Hot Buttons

I was knocked from sound sleep (the best sound I’ve had all week) on the bus the other day by a redneck climbing to the bathroom in the back of the bus. This procedure is common and accepted, known as the “bus crawl.” As people with empty brains will often do, there is a social group created when one says “bus crawl is in effect” much as one might say “four more years” at times. I pick these things up quickly, the lingo, as a result of being a musician and needing to fit in to the sound of a thing quickly, and have been ordering dozens of “shiners” not “shiner bocks” for the last two days.

I think that if I recline my seat a bit, I won’t need the headrest extended and am therefore armored enough against bus-crawlers. However, I am flanked by people who hate freedom, and have to exchange fire over the jurisdiction of seat incline positioning. Though I may not be made comfortable by your seat reclining, I defend to the death your right to recline it! I weep a little every time the carpeted plane before me nuzzles ever so much closer to my legs, caressing the top edge of my book, leaning in to my welcome smile, and offering closer inspection of it’s patterned nape, and it cradles ever more tenderly the amber yolk it carries before me. I am preparing for a long battle, one that will be waged on every bus ride and will involve a row of combatants from stem to stern, awoken by my exclamation “I am reclining now, and this is the truth, fold thy knees and let me pass!”

At a dinner later that night in College Station, I was seated at the end of a long table with the heathen and stabbed at the blackened fish vigorously, with eyes locked ahead and a smirk silently telling all before that I am psychotic.

The hotel in College Station is a resort that allowed us to drink for hours and hours by the pool the other day, providing ice and reggae music in case we didn’t know. Beginning at about 4 pm after a run with the assistant company manager, I stationed myself with a jolly group of bud light cans and youth poolside. I ran to re-supply at the package store, which was next to a couple selling roll-away cots for 25 cents.

The group of partiers was tenacious, staying out until about 2am. There were 5 events: pool party, dinner party, bar, hot tub party, hotel room party. At the Hot Tub party I was bitten by what I thought was a scorpion, but turned out to be a cockroach. The jets are magnificent at this particular hotel, the Hotel Galvez. It was one of the casts 18th birthday parties. Solid youth.

Promo

Here's something I just wrote about myself for a website that advertises party planning. Truthiness be told, I'm the best. Tell your rich friends:

I provide world class music for all occasions, in a variety of ensembles. From 1-10 musicians are available to enertain you in the style you choose. Classical music for a wedding ceremony and jazz/pop for a reception are a specialty! Flute, Clarinet, Saxophone, Piano, and String Ensembles are all at my disposal. I can also help to plan your entertainment! Services available throughout the northeast, don't hesitate to call.

Starlight Musicals

Here is one of the theaters we played at a few weeks ago.

Texans Beware! Inexperience, lack of concentration!

I noticed today that next to Starbucks on Texas Ave in College Station, TX, there is a gun range. I had a vision of me walking in there with propeller idling atop colorful beanie and caramel machiatto chilling my hand, seeing the blur of checkered flannel as I'm overwhelmed by rounds from behind the counter, ducking, squealing and pleading for my life still only a step away from the safety of the parking lot.

Instead I was immediately greeted by a latex gloved man (hey, what kind of club is this...) with brown stains on his fingertips (oh, I'll have the sani-probe with a shot of wheatgrass, is Claude working today?) They don't offer walk-in lessons (well, maybe you'll listen to my little friend). Actually I was there with a friend who is rather short, and they didnt' listen to him either, no lessons today. Of course, we could have just forgotten the lesson all together and bought an hour of lane time and rented a couple of pea shooters, what could possibly go wront. Now the race is on to find a place to shoot handguns this week. Should be terrifying.

Sure I can

This show is now in College Station, Texas. We’ve got a great piece of property on the 6th floor of the Clarion, which is in need of improvement but has views of Target, just how I like it.

There’s a nice pool hall behind the hotel here called P.O.E.T.S. I don’t know what that stands for, but it represents a group of large tables and average size dart boards in a hazy room. No problem, as they say. I played pool with a great assortment of characters for quite a while, winning one game cleanly and many others in slimy deceit. One gentleman at an adjacent table broke a cue over his knee, which I was hoping would erupt into a glorious brawl.

