Back in 99' I got back home to NYC just the way I like to...
In the height of the summer action!
Central Park Summer stage, concerts in New York's parks and the summer touring season, all good reasons to be there in summer as well as the fact that for me it has been more than 12 years since I have seen even a hint of snow, so I always travel home in the summer to keep that streak going.
But I had no Idea what kind of action I was in for!
I think it was a Thursday night and I was enjoying a drink or two with an old bud, when I unconsciously began thumbing through the current copy of "Time Out New York".
I always find the amount of things on in NYC amazing when thery're laid out in a magazine.
Hmmm...?
Jimmy Smith?
That's a good one for my birthday.
Buddy Guy in the park?
Oh yeah!
What's this...?
Charlie Hunter!?
All this week @ Joes pub?
Starting in 1 hour?
As I read the words my hands began reaching for my bag and my wallet to pay our tab, and after a short briefing to bring my bud up to speed we were on the street and heading downtown.
I was quite surprised to learn in the cab on the way, that my friend was not familiar with the incredible 8-string guitar work of Mr. Hunter.
I briefed him as best I could on the way... Knowing full well that the shock of seeing the Charlie Hunter Trio (which by the way consisted of only two players at the time) could cause some people to completely flip their wigs.
I explained how Hunter played an 8 string guitar strung with 5 guitar strings & 3 bass strings and also how he did double duty as guitarist& bass player simultaneously.
I added that I was not sure, but I had my suspicions that he had a few extra fingers.
He seemed incredulous.
I then went on to try to explain Chopek... The drummer and how I believed he was quite possibly hiding a 3rd arm somewhere on his person.
I laid out how Hunter was part of The disposable Heroes of Hip-Hoprocy with Michael Franti, and how this was gonna be a night of Groove so thick that it might take a day or two for our feet to stop tapping.
I've got to admit, that even as the words left my mouth I thought... "Even I wouldn't believe this hype!" that is if I had not seen it with my own eyes at The Continental in Melbourne.
Our cab pulls up outside Joes pub, some money is tossed in the general direction of the driver & we walk into the venue.
Look! A table is open right at the foot of the stage!
Score!
I order a scotch and a beer for my bud just as the band takes the stage.
It only takes 16 bars or so until the sound of jaws hitting the floor fills the room and every one there knows the truth...
These are some very funky brothers!
The "trio" played for a half hour or so and then invited some guest onstage, David Ellis on Sax & Skerik for additional percussion.
More jaws drop.
The band played 4 dates that week and I was there for all of em', sitting front of stage like a stalker soakin it all up.
So if Charlie Hunter is playing your town, or the next town over, or the one next to that, should you go?
Have Ya not been listening?
You bet your ass you should go!
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Retro-Review: Headfake @ CBGB's- 1999
The place is CBGB's.
Circa 1999
This room was the scene of many a magic musical moment in my life.
The place where I saw The Talking Heads, The Clash, and Blondie not to mention hundreds of other seminal acts of the last two decades.
Tonight there will be an addition to that long list of great performances, for on this chilly, November evening the New York grapevine has informed me of a very special event.
The first performance of a new musical entity called Headfake!
You may ask... What's so special about this unknown musical unit besides a great name?
Well I'm glad you asked.
Headfake is made up of 3/4 of the band Living Colour!
That's right kids, Corey Glover (vocals), Will Calhoun (drums & percussion) and last but not least the amazing Douglas Winbush (augmented bass guitar).
That line up would have been enough for any night but on this night there was more... on guitar... Vernon Reid.
A piece of information that should be mentioned is that before Headfake took the stage an unknown band warmed us up and after another unknown took us out.
So really it was just another showcase night at CB's, which is probably what the boys from Headfake wanted.
The few people that had turned out for the gig (and there could only be a few people @ CBGB's cause the place is so small) had been chatting away about what to expect.
No one was sure what the set would be.
Would it be material from Corey's fantastic C.D. Hymns...?
Some thought that it could include stuff from the African Head Charge days or maybe Living Colour stuff, or since we all know from years of following these guys around NYC how prone they are to intense improvisations perhaps we would be treated to some next out shit!
What would it be?
Looking around the room I began to notice that there were no record company types to be seen, no big time hype, just musicians setting up gear (in Winbush's case lots and lots of gear) no guitar tech, or drum tech... Just the band.
The set starts and we all sense a little more about what this is going to be.
First we start with a four-minute bass solo that segues into Torn, a song from the Junglefunk album.
By the second tune, September we are all sure that this is a night we will not soon forget!
In this old room with it's chipping paint, wobbly tables, and tiny stage we were all about to receive the full soul treatment.
For my money Corey Glover has always been what a soul singer was meant to be.
It has never been much of an effort for me to trace the sound from Big Bill Broonzy to Sam Cooke to Rev. Al Green to Corey and tonight this band makes it that much clearer.
90 Minutes into the set and we have cleared all of the Jungle Funk material, and these guys show no sign of letting up so as a treat they drop two Living Colour tunes into the mix the fantastic but little known Sail Away (Bad Brains) and Leave it alone from Stain.
120 minutes from the start of the set to the finish and the crowds collective mind is blown!
We spill out onto the streets of lower Manhattan into the cold winter wind amazed at what 5 bucks can buy in this town.
Circa 1999
This room was the scene of many a magic musical moment in my life.
The place where I saw The Talking Heads, The Clash, and Blondie not to mention hundreds of other seminal acts of the last two decades.
Tonight there will be an addition to that long list of great performances, for on this chilly, November evening the New York grapevine has informed me of a very special event.
The first performance of a new musical entity called Headfake!
You may ask... What's so special about this unknown musical unit besides a great name?
Well I'm glad you asked.
Headfake is made up of 3/4 of the band Living Colour!
That's right kids, Corey Glover (vocals), Will Calhoun (drums & percussion) and last but not least the amazing Douglas Winbush (augmented bass guitar).
That line up would have been enough for any night but on this night there was more... on guitar... Vernon Reid.
A piece of information that should be mentioned is that before Headfake took the stage an unknown band warmed us up and after another unknown took us out.
So really it was just another showcase night at CB's, which is probably what the boys from Headfake wanted.
The few people that had turned out for the gig (and there could only be a few people @ CBGB's cause the place is so small) had been chatting away about what to expect.
No one was sure what the set would be.
Would it be material from Corey's fantastic C.D. Hymns...?
Some thought that it could include stuff from the African Head Charge days or maybe Living Colour stuff, or since we all know from years of following these guys around NYC how prone they are to intense improvisations perhaps we would be treated to some next out shit!
What would it be?
Looking around the room I began to notice that there were no record company types to be seen, no big time hype, just musicians setting up gear (in Winbush's case lots and lots of gear) no guitar tech, or drum tech... Just the band.
