment of your time please, no more time, only time will heal the wound, only time will bring you ’round, time is the magic, time is the grease, time is the lubricant, time heals all, time will make it right, time on a train, time on a bus, time in a cab, the time stops here, you don’t have the time, it won’t take any time, it doesn’t take much time, everything is twenty minutes away, only time will tell, time and again, I’ll fix it when I have the time, make time, give your time away, charge for your time, do you give change? only time, one time offer, time in the loony bin, time on the lam, time in a truck, time in an automobile, time on the force, time in the band, time goes fast, time goes slow, time goes in circles, time goes straight as an arrow, timeline, march of time, sprint of time, gait of time, well of time, want of time, stopping time right where you want it…

…we’ll make time.