My roommate has a girlfriend now and, of course, I’m hoping this works to my advantage. The coupling department is now just filling orders after a backlog of several months, and new shipments are arriving nightly to many smiling band members. There's a lot of passion.

Last night there was a round asian man in the front row of the audience who stood during the bows in total rapture. He appeared to be about 25 years old and stood contraposto in a very cool way while imitating only the hand movements of the actors on the stage.

Our trombonist fell flat on his face at the end of the night. Luckily we were already leaving the bar, but falling made the point obvious to the staff and patrons all. We tried for a long time to fix the internet, but the socket’s not working. Then I washed my clothes in the tub with shampoo, which doesn’t work hardly at all.

This is a group of people up in the Hancock building in Chicago

This is my new alto saxophone from Wichita Band Company.

Winnie the Poohderonomy

In Shreveport there is a large space devoted to retail that includes more of the big chain stores and restaurants than I’ve ever seen together. I guess that mall along I87 near New York city probably has more, because this space in Louisiana lacks a Restoration Hardware (notably absent in New Orleans as well I’m told) and a Cheescake Factory (I love their tiramisu ice cream and Caesar dressing! (together)). There are 3 Starbides within sight of one another. One each hides inside a Barnes And Noble (I love their Newsweek and moleskine lined 5 x 7 journal with elastic closure (classy)) and Super Target (I love their Durabilt 15-in-one-easy-screw and rope lights), while the mother hen clucks contentedly on the other side of the parking lot, dispatching driven-thru customers to spread the word. One of the few non-chain stores is a Christian supply store complete with a tomato and cucumber talisman outside that tried to hug me as I walked by. Humans dressed as Salad on Saturdays…the messiah dressed as human on Sundays! There is a Relax the Back store in case you are phenomenally overweight and poor and feel you can feign interest (and financial solvency enough to buy) a massaging chair, and would like to unwind after carrying that Suncraft DVD/WMA player and 27 inch Cyberwham HD TV to your truck. What’s the warranty on this?

As our Clarion hotel is apparently sinking (we are next to something that used to be called a Bayou (that crab grass is deeper than it looks) and is now called Setterly Winds Estates Custom Homes) in solidarity with it’s stricken sisters down the river, I’m taking it upon myself to level the doorjams on the 5th floor so that our door will close with a whisper instead of a scream. Thankfully, you can buy cumalongs and hydraulic jacks at no less than 5 stores down the road, because this hotel looks like a heavy one.

To wit, we are in the true south now, and I was informed of this off handedly by the guy in Best Buy who directed me to the “tall black guy by the computers,” for help finding a screwdriver. I actually thought he said “tall white guy” at first, which I don’t understand. I’ve heard some other insensitive descriptions of each other recently, but I can’t remember them. I can’t wait to hear the reaction to Tracy’s integrating the TV show in the play we are doing tonight. I’m expecting a large round of applause for the George Bush joke (thank you ‘cane), and a referendum on “this will just encourage them to steal more Tvs” as the blue hairs exit to their southern homes and ponder that the show is now integrated. This is just a joke, but is also why I don’t tell a lot of people about this site.

Today

Now we are retracing our steps again, back through Omaha from Sioux City (SiouxPerior Indeed) and then over Wichita through Dallas. In the Omaha airport, some of our brethren fell under suspicion for leaving a handbag (a handbag?) at the table next to them while they played Galaga/Ms. Pac Man at the munch’em snack stand. Actually, this stand was called “Krack Attack” in red neon above it, no possible explanation for this other than a particularly straight-shooting proprietor who apparently has never been to a gay bar, Detroit or Laramie and who doesn’t have any clever friends. Or a TV. The pair of musicians were questioned briefly (“is this your bag?”) by the police and set free.

Last night at the Clarion I overheard a devastatingly trashy and good looking woman in a cowboy hat talking to her Tim Mcgrawey husband about the Casino shuttle, which was due to arrive soon and remove any who were tired of the hotel bar to the River Boat casino just down the road. I assembled a posse of winners and high-fived the man in the cowboy hat a few times and off we went. The casino was tiny and the river is very low, so the checkered gangway to the entrance was very disorienting. We found the old Bonus Frenzy and Blazing 7s machines and started yanking. I discussed with the bartender about how the drinks are not free and then was escorted back to the bank of slots by a waiter because you’re only allowed to carry one drink at a time at this casino. This is a policy beyond reproach in every way, preventing spills. Sitting at a slot machine with a cool tonic I find to be very calming, for a few minutes.