The set starts and we all sense a little more about what this is going to be.
First we start with a four-minute bass solo that segues into Torn, a song from the Junglefunk album.
By the second tune, September we are all sure that this is a night we will not soon forget!
In this old room with it's chipping paint, wobbly tables, and tiny stage we were all about to receive the full soul treatment.
For my money Corey Glover has always been what a soul singer was meant to be.
It has never been much of an effort for me to trace the sound from Big Bill Broonzy to Sam Cooke to Rev. Al Green to Corey and tonight this band makes it that much clearer.
90 Minutes into the set and we have cleared all of the Jungle Funk material, and these guys show no sign of letting up so as a treat they drop two Living Colour tunes into the mix the fantastic but little known Sail Away (Bad Brains) and Leave it alone from Stain.
120 minutes from the start of the set to the finish and the crowds collective mind is blown!
We spill out onto the streets of lower Manhattan into the cold winter wind amazed at what 5 bucks can buy in this town.
Bobby Six -Strings, The Metropolitan Museum, Crazy Guitars & Sofia Loren's Arse
Years ago...
It must have been 1989 or 90', long before I'd left NYC and came to Australia I had the great pleasure of sharing an evening with some of my favorite works of art.
Back then I spent my days working as a jeweler & my nights working as a guitar tech/ roadie/P.A. and much more, in exchange for lessons from my personal guitar oracle, let's just call him a player that I had a great amount of respect for at the time.
As I remember it, the oracle somehow scored a gig demonstrating a collection of guitars at the Met.
I guess the tie in for the Met was that these guitars were more art than instrument.
Some artisan had shaped them as "g" clefs, bass clefs & other odd shapes and created a group of guitars that were great looking but just barely playable.
Don't know if the oracle enjoyed the night but I had a chance to wonder around this incredible museum at a private function and take in all that wonderful art!
As it turned out there was not much time to wonder... I spent most of the time changing guitars for the oracle, he'd noodle through some Jazz tune, and while the applause died down I'd hand him the next guitar I'd been back stage trying desperately to tune.
You know I'm not quite sure how many guitars there were, but in due time we got around to the last and while the oracle took complements from guests and the artist responsible, I left the stage to take in some more of the museum and perhaps grab a drink or two.
Just as I got to side of stage he began playing again but this time on a exquisite arch-top, I stopped in my tracks as most there did, to hear the "truth" coming from this beautiful instrument.
As I stood there, listening I began to feel someone move up behind me.
A decidedly feminine presence, and wearing the most intoxicating fragrance, I didn't turn I just took it in with the music but I grew more curious as the time passed, until, by the end of the tune I could wait no longer to see this woman.
I turned and found myself looking at Sofia Loren!
In my mind all kinds of thoughts were running around, but I think the only audible sound I made was "eeep", and even I'm not sure what I meant by that!
She gave me a quick look that seemed to say "I get this all the time... And I'm so over it" and turned away talking to the man at her side.
As she turned I did what I have done so many times before in similar situations... I checked out her arse!
It was just then that she decided to turn and look back at me, she was probably concerned that I had swallowed my tongue.
So there I stood staring at her, staring at me staring at her ass... So very smooth.
There was nothing I could do... I was busted, so I shrugged my shoulders, smiled my "like I wasn't gonna" smile & waved goodbye.
It must have been 1989 or 90', long before I'd left NYC and came to Australia I had the great pleasure of sharing an evening with some of my favorite works of art.
Back then I spent my days working as a jeweler & my nights working as a guitar tech/ roadie/P.A. and much more, in exchange for lessons from my personal guitar oracle, let's just call him a player that I had a great amount of respect for at the time.
As I remember it, the oracle somehow scored a gig demonstrating a collection of guitars at the Met.
I guess the tie in for the Met was that these guitars were more art than instrument.
Some artisan had shaped them as "g" clefs, bass clefs & other odd shapes and created a group of guitars that were great looking but just barely playable.
Don't know if the oracle enjoyed the night but I had a chance to wonder around this incredible museum at a private function and take in all that wonderful art!
As it turned out there was not much time to wonder... I spent most of the time changing guitars for the oracle, he'd noodle through some Jazz tune, and while the applause died down I'd hand him the next guitar I'd been back stage trying desperately to tune.
You know I'm not quite sure how many guitars there were, but in due time we got around to the last and while the oracle took complements from guests and the artist responsible, I left the stage to take in some more of the museum and perhaps grab a drink or two.
Just as I got to side of stage he began playing again but this time on a exquisite arch-top, I stopped in my tracks as most there did, to hear the "truth" coming from this beautiful instrument.
As I stood there, listening I began to feel someone move up behind me.
A decidedly feminine presence, and wearing the most intoxicating fragrance, I didn't turn I just took it in with the music but I grew more curious as the time passed, until, by the end of the tune I could wait no longer to see this woman.
I turned and found myself looking at Sofia Loren!
In my mind all kinds of thoughts were running around, but I think the only audible sound I made was "eeep", and even I'm not sure what I meant by that!
She gave me a quick look that seemed to say "I get this all the time... And I'm so over it" and turned away talking to the man at her side.
As she turned I did what I have done so many times before in similar situations... I checked out her arse!
It was just then that she decided to turn and look back at me, she was probably concerned that I had swallowed my tongue.
So there I stood staring at her, staring at me staring at her ass... So very smooth.
There was nothing I could do... I was busted, so I shrugged my shoulders, smiled my "like I wasn't gonna" smile & waved goodbye.
Alomar, Montalvo, Peabody, Bowie & the Glass spider
Well to tell the truth this one is not really about live music, it's more about musicians.
In 1987 I was living in New York on 6th Ave next to Bryant Park, working as a jeweler on 19th Street & studying guitar very seriously with the Guitar oracle.
Now in this shop there were all types of people the one thing they had in common is that they were all professional jewelers, masters of the trade with their lives totally revolving around creating quality pieces of jewelry... The "traditional" way.
There were really only two that had devoted themselves to a different tradition, R. Montalvo & myself.
Montalvo was a family man in his late 30's at the time and was a bass player of high quality capable of pumpin' out slabs of Funk, loads of Salsa or buckets of Jazz all with equal authority.
We worked together and occasionally played together (though I was in no way playing at his level) and spent our lunch hour talking about music & life.
During one of these lunch hours Montalvo told me how he was actually very good friends with Carlos Alomar, for those that don't know, Carlos Alomar is and has been the guitarist with David Bowie for many years.
Now... I have never been the type to doubt the things my friends tell me, even back than at the tender age of 25 I knew that life can take you to all types of places, and do all types of things to ya' but... I must admit I thought to myself... "Yeah Right!"
