What Is Hip?

What Count Basie said is true, “There are only two kinds of music; good and bad.” I like all kinds of music when it is good. No mater what style of music it may be I appreciate the skill and musicianship of the performers. But mostly I love to hear beautiful sounds. Just as good painting or sculpture is pleasing to the eye and good food is pleasing to the palate; good music is pleasing to the ear.

What is “good” is a matter of taste and taste is an arbitrary personal preference. As a musician who has played pretty much every style of music I’m fascinated by the fact that people have such strong opinions about music. Very few people are neutral or open minded on the subject. They make adamant statements such as, “I hate that song!” or “I can’t stand that singer!” The strong opinion can be general about a particular genre or style of music as well. “Jazz sucks! It’s just a bunch of noise.” or “Country music is a bunch of redneck crap.” Of course, on the other hand, some love and adore a song, a singer, a band or a genre of music. Often a couple has a song that they consider to be “their song,” the song that, to them, encompasses the meaning of their relationship. Some are fans to the point of worshiping an artist or a band. They buy all their albums, T-shirts, photos and posters. Some fans will even create a space in their homes where they display all these artifacts, like a shrine. They’ll travel great distances and pay hard earned money to see and hear them perform. I never understood the appeal of “The Grateful Dead,” or Jimmy Buffet’s Parrot Heads, but, I’ve never been much of a herd animal. On the other hand, as a musician and performer, I thank God there are people like them, for without fans musicians would not have careers.

The part I don’t like is that fan-ship is sometimes elitist. It’s a way of teaming with like-minded others to say, “We’re better than you.” They don’t do this with their preferences in food. People who don’t like Italian food generally don’t think that people who do are fools and idiots, yet they do this with music. i.e. “People who like Country music are a bunch of dumb rednecks.” I wish people had a more open-minded attitude towards music and could just accept each song or piece of music on its own merits regardless of the style.

Skull Face T-Shirt (good name for a band)

Declaring the kind of music one likes is also a form of expressing one’s personal identity. Liking a certain artist or style of music is a way of letting others know what kind of person you think you are. There are stereotypical attitudes held by the fans of each genre of music. While standing in a huge stadium full of others, a fan is declaring, “I’m into heavy metal music, man. I’m a rebel and a nonconformist; therefore I’m better than you.” Yet they have absolutely nothing to rebel against and far from being nonconformist they wear the uniform of the herd, usually black T-shirts with dripping skull faces printed on the fronts or backs. The subculture of skull faces on black clothing is yet another phenomenon of our society that I don’t understand. It would seem that a fluorescent dripping skull face with daggers through the eyes is even better. But then again, a flaming skull face T-shirt or a flaming and dripping fluorescent skull face with a dagger and/or a snake-crawling-through-the-eyes T-shirt, to some is the evidently the ultimate in chic. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not saying I’m against the wearing of clothes with flaming, dripping, fluorescent skull faces with daggers and/or snakes in the eyes. I’m just saying. “It’s not my thang, man.”

Country And Western

There is a curious dichotomy in country music. Country music fans can be inclusive and elitist at the same time. There is a theme of being a lovable but misunderstood misfit that some identify with. Yet they also identify with being one of the common, normal folk. They want to be identified as members of “the regular, hard working American” group. “I like country music because all you city people are uppity and snooty and I’m a regular down-home guy, like everybody else. You’re big-city, store-bought, fancy talking ways don’t mean shit to me. I like to get beer-drunk and I don’t give a shit! Therefore I’m better than you.” (By the way, there is a difference between Country Music and Western Music. The lyrics of Country music generally concern themselves with things indoors; in a bar or a honky-tonk etc. Western music lyrics are about things outdoors; the prairies, mountains etc.)

Jazz fans seem to deliberately pride themselves on their elitism. Jazz is an intellectual genre that is understood by the listener as much as it is enjoyed for the sound of the music itself. “I’m cool. I’m an aficionado of jazz because I’m educated about what good jazz is and what good musicians play. I’m hip. I’m an intellectual. I understand what jazz musicians are doing and not everyone “gets it,” therefore I’m better than you.”

Classical music and opera fans have a similar sophisticated self image. “I enjoy opera because it is the most sophisticated music that only educated people, in-the-know, can truly appreciate. It takes an educated, trained ear like mine to understand opera; therefore, I’m better than you.”

Now that I’ve alienated fans of Heavy Metal, Country, Jazz and Classical music let me reiterate that I personally like all of these genres of music. My point is that there are many styles and genres of music but within each genre there are only two kinds of music; good and bad.

The Who…Who’s Who

The variety and range of what people think is good is amazing. Some people think The Who, Herbie Hancock or Neil Diamond are cool. Some think Bruce Springsteen is cool, some think Brittany Spears, Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan, Sinatra, Pearl Jam, Chopin, Jim Croce, Andrea Bocelli, George Straight, Sarah Vaughn, Herman’s Hermits, John Phillips Sousa or Tony Bennett are good. Others only want to hear Reggae by Bob Marley, Thelonious Monk jazz, Boz Scaggs, Elton John, Luis Miguel, Duke Ellington, Sting, Elvis, Green Day, Miles Davis, Metallica, Carly Simon, Charles Aznavour, Smashing Pumpkins, Beethoven, Stevie Ray Vaughn, Kenny Chesney, Edith Piaff, Fleetwood Mac, Julio Iglesias, Cindy Lauper, Maroon 5, Johnny Cash, Josh Groban, Gershwin or Merle Haggard. I could go on and on. Some people have never heard of any of these artists or music. The range and variety of music in the world is astounding and overwhelming. Maybe that’s why we narrow our musical tastes.

I Don’t Know Nuthin’

Off the top of my head I know how to play, probably, a thousand songs in five languages yet I still get requests for songs I’ve never heard of. “Hey, man, play that song “Angel Eyelashes” by Fernstein Wallers.” I’m always polite, knowing that I can’t possibly know every song and I immediately admit it, “Sorry, sir, I don’t know that song.” The person requesting is often offended that I don’t know the song, “What… you don’t know ‘Angels Eyelashes’ by Fernstein Wallers!” He feels I am