We arrived back at the hotel bar soon enough and finished off the night with a jolly game of “do you know this person,” which I’m not very good at. Then I discovered that we got Comedy Central and so I watched some Reno 911 until very late.

Out the airplane window I just saw the huge theater we played at in Wichita a few nights ago, far below.

Keeping up with the jonses

Yesterday in Wichita I woke up to meet Richard from the Wichita Band Company on his way to work at 8:30. He offered to pick me up so I could have my baritone sax worked on at the store. He drives a tan Continental extremely slowly with one hand and drank coffee with the other. When we arrived at the store, a few minutes before it opened, I made a phone call and waited for the repair guys to arrive. I tried some more saxophones and made some more phone calls while the baritone was being repaired and eventually bought a nice Selmer alto from 1942 that seemed just right. The salespeople at the store are focused and straightforward.

I went to find food at around 11am and found it to be extremely cold and windy outside and I wanted to have a jacket on, which I did not have. I went into a place called the Spice Merchant to warm up and see if they were serving lunch as it says on the sign. They don’t serve lunch for the last 2.5 years. Walking into the store under a loft with tables and chairs on it, and a staircase with a wait to be seated sign I was expecting lunch. Apparently these things are left over from the many years that they did serve lunch.

Though they sell high-end coffee makers and beans, the place looks like a salvation army to me. The store is an enormous warehouse of mugs and coffee makers and spoons, salsas and olive oils. The merchandise was displayed on metal pantry shelves arranged head-high into aisles. It was only slightly updated from the commercial bakery, auto parts store or printer it once was. The only light came from a few fluorescent bulbs high above our heads and yet they sell the same merchandise to which Starbucks (there are none in Wichita) or Williams Sonoma (obviously, none in Wichita) devotes salaries upon salaries of lighting design. There are hardly any lights in the store. The Spice Merchant is in the same one-floor white brick building as a home furnishings store called Abode, which is a local pottery barn send-up with wood floors accent lighting and natural suede ottomans. I imagined the two owners arguing over their obviously opposing philosophies of retail, but quickly the owner of Abode (Bernie, late 30s and fat like Jeff Garlin) came in and asked something about the mail and assured me that it’s all good.

In the corner of the Spice Merchant was an old woman doing laundry who offered me a cup of coffee and started talking to me. She suggested I talk to the owner about something or other (I was not stealing, though I wasn’t sure if I should pay for the coffee). Bob the owner eventually found me and talked for a really long time about the arts organizations in Wichita and their summer theatre programs. The Wichita Symphony is quite active, and depending on whom you ask (ask Bob), is excellent. He also supports public radio. Bob Boewe has been in business for many decades in the gourmet trade, always on Douglas St. in Wichita and doesn’t look like a guy in charge of a gourmet’s basement. I asked if they sold postcards and Bob looked around for a while and determined that they didn’t have any among the racks of greeting cards that I can’t imagine anyone noticing. So we grabbed more coffee and went out the back door to his waiting Toyota Previa and drove down the street to a digital imaging company that specializes in aircraft photography and which sells postcards. I got a full tour of the prints on the wall of beech and Lear and Cessna airplanes. The Wichita photographer Paul Bowen apparently has a converted B25 with a photographer’s nook in the nose and tail instead of gun turrets. He is famous for getting shots of small jets coming up through the clouds with strikingly long vortices behind them.

Back at the Wichita Band Company I finished up getting my saxes fixed by Jesse, who is a typically amusing and aloof saxophone repairman. His work is astonishing so far (notes upon notes) and he never let me finish a sentence without pausing reflectively, meaning awkwardly, like I’m mother superior and I was telling him that I had always wanted to kiss him like this, and saying “oh,” before looking away and abandoning the whole conversation. I paid for my new alto and wrassled a few free boxes of reeds (“oh my this floor is cold, but your beard is so cozy, you!”) out of Richard’s formidable left hand grip (he’s a born French horn player, always said so) and he drove me back to the hotel. He agreed with the idea that Kansans are screwing themselves out of a future by supporting the generally republican economic principles in place today that include farm subsidies and tax benefits to those making more money than anyone in Kansas.