87' was the year of Bowie's "Glass Spider" tour, the tour that feature Alomar on guitar as well as Peter Frampton?
Well as fate would have it while sitting in that shop and listening to WNEW on my headphones I heard that there would be a performance nearby @ the Cat Club @ 1:00 and it was open to the public!
I immediately turned to Montalvo and told him all about it and said I'm going & he should too, who knows he might be able to introduce me to Alomar.
As I think back that might have been a little cheekiness on my part.
We cleared it all with the man in charge and when 12:30 rolled around we started over to The Cat Club.
I have always been a big Bowie fan so I could feel my excitement building on the way over, but I had no idea what was in store!
We were about half a block from the entrance when Frampton comes out of the back stage doors & goes walking by... in full stage make-up and then 2 seconds later out pop Bowie and Alomar!
Alomar takes one look in our direction (probably wondering where Frampton was going) sees Montalvo and immediately sticks out his arms to greet his old friend.
I felt like I had been smacked across the face with a wet mullet!
They walk and talk their way back to the club doors where Bowie is waiting, with me trailing behind looking, understandably Gob smacked.
So now I'm standing in a man- circle with Alomar, Bowie & Montalvo.
Montalvo & Alomar are so busy catching up that I am left standing next to Bowie, talk about your uncomfortable silence.
I think, I finally said "I think they're old friends" or something equally as obvious while we waited, eventually they finished with old times and introductions were made we all talked about the show, the new music the conversation must've lasted 5 minutes then they were called back in.
After about five more minutes when I was able to speak again I apologized to Montalvo for ever doubting him for a minute, and that now if he wanted to tell me he was the first man on the moon I'd believe!
Don't know if Montalvo & Alomar ever saw each other again.
Oh... Yes the performance was great!
In 1987 I was living in New York on 6th Ave next to Bryant Park, working as a jeweler on 19th Street & studying guitar very seriously with the Guitar oracle.
Now in this shop there were all types of people the one thing they had in common is that they were all professional jewelers, masters of the trade with their lives totally revolving around creating quality pieces of jewelry... The "traditional" way.
There were really only two that had devoted themselves to a different tradition, R. Montalvo & myself.
Montalvo was a family man in his late 30's at the time and was a bass player of high quality capable of pumpin' out slabs of Funk, loads of Salsa or buckets of Jazz all with equal authority.
We worked together and occasionally played together (though I was in no way playing at his level) and spent our lunch hour talking about music & life.
During one of these lunch hours Montalvo told me how he was actually very good friends with Carlos Alomar, for those that don't know, Carlos Alomar is and has been the guitarist with David Bowie for many years.
Now... I have never been the type to doubt the things my friends tell me, even back than at the tender age of 25 I knew that life can take you to all types of places, and do all types of things to ya' but... I must admit I thought to myself... "Yeah Right!"
87' was the year of Bowie's "Glass Spider" tour, the tour that feature Alomar on guitar as well as Peter Frampton?
Well as fate would have it while sitting in that shop and listening to WNEW on my headphones I heard that there would be a performance nearby @ the Cat Club @ 1:00 and it was open to the public!
I immediately turned to Montalvo and told him all about it and said I'm going & he should too, who knows he might be able to introduce me to Alomar.
As I think back that might have been a little cheekiness on my part.
We cleared it all with the man in charge and when 12:30 rolled around we started over to The Cat Club.
I have always been a big Bowie fan so I could feel my excitement building on the way over, but I had no idea what was in store!
We were about half a block from the entrance when Frampton comes out of the back stage doors & goes walking by... in full stage make-up and then 2 seconds later out pop Bowie and Alomar!
Alomar takes one look in our direction (probably wondering where Frampton was going) sees Montalvo and immediately sticks out his arms to greet his old friend.
I felt like I had been smacked across the face with a wet mullet!
They walk and talk their way back to the club doors where Bowie is waiting, with me trailing behind looking, understandably Gob smacked.
So now I'm standing in a man- circle with Alomar, Bowie & Montalvo.
Montalvo & Alomar are so busy catching up that I am left standing next to Bowie, talk about your uncomfortable silence.
I think, I finally said "I think they're old friends" or something equally as obvious while we waited, eventually they finished with old times and introductions were made we all talked about the show, the new music the conversation must've lasted 5 minutes then they were called back in.
After about five more minutes when I was able to speak again I apologized to Montalvo for ever doubting him for a minute, and that now if he wanted to tell me he was the first man on the moon I'd believe!
Don't know if Montalvo & Alomar ever saw each other again.
Oh... Yes the performance was great!
Sunday, May 01, 2005
How Monk Peabody came to Australia or Cab ride to Brooklyn
You wanna hear "that" story again, mate?
Well... ok but this is the last time.
Lets see...
It was a warm April day in NYC and I had just got my gig bag packed for an engagement I had on in Brooklyn.
I'd left myself plenty of time to get there cause as you know sometimes getting a cab to Brooklyn can take a while, (even if you do have a couple of thousand dollars worth of gear in your hands) I threw my guitar over my shoulder, checked myself in the mirror, flipped my mop of dreadlocks left, then right and started down to the street.
It was such a nice day I thought that I'd walk around to 5th Ave. and catch a cab there.
A very short while later I'm standing on the corner of 40th & 5th with my hand out but no takers.
I think to myself, "hey... that's ok I’ll just stroll down to 34th pick-up some batteries and catch a cab there.
After all, it’s such a nice day.
Another short while and I’m on the street again fresh batteries in my bag, hand up, Feelin' positive.
One cab, two cabs... 3rd time lucky!
Not!
The fifth cabbie pulls up, stops and asks "Where ya goin'?"
I grab the door handle and say "Brooklyn".
Thank goodness I wasn't holding on tightly cause he tore off down 5th like the INS was after him.
But still... It’s such a nice day... I'll just keep walkin' till I get one.
It wasn't till I got to Canal Street that I began to realise, I may not get a cab but I kept walkin'.
After all, it's such a nice day.
Walking...walking... to where the city meets the sea.
I stood there for a long time, looking across to Brooklyn, feeling punchy from my walk & the periodic rejection I’d been experiencing and thought to myself...
"I'll just walk...After all, it's such a nice day!"
So I walked right into New York Harbour and that's when it all gets a little hazy.
I never did make it to Brooklyn... But I had always wanted to see Sydney.
The walk?
You know... it really wasn't that bad!
I think I 'd stopped breathing by Canal Street due to extreme anger.
So really, it was ok.
Besides... how many people can say they know the final resting places of both Jimmy Hoffa and Harold Holt!
The End!
Now really... I must go, I feel like a little walk before bed.
After all, it's such a nice night.
Taxi!
Well... ok but this is the last time.
Lets see...
