Where The Gigs Start

Saying Things

They say life starts when your best made plans take a break on the side of a highway somewhere between Moab and Sedona on the reservation in the middle of June. They also say that none of these things really matter. You could've lived in Japan, played music in Australia, kayaked many rivers, climbed many peaks, but really life spits out "who cares" at you around every turn. That's why playing music and making art is important. It really jumbles everything together and plops you down in a coffee shop so you can pretend to write and enjoy your favorite brew. That's why you're doing that in that precise moment. No one really knows what brings you there and with time you learn to not care about that either. Now that doesn't mean that everything's not sacred. Not caring and being sacred as it turns out are two very different things. The answer to why this is requires lots of contemplation and few words and so it's better to refrain from any true answer. Any true answer really gets away from the answer or it becomes a fake answer or something in between. It can be kind of compared to the smell of coffee versus what coffee actually tastes like. You're the one writing in a coffee shop though so it seems linked up to write this down to explain things. You're the creator in every moment and at the same time not at all.

Contemplation Digitalized

You know why there are stickers on fruit. The watermelon now tastes better because it requires patience. Everything has a purpose as it turns out. Everything is a meditation if you want it to be. Before there were stickers on fruit though the stars appeared differently in the sky. One can only imagine what that starry scene looked like before the stickers. Everything is perception. Perhaps that's why we're all here. One day a while back though you were playing a gig at a dive bar in Tokyo. You had hopped on the train in the countryside a couple hours earlier. You really didn't know if you were going there to play music or if capsule hotels were just capturing your imagination in that present moment. It really didn't matter. You remembered there was the digital military time displayed in the train car you were in. The word "train car" seemed liked a much too historic word to use to describe the futuristic design of the bullet train on its way to Tokyo. The words "futuristic capsule" or "sleek abode" fit better. Eventually you arrived at the gig and your friend Mark was there. He had taken the train too and his music stuff was all neatly packed into a perfect little bundle. He took the local train though. It was okay to use the words "train car" to describe his case. The local train is older. It has worn out green stripes on its outside. It's on the Joban Line. The line requires patience. You took notes so that your music bundle would be more neat and tidy for your next gig just as his was. It requires patience to have things neat and tidy. Really though nothing has changed. As you write this you wish your music bundle was more neat and tidy. Your friend Patty finally had you buy straps for your cords. As it turns out "stringets" are actually completely useful for gig masters or masters in the making, which we all are if we are traveling and playing gigs in different places. She gave you the stringets before the gig you'd play with her in Carbondale, Colorado. The gig in Tokyo started at 10pm and was accompanied by copious amounts of cigarette smoke and good music. Usually one enjoys to be with the other. You can imagine the Japanese guy making your looper with a cigarette slowly smoking in a warn out ashtray. Perhaps he didn't smoke though. Perhaps it's the wrong picture all together. It's a good thing everything is digital these days. You used to have to be conservative with your picture taking. This one underground musician went on stage first before you and you're still impressed at how perfectly he orchestrated his looper performance. He was your friend. He still is, but you don't live in Japan anymore. Now he's an older friend. Looking back it probably contributed to you spontaneously purchasing your Boss RC 300 looper in Grand Junction when you were living in Rifle, Colorado. You still remember that performance he gave in Tokyo that night. You purchasing that looper probably landed you the gig in Grand Junction later. We must always thank the music shops. They land the gigs. Snagging yourself a gig always occur right before it rains and right after. The best bait are worms from that shop right by Grand Lake close to where the Colorado starts. You'd rise at five to watch the clouds hover over the water. Those clouds created songs along with Chapman Reservoir. You weren't really there to catch the fish as it turns out. Fish created the music shops. The Japanese gig in downtown Tokyo at 10pm reminded you of this. Sometimes you need that reminder.

Thunder In Summer

After the gig you entered this pristine elevator. It was pristine precisely because it had been used countless numbers of times. You felt this when you entered before the gig. You felt you could've played the whole gig in that elevator. That would've been enough. That would've captured the moment. Instead though you exited the gig after midnight and you had a chalky throat from singing in a smokey space. It came with the territory and you looked forward to the capsule hotel. Mostly you looked forward to the sleep and dreams that would follow, but you also looked forward to the bath before sleep. The scene was something out of some futuristic Egyptian temple. On the 10th floor of this building was this giant bath with a TV blaring something in Japanese. You soaked in the hot water and felt the silence of the moment caving in on you in a comfortable way. Moments later you were in your capsule and then time droned on and dreams started. Reality is blurred in these moments. It's much like rain on a window pane during a later afternoon thunderstorm in the high Rockies. The scene outside is blurry, but this makes the sound of the water on the roof only more silent. Silence breeds creativity. In this way we always welcome the first thunder of summer.