More

Two people can comfortably split two seats in this way: one sleeps on the floor under the seats and one sleeps on the seats. This necessitates the body pillow and egg crate pad, so the bodies don’t smash together (catastrophoic?) should the driver swerve or stop. A point to explore: why do people who may have slept all night then sleep all day?

My seatmate is the trombone player in the band who is also a fan of the Apple product, but in a much more elite way. He actually used to train the Geniuses that Apple provides in their stores, and was very disappointed when I asked him to teach me HTML (officially abandoned in 2000…who knew? Stop paying your web guys for using HTML, they might as well say mass in latin). He’s very tall and has some problems in the seat because of this. Not what it sounds like. He has mercifully drawn the short straw and got the Swing Seat for the last 440 mile trip to Omaha. This means that he occupies the extra two seats near the back of the bus as a treat. So I got our native two seats to myself for the 8 hour trip. No complaints. I slept most of the way.

The bus is quite comfortable and is driven by Mr. Jones who asks that no one says the f-word of the G-D word on the bus. This rule is not always followed though there are many times when no one is saying those words, and I’m sure he enjoys those times most of all.

The crowds in Omaha are brilliant and the theater is the best we’ve played. It’s from 1927 or something like that. The newer theaters actually aren’t as good for these shows I think. The play feels high-school to me in a modern room with a long distance to the balconies and perfect acoustics. The sound doesn’t seem quite right for the double bill we deliver, comedy, drama, and social comment (1 comedy + .5 drama + .5 social comment = 2). I think the slightly older but really expensive houses begging for a city-wide inferno (what ever happened to those, oh DPRK Productions is working on a revival) work really well. Similar to broadway houses...not surprising because we are all seconds away from trading a discrete body part to get a job there.

If I wanted to play in a meat locker, I’d be bowing a saw in between hacks at the dripping carcass swaying before me. (this act does not garner many tips in Harvard Square, especially on a warm night) Anyone tried Mama I’m a Big Girl on the saw yet? I can’t fly with my saw (oh so now I’M the bad guy, with this saw? Is it illegal now to bring a saw on an airplane? Am I really paying for this privilege of humiliation?) so my hands are tied regarding that orchestration for the time being.

hello

Hello from Omaha, where they laugh at the George W. Bush joke anyway! There is a small jewish community here that bring Broadway shows out here. There's also a great Big Band on Monday Nights at a coffee shop. I'm so Thirsty!

We'll Share the Hide-a-Bed

I’m sitting on the bus now that is daytime home to 42 people. The tour works like this: crew and equipment travel in 4 semis and a 12 person tour bus and cas, orchestra and management travel on a 54 person coach. The crew always load out and leave immediately following the last performance in a city and drive overnight, arriving in time to start unloading the trucks and setting up for a 6pm sound check. We always stay in the hotel in the city of a performance and drive on the day of a performance in the morning, planning for a 2 pm check-in and nap at the next hotel. Today we are in the middle of matinee one-nighters, which is the worst case scenario where you close a city on a Friday night only to have another show in another city at 3 pm the next day. The crew has to be set up for a 12:30pm sound check, leaving only 14 hours between the last bow on Friday and the first note on Saturday, hundreds of miles apart. We hit traffic (stupid bus crash! not our bus, however) this morning between Wakegan and Normal, Ill and are about 2 hours behind schedule. Someone will have to choose between feeding us, allowing us to get dressed, or starting the 3 pm show on time. The show is loaded in, ready to go in Normal, but there is no cast or band yet.

In the front seats behind the driver are the company manager to starboard and the Musical Director to port. The company manager is great fun in Karaoke situations and will entertain at length if required. The musical director sings great too, and is open minded about staying up late.

I find that I'm not tired of cast members reciting lines from funny movies.

I found that laying across two seats with my head in the aisle and feet on the window is the best way to ride the bus. If I could suspend my ipod above my face this would be ideal and strange.