It was a warm April day in NYC and I had just got my gig bag packed for an engagement I had on in Brooklyn.
I'd left myself plenty of time to get there cause as you know sometimes getting a cab to Brooklyn can take a while, (even if you do have a couple of thousand dollars worth of gear in your hands) I threw my guitar over my shoulder, checked myself in the mirror, flipped my mop of dreadlocks left, then right and started down to the street.
It was such a nice day I thought that I'd walk around to 5th Ave. and catch a cab there.
A very short while later I'm standing on the corner of 40th & 5th with my hand out but no takers.
I think to myself, "hey... that's ok I’ll just stroll down to 34th pick-up some batteries and catch a cab there.
After all, it’s such a nice day.
Another short while and I’m on the street again fresh batteries in my bag, hand up, Feelin' positive.
One cab, two cabs... 3rd time lucky!
Not!
The fifth cabbie pulls up, stops and asks "Where ya goin'?"
I grab the door handle and say "Brooklyn".
Thank goodness I wasn't holding on tightly cause he tore off down 5th like the INS was after him.
But still... It’s such a nice day... I'll just keep walkin' till I get one.
It wasn't till I got to Canal Street that I began to realise, I may not get a cab but I kept walkin'.
After all, it's such a nice day.
Walking...walking... to where the city meets the sea.
I stood there for a long time, looking across to Brooklyn, feeling punchy from my walk & the periodic rejection I’d been experiencing and thought to myself...
"I'll just walk...After all, it's such a nice day!"
So I walked right into New York Harbour and that's when it all gets a little hazy.
I never did make it to Brooklyn... But I had always wanted to see Sydney.
The walk?
You know... it really wasn't that bad!
I think I 'd stopped breathing by Canal Street due to extreme anger.
So really, it was ok.
Besides... how many people can say they know the final resting places of both Jimmy Hoffa and Harold Holt!
The End!
Now really... I must go, I feel like a little walk before bed.
After all, it's such a nice night.
Taxi!
Thursday, April 28, 2005
Why would you leave New York?
When I left New York, I think that few of my friends understood my reasons.
To tell the truth... I am only beginning to understand myself.
My last 10 years there were so filled with activity, that I have to cut hunks of it up in my memory and slow it down to really see what happened. Don't get me wrong I loved the pace, the urgency of it all! Even if it was just an illusion... a figment of a collective imagining.
I do love that city! Sometimes I'd go out late at night and just walk.
Uptown, downtown, cross-town it didn't matter, I just wanted to be on the streets.
They were my streets.
Just before I left in the early 90's, I lived in a rather large apartment on 40th & 6th with my brother and his husband.
The three of us did not have a bad life, enough room to be out of each other’s hair & Bryant Park and the city at our doorstep.
If I could have only frozen that time, no... not out of a sense of nostalgia, or even because it was my "Golden time". No...simply cause we were all alive then.
Because it was before that Plague touched us.
Before the color started to drain out of our daily existence.
Now my brother and I live on opposite sides of the globe neither in NYC.
We don’t speak about our 'other' or the city, but sometime we speak of love...and then we know...we can only be visitors there now.
Why would you leave New York?
Well... Why wouldn't we?
To tell the truth... I am only beginning to understand myself.
My last 10 years there were so filled with activity, that I have to cut hunks of it up in my memory and slow it down to really see what happened. Don't get me wrong I loved the pace, the urgency of it all! Even if it was just an illusion... a figment of a collective imagining.
I do love that city! Sometimes I'd go out late at night and just walk.
Uptown, downtown, cross-town it didn't matter, I just wanted to be on the streets.
They were my streets.
Just before I left in the early 90's, I lived in a rather large apartment on 40th & 6th with my brother and his husband.
The three of us did not have a bad life, enough room to be out of each other’s hair & Bryant Park and the city at our doorstep.
If I could have only frozen that time, no... not out of a sense of nostalgia, or even because it was my "Golden time". No...simply cause we were all alive then.
Because it was before that Plague touched us.
Before the color started to drain out of our daily existence.
Now my brother and I live on opposite sides of the globe neither in NYC.
We don’t speak about our 'other' or the city, but sometime we speak of love...and then we know...we can only be visitors there now.
Why would you leave New York?
Well... Why wouldn't we?
Draw a line ... And I'll cross it!
Why is it that no matter where I call home I can always find the pub/bar I need?
I say need, not because I have some kind of drinking problem, but because I am a people watcher, a strange sort of social voyeur.
Always in the crowd, but never really part of it.
I drink, Oh yes I do, but most importantly I find the atmosphere in a pub very comfortable, see I spent a lot of time in that environment when I was young, and mama was tending bar.
Having a nose for interesting pubs I will admit is a small gift, …but still I think it’s an amusing little gift.
It’s been a practice of mine for many years that, once or twice a month I go out to feel around for a pub.
From the time I bought my first legal drink, I have always done this alone.
I travel alone always have, and I like it that way.
Not that I’m anti-social, it’s just my nature to seek new places and people alone.
If I were anti-social why would I be looking for a pub anyway?
No, I travel alone because I have found by way of years of experience that I meet the most interesting people when I’m alone.
So that’s the way I do it.
Hey, do I look Irish in this!
New Rochelle NY the home of two of my favorite fictional TV characters, Rob and Laura Petry an ice rink a mall and not much else.
The bar where I purchased my first legal drink was located in New Rochelle NY.
It was on my birthday, my legal drinkin’ birthday.
As I remember it, I had plans to meet up with a few of my friends to bring in my birthday right, but that was hours away and I was itching to exercise my government given right to drink myself stupid.
There was this bar in New Rochelle called “The Shamrock”.
The Shamrock had been there as long as I can remember.
Don’t know if it’s still there but all the years when I was growing up I can remember it’s blacked out windows & the green neon shamrock over the door.
Whenever my friends and I would leave our much smaller town of Mount Vernon & go to the New Rochelle Mall we’d have to pass right by it.
The Shamrock seemed to always be open.
It didn’t matter what time of day you’d always see someone coming out or going in.
It was just the kind of place my momma told me to avoid (in fact I’m sure I have a memory of my mother pointing at it and saying … “Don’t ever go in there!”)
For some reason I thought this was just the place.
I have always gotten a big kick out of going where someone says I shouldn’t.
I love crossing the line.
As I walked in through the cheap dark veneer door with the worn gold plated knob and took my first look in I thought to myself mama was right.
As I walked in on the right stood a very large Irish bar bouncer.
I only mention he was Irish cause he was so Irish, or what Irish meant to me back then.
Red hair. Cherry cheeks, barrel chest and more than a little confused by my sudden & very Afro-American appearance.
The floor was covered with those black and white marble vinyl tiles, the kind they always put down in diners.
It was only seconds till I began to feel the vibe caused by my entrance into this very insular environment, so I announced firmly but not too loudly that I had come in to purchase my first “legal” drink!
This announcement warmed the pub by at least 12 degrees, every one of those rosy red faces (all male) turned towards me showed a mixture if amusement, surprise and if I’m not mistaken a wee bit of malice.
The crowd watched as I crossed to the bar and ordered the best single malt scotch the bar had.
That scored some points!
As the bartender reached down behind the bar I removed my hat and revealed my heavy mop of Dred locked hair, surprisingly there was only a single gasp of “Oh my Gawd!”
Just in time my scotch arrived, I made it vanish as quickly as it came.
Just then I heard someone shout “Davey…Give us your darts!”
I savoured, smiled & ordered another.
This time, no ice if you please… Davey.
I think most of the bar’s patrons were waiting to see if I keeled over after that second drink and when I didn’t… the third was bought for me.
I drank all night at the Shamrock, played darts and made friends that I would never see again.
I walked out hours later, tipsy but with that warm glow you can only get from crossing the line…and scotch.
I say need, not because I have some kind of drinking problem, but because I am a people watcher, a strange sort of social voyeur.
Always in the crowd, but never really part of it.
I drink, Oh yes I do, but most importantly I find the atmosphere in a pub very comfortable, see I spent a lot of time in that environment when I was young, and mama was tending bar.
Having a nose for interesting pubs I will admit is a small gift, …but still I think it’s an amusing little gift.
It’s been a practice of mine for many years that, once or twice a month I go out to feel around for a pub.
From the time I bought my first legal drink, I have always done this alone.
I travel alone always have, and I like it that way.
Not that I’m anti-social, it’s just my nature to seek new places and people alone.
If I were anti-social why would I be looking for a pub anyway?
No, I travel alone because I have found by way of years of experience that I meet the most interesting people when I’m alone.
So that’s the way I do it.
Hey, do I look Irish in this!
New Rochelle NY the home of two of my favorite fictional TV characters, Rob and Laura Petry an ice rink a mall and not much else.
The bar where I purchased my first legal drink was located in New Rochelle NY.
It was on my birthday, my legal drinkin’ birthday.
As I remember it, I had plans to meet up with a few of my friends to bring in my birthday right, but that was hours away and I was itching to exercise my government given right to drink myself stupid.
There was this bar in New Rochelle called “The Shamrock”.
The Shamrock had been there as long as I can remember.
Don’t know if it’s still there but all the years when I was growing up I can remember it’s blacked out windows & the green neon shamrock over the door.
Whenever my friends and I would leave our much smaller town of Mount Vernon & go to the New Rochelle Mall we’d have to pass right by it.
The Shamrock seemed to always be open.
It didn’t matter what time of day you’d always see someone coming out or going in.
It was just the kind of place my momma told me to avoid (in fact I’m sure I have a memory of my mother pointing at it and saying … “Don’t ever go in there!”)
For some reason I thought this was just the place.
I have always gotten a big kick out of going where someone says I shouldn’t.
I love crossing the line.
As I walked in through the cheap dark veneer door with the worn gold plated knob and took my first look in I thought to myself mama was right.
As I walked in on the right stood a very large Irish bar bouncer.
I only mention he was Irish cause he was so Irish, or what Irish meant to me back then.
Red hair. Cherry cheeks, barrel chest and more than a little confused by my sudden & very Afro-American appearance.
The floor was covered with those black and white marble vinyl tiles, the kind they always put down in diners.
It was only seconds till I began to feel the vibe caused by my entrance into this very insular environment, so I announced firmly but not too loudly that I had come in to purchase my first “legal” drink!
This announcement warmed the pub by at least 12 degrees, every one of those rosy red faces (all male) turned towards me showed a mixture if amusement, surprise and if I’m not mistaken a wee bit of malice.
The crowd watched as I crossed to the bar and ordered the best single malt scotch the bar had.
That scored some points!
As the bartender reached down behind the bar I removed my hat and revealed my heavy mop of Dred locked hair, surprisingly there was only a single gasp of “Oh my Gawd!”
Just in time my scotch arrived, I made it vanish as quickly as it came.
Just then I heard someone shout “Davey…Give us your darts!”
I savoured, smiled & ordered another.
This time, no ice if you please… Davey.
I think most of the bar’s patrons were waiting to see if I keeled over after that second drink and when I didn’t… the third was bought for me.
I drank all night at the Shamrock, played darts and made friends that I would never see again.
I walked out hours later, tipsy but with that warm glow you can only get from crossing the line…and scotch.
What happened to self - government and the will of the people?
"We exist, and are quoted as standing proofs that a government, so modeled as to rest continually on the will of the whole society, is a practicable government." --Thomas Jefferson to Richard Rush, 1820. ME 15:284
Thomas Jefferson was capable of truly stunning thought, but no more than we all are !
As a people our will can be a stunning force for the common good, for our world.
I realize that it is way too early in history to even hope for a world without borders or even one where our differences are praised, but neither is this country, this world, made of opposing parties each hoping to rule the others.
We have as Americans & as a world learned to sacrifice our common will to those with a "vision", our new "Kings" unfortunately we have also learned to believe that we have no right to self govern.
We play right into their hands, becoming more isolated, lonely & pathetic with every liberty that is taken from us, our power & strength being eroded away slowly until one day soon, our lives won't be worth living!
What fools we are!
We once protested any curtailing of our rights... And now we give them up freely.
We tell ourselves we have respect & reverence for our history, but our actions tell the real tale.
Protest has become comic and impotent.
So many sides pulling against the same piece of cloth tearing and ripping till there is nothing left and never thinking that the best fabric had been taken long before that threadbare swatch was thrown to us.
"The qualifications for self-government in society are not innate. They are the result of habit and long training." --Thomas Jefferson to Edward Everett, 1824. ME 16:22
Thomas Jefferson was capable of truly stunning thought, but no more than we all are !
As a people our will can be a stunning force for the common good, for our world.
I realize that it is way too early in history to even hope for a world without borders or even one where our differences are praised, but neither is this country, this world, made of opposing parties each hoping to rule the others.
We have as Americans & as a world learned to sacrifice our common will to those with a "vision", our new "Kings" unfortunately we have also learned to believe that we have no right to self govern.
We play right into their hands, becoming more isolated, lonely & pathetic with every liberty that is taken from us, our power & strength being eroded away slowly until one day soon, our lives won't be worth living!
What fools we are!
We once protested any curtailing of our rights... And now we give them up freely.
We tell ourselves we have respect & reverence for our history, but our actions tell the real tale.
Protest has become comic and impotent.
So many sides pulling against the same piece of cloth tearing and ripping till there is nothing left and never thinking that the best fabric had been taken long before that threadbare swatch was thrown to us.
"The qualifications for self-government in society are not innate. They are the result of habit and long training." --Thomas Jefferson to Edward Everett, 1824. ME 16:22
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Step Up Groover!
It's no mystery to anyone that life can be very complicated.
How do you get from here to where you want to be!
Yes my friend life is filled with uncertainty.
And then, other times... your path is very simple.
The how of your life & what to do's become very basic.
If you're lucky this will happen @ regular intervals in your life.
I have never known anyone that was lucky enough to have a life without ever wondering... am I doing the right thing?
That being said...
Sometimes the point is simply to groove!
It don't matter much what the situation is, could be your life, could be your job.
You could be sittin' in with a Jazz combo when it comes on slowly.
Suddenly the way is clear.
The clouds between your ears part and you can hear the drummer laying some down, then you start to hear the bass, maybe some thick slabs of B3 come next.
(Stabbing horn section optional)
All this information starts crawling around the bandstand and it all becomes so clear!
You've done the work & all the pieces are there.
So you just groove!
Man, you are the groove!
All hot & slippery, solid & vaporous
Full bright light & joy.
Finally the light inside is switched on.
Everyone in the group is having their say, you can hear the conversation develop, then, when the groove is rock solid & you're deep in it.
You start passin' it around, tradin' fours, eights.
Each in their turn says what they feel, what they truly feel, cause ya can't hide nothing here...in this place at this moment there is only one truth.
You are there in the moment.
You groove, take it all in, till finally eyes start to glance at your way and they have only one message.
Step up Groover!
How do you get from here to where you want to be!
Yes my friend life is filled with uncertainty.
And then, other times... your path is very simple.
The how of your life & what to do's become very basic.
If you're lucky this will happen @ regular intervals in your life.
I have never known anyone that was lucky enough to have a life without ever wondering... am I doing the right thing?
That being said...
Sometimes the point is simply to groove!
It don't matter much what the situation is, could be your life, could be your job.
You could be sittin' in with a Jazz combo when it comes on slowly.
Suddenly the way is clear.
The clouds between your ears part and you can hear the drummer laying some down, then you start to hear the bass, maybe some thick slabs of B3 come next.
(Stabbing horn section optional)
All this information starts crawling around the bandstand and it all becomes so clear!
You've done the work & all the pieces are there.
So you just groove!
Man, you are the groove!
All hot & slippery, solid & vaporous
Full bright light & joy.
Finally the light inside is switched on.
Everyone in the group is having their say, you can hear the conversation develop, then, when the groove is rock solid & you're deep in it.
You start passin' it around, tradin' fours, eights.
Each in their turn says what they feel, what they truly feel, cause ya can't hide nothing here...in this place at this moment there is only one truth.
You are there in the moment.
You groove, take it all in, till finally eyes start to glance at your way and they have only one message.
Step up Groover!
Marshall McLuhan, reality T.V. & why The price of eternal vigilance is indifference.
Ok I'm gonna take the risk of sounding like some flipped out media student here but I have a few things to say about Television.
Yes... That's Television with a capital "T".
First make no mistake I love my T.V. in fact I have a few of them and I love them all equally and unconditionally, but I don't trust them!
Only a fool would!
Television brings entertainment, Information and even info-tainment (if you let it) into our lives. Television can do good things but we as watchers shouldn't let ourselves believe that it or the people that control it "care" about us!
Television should not only be watched but observed, for it has the potential to do us great harm. These days we seem to be so willing to give over so much of our belief to "The Box" and all those that find themselves on it, it is starting to become common belief that there is something special about our celebrities.
Nothing could be further from the truth!
They are made up of the same stuff as all humans, this is something to bear in mind when we are watching.
Yes... "The medium is the Message" but is it a message we should trust?
Of course not!
If recent history has taught us anything it is that we can't trust the people that have the awesome responsibility of presenting news, current event or even "reality" to us, we have now well & truly entered another age of the personal agenda.
Every bit of content is now subject to the point of view of those that present it, or those that control them.
We can't even be sure that what we are being shown is in our best interest in, fact we can be sure it is not.
For example now that we are at war and Michael Jackson's trial has started what has become of the millions dying in Africa?
What's going on in Bosnia?
These questions and so many more beg to be answered but somehow go unanswered how is this with news media budget rising to incredible new highs?
Why are we seeing the same stories aired at 11, 4, 5 & 11 again?
And why is the media leading us like lemmings to the precipice of vengeance in so many cases?
But most importantly why are we sitting on our fat asses and taking it?
Television could finally put the trouble between the races to bed, inspire us to really embrace "Personal Responsibility" for our world and it's people or even simply make us realize that we all share the same lives and the same fate.
Yes all that and more could happen...
If only we could just get real!
So if you do happen to find yourself on T.V. or working in it, start your day by remembering all the people you love and reminding yourself of how they are, in a very real and tangible way connected to the rest of us... and then behave the only way you can baring those facts in mind.
Yes... That's Television with a capital "T".
First make no mistake I love my T.V. in fact I have a few of them and I love them all equally and unconditionally, but I don't trust them!
Only a fool would!
Television brings entertainment, Information and even info-tainment (if you let it) into our lives. Television can do good things but we as watchers shouldn't let ourselves believe that it or the people that control it "care" about us!
Television should not only be watched but observed, for it has the potential to do us great harm. These days we seem to be so willing to give over so much of our belief to "The Box" and all those that find themselves on it, it is starting to become common belief that there is something special about our celebrities.
Nothing could be further from the truth!
They are made up of the same stuff as all humans, this is something to bear in mind when we are watching.
Yes... "The medium is the Message" but is it a message we should trust?
Of course not!
If recent history has taught us anything it is that we can't trust the people that have the awesome responsibility of presenting news, current event or even "reality" to us, we have now well & truly entered another age of the personal agenda.
Every bit of content is now subject to the point of view of those that present it, or those that control them.
We can't even be sure that what we are being shown is in our best interest in, fact we can be sure it is not.
For example now that we are at war and Michael Jackson's trial has started what has become of the millions dying in Africa?
What's going on in Bosnia?
These questions and so many more beg to be answered but somehow go unanswered how is this with news media budget rising to incredible new highs?
Why are we seeing the same stories aired at 11, 4, 5 & 11 again?
And why is the media leading us like lemmings to the precipice of vengeance in so many cases?
But most importantly why are we sitting on our fat asses and taking it?
Television could finally put the trouble between the races to bed, inspire us to really embrace "Personal Responsibility" for our world and it's people or even simply make us realize that we all share the same lives and the same fate.
Yes all that and more could happen...
If only we could just get real!
So if you do happen to find yourself on T.V. or working in it, start your day by remembering all the people you love and reminding yourself of how they are, in a very real and tangible way connected to the rest of us... and then behave the only way you can baring those facts in mind.
The Vegimite Conversion Kit
-The secret to business success is finding a hole in the market and filling it with a ridiculously high priced product that has little or no real value-
"A graduate of some American business school"
Any Australian will tell you how ridiculous it is to believe that every Australian has a pet kangaroo, that Steve Irwin & Crocodile Dundee are typical Aussies or that Most Australians ingest on a daily basis a dark, sticky, yeast based, foul smelling paste... Sorry that last one is actually true.
Vegemite...For decades Vegemite has been a basic staple of the Australian diet. Breakfast, lunch or dinner, Australians love the stuff. (Brits too, but sometimes it's Promite or Marmite I've tried them all and I can't make any distinction)
The way I heard it... it was discovered years ago by brewers who were trying to keep Australians supplied with beer and I imagine because of the incredible workload & responsibility involved with creating "liquid gold" they found just enough time to scrape their bread on the bottom of the barrels and feed on the thick yeasty residue that had collected there.
A tradition was born!
But the rich & sticky history of the mighty mite does not stop there.
The way I heard it... During World War II there was a legendary incident involving two German spies that had been painstakingly trained to impersonate Australians by the greatest minds German intelligence could assemble.
Their ingenious plan nearly succeeded! The two spies had managed to secure positions at the very heart of the Allied military intelligence structure, until during an innocent breakfast meeting all their training came undone.
During that breakfast one of the two did what they warned & trained not to do.
Without thinking, he ate a piece of toast smeared with Vegemite that was ironically there to make the two "Australian" officers feel at home.
Even with all his training there was no way he could hide his revulsion.
In that moment the course of WWII was changed.
Now in 2004, a time when Australia is accepting a great number of foreign-born citizens that have been politically displaced and come to Oz looking for freedom.
Middle easterners, Africans...Americans, who are unable to join in that core breakfast ritual of vegemite and toast and through that, solidify their assimilation into Australian society.
This sad condition would have continued if it were not for the tireless efforts of an Ex-Pat American visionary who longed to devise a way to make Vegemite (the food 90% of the world's starving millions would refuse to eat) palatable.
The process is nothing short of revolutionary but very secret.
All I can really tell you is that it involves soybeans, simple sugars and it erases every positive nutritional element that exists in Vegemite.
As is the case with most American innovations it addresses a surface issue, does some real damage and ignores all the substance.
Putting those small deficits aside never again will an American have to explain why he can’t eat Vegemite.
Finally... we can all be happy little Vegemites!
"A graduate of some American business school"
Any Australian will tell you how ridiculous it is to believe that every Australian has a pet kangaroo, that Steve Irwin & Crocodile Dundee are typical Aussies or that Most Australians ingest on a daily basis a dark, sticky, yeast based, foul smelling paste... Sorry that last one is actually true.
Vegemite...For decades Vegemite has been a basic staple of the Australian diet. Breakfast, lunch or dinner, Australians love the stuff. (Brits too, but sometimes it's Promite or Marmite I've tried them all and I can't make any distinction)
The way I heard it... it was discovered years ago by brewers who were trying to keep Australians supplied with beer and I imagine because of the incredible workload & responsibility involved with creating "liquid gold" they found just enough time to scrape their bread on the bottom of the barrels and feed on the thick yeasty residue that had collected there.
A tradition was born!
But the rich & sticky history of the mighty mite does not stop there.
The way I heard it... During World War II there was a legendary incident involving two German spies that had been painstakingly trained to impersonate Australians by the greatest minds German intelligence could assemble.
Their ingenious plan nearly succeeded! The two spies had managed to secure positions at the very heart of the Allied military intelligence structure, until during an innocent breakfast meeting all their training came undone.
During that breakfast one of the two did what they warned & trained not to do.
Without thinking, he ate a piece of toast smeared with Vegemite that was ironically there to make the two "Australian" officers feel at home.
Even with all his training there was no way he could hide his revulsion.
In that moment the course of WWII was changed.
Now in 2004, a time when Australia is accepting a great number of foreign-born citizens that have been politically displaced and come to Oz looking for freedom.
Middle easterners, Africans...Americans, who are unable to join in that core breakfast ritual of vegemite and toast and through that, solidify their assimilation into Australian society.
This sad condition would have continued if it were not for the tireless efforts of an Ex-Pat American visionary who longed to devise a way to make Vegemite (the food 90% of the world's starving millions would refuse to eat) palatable.
The process is nothing short of revolutionary but very secret.
All I can really tell you is that it involves soybeans, simple sugars and it erases every positive nutritional element that exists in Vegemite.
As is the case with most American innovations it addresses a surface issue, does some real damage and ignores all the substance.
Putting those small deficits aside never again will an American have to explain why he can’t eat Vegemite.
Finally... we can all be happy little Vegemites!
X-factor Australia
"Experience is not what happens to you; it's what you do with what happens to you." -Aldous Huxley
Truth be told I have always had a great affection for George Plimpton in his "paper lion" days.
For those that might not know the late Mr Plimpton was a journalist who, while writing for Sports Illustrated produced a series of articles from the perspective of a "participatory journalist."
Those adventures were and are a very important part of my development, Plimpton's adventures used his ability, (through his intelligence & broad knowledge base) to "fake" his way into some very intense professional sports situations, namely gridiron, baseball & boxing with varying degrees of success these articles in due course led him to produce a number of books written from the same perspective, the most memorable to my mind being "Paper Lion" in which he attempts to secure a spot with the Detroit lions Gridiron side as quarterback.
Curiosity and love of sports could be what led Mr Plimpton to chase these experiences.
For my part I have always been curious, but even in the broadest and most liberal interpretation I cannot be considered a sportsman, but I am a Musician & singer so I thought to myself in the spirit of Mr Plimpton I'd take myself down to the Melbourne auditions for the Australian version of the reality show X-factor.
Now in this age of "Reality Television" it seems that there is a new run of shows airing with each new month urging us to experience their particular brand of reality.
We should all know by now that not one of these productions offers us actual reality as that would be far too boring and besides aren't we all living that already?
Each of these events is structured to distil the essence of reality down to a usable 1hour format.
I, like many of you have thought as each new show popped up... whether it's the hunt for a new pop sensation, corporate mogul or bride/groom...
"Where do they get these people?"
So I loaded up my curiosity, note pad & digital camera and like a new millennium George Plimpton I took myself down to the Melbourne showgrounds to experience the X-factor auditions.
Maybe by the end of the day I will be able to answer the question...
What is the X factor?
The Wait & wait & wait...
I had expected the queue to be extremely long, as with that other talent search program, but the fact was that walk from the gate was much longer that the queue itself, the turnout was a little light.
All in all in seemed like less than 1000 people showed up on the first day of auditions.
As I joined the end of the queue I began to take a look around at my fellow auditioners in the diplomatically named 25+ category, some were working musos some dreamers and still others that had put their dreams on hold until this moment.
Some chatting, warming up, signing the releases production assistants were handing out & some beginning to feel the fear crawl under their skins, all straining at the bit to show that they are in full possession of the x-factor and waiting patiently for their shot.
As we queued we naturally broke off into smaller groups.
To my eyes they were: The passionate, the hopeful & the desperate and of course those that for one reason or another fail to fit into any classification... but we've all seen the blooper reels from these shows.
In small groups we were ushered inside past two tables where we were tagged with numbered X factor wristbands and pointed towards the first waiting room.
A barn-like room filled with row upon row of folding chairs, we were corralled, split off and pointed to sections with banners signifying our designations. "16 -25", "25+" & "Groups"
While we waited for our numbers to be called we were encouraged to join groups in the back of the hall to shoot promos for the shows premiere, there were also roaming camera crews shooting impromptu one on one mini interviews conducted by Chloe the female host of the show (It wasn't till later that I realised that Chloe was the former "just jeans" spokesperson here in Australia) I was one of the few to be interviewed, on the subject of vocal warm-ups and encouraged to sing a bit of something, which I gladly did.
As we sat waiting for our numbers to be called some did vocal warm-ups others had mini jam sessions anything to keep themselves sharp and give their best performances when the time came.
Periodically there were CD giveaways & performances by many of the hopefuls arranged by the crew.
As I sat there waiting, taking snaps & mini vid camera and watching the many that came back rejected I thought to myself that although it was curiosity that brought me to the audition my vanity wanted me to do well.
I had decided to sing a Sam Cooke tune, "Bring it on home to me" not a tune that plays to today's pop sensibilities but I sing it well and thought it would go down a treat.
Hours passed and it was my turn to step into the little audition room I had watched so many emerge from in defeat, I walked in, stood on my mark in front of two production assistants that looked as weary as the auditioners, opened my mouth to sing...
I think I got through most of a verse...
Before I heard...
"Thank you we won't be letting you through."
Well there it was, I did my thing and they did not believe I possessed that elusive x factor.
Whatever it is.
If you want the answer I guess you'll have to wait until the show airs but don't get your hopes up for big answers.
For my part all I can say of my experience is...
"Reality...What a concept!"
Truth be told I have always had a great affection for George Plimpton in his "paper lion" days.
For those that might not know the late Mr Plimpton was a journalist who, while writing for Sports Illustrated produced a series of articles from the perspective of a "participatory journalist."
Those adventures were and are a very important part of my development, Plimpton's adventures used his ability, (through his intelligence & broad knowledge base) to "fake" his way into some very intense professional sports situations, namely gridiron, baseball & boxing with varying degrees of success these articles in due course led him to produce a number of books written from the same perspective, the most memorable to my mind being "Paper Lion" in which he attempts to secure a spot with the Detroit lions Gridiron side as quarterback.
Curiosity and love of sports could be what led Mr Plimpton to chase these experiences.
For my part I have always been curious, but even in the broadest and most liberal interpretation I cannot be considered a sportsman, but I am a Musician & singer so I thought to myself in the spirit of Mr Plimpton I'd take myself down to the Melbourne auditions for the Australian version of the reality show X-factor.
Now in this age of "Reality Television" it seems that there is a new run of shows airing with each new month urging us to experience their particular brand of reality.
We should all know by now that not one of these productions offers us actual reality as that would be far too boring and besides aren't we all living that already?
Each of these events is structured to distil the essence of reality down to a usable 1hour format.
I, like many of you have thought as each new show popped up... whether it's the hunt for a new pop sensation, corporate mogul or bride/groom...
"Where do they get these people?"
So I loaded up my curiosity, note pad & digital camera and like a new millennium George Plimpton I took myself down to the Melbourne showgrounds to experience the X-factor auditions.
Maybe by the end of the day I will be able to answer the question...
What is the X factor?
The Wait & wait & wait...
I had expected the queue to be extremely long, as with that other talent search program, but the fact was that walk from the gate was much longer that the queue itself, the turnout was a little light.
All in all in seemed like less than 1000 people showed up on the first day of auditions.
As I joined the end of the queue I began to take a look around at my fellow auditioners in the diplomatically named 25+ category, some were working musos some dreamers and still others that had put their dreams on hold until this moment.
Some chatting, warming up, signing the releases production assistants were handing out & some beginning to feel the fear crawl under their skins, all straining at the bit to show that they are in full possession of the x-factor and waiting patiently for their shot.
As we queued we naturally broke off into smaller groups.
To my eyes they were: The passionate, the hopeful & the desperate and of course those that for one reason or another fail to fit into any classification... but we've all seen the blooper reels from these shows.
In small groups we were ushered inside past two tables where we were tagged with numbered X factor wristbands and pointed towards the first waiting room.
A barn-like room filled with row upon row of folding chairs, we were corralled, split off and pointed to sections with banners signifying our designations. "16 -25", "25+" & "Groups"
While we waited for our numbers to be called we were encouraged to join groups in the back of the hall to shoot promos for the shows premiere, there were also roaming camera crews shooting impromptu one on one mini interviews conducted by Chloe the female host of the show (It wasn't till later that I realised that Chloe was the former "just jeans" spokesperson here in Australia) I was one of the few to be interviewed, on the subject of vocal warm-ups and encouraged to sing a bit of something, which I gladly did.
As we sat waiting for our numbers to be called some did vocal warm-ups others had mini jam sessions anything to keep themselves sharp and give their best performances when the time came.
Periodically there were CD giveaways & performances by many of the hopefuls arranged by the crew.
As I sat there waiting, taking snaps & mini vid camera and watching the many that came back rejected I thought to myself that although it was curiosity that brought me to the audition my vanity wanted me to do well.
I had decided to sing a Sam Cooke tune, "Bring it on home to me" not a tune that plays to today's pop sensibilities but I sing it well and thought it would go down a treat.
Hours passed and it was my turn to step into the little audition room I had watched so many emerge from in defeat, I walked in, stood on my mark in front of two production assistants that looked as weary as the auditioners, opened my mouth to sing...
I think I got through most of a verse...
Before I heard...
"Thank you we won't be letting you through."
Well there it was, I did my thing and they did not believe I possessed that elusive x factor.
Whatever it is.
If you want the answer I guess you'll have to wait until the show airs but don't get your hopes up for big answers.
For my part all I can say of my experience is...
"Reality...What a concept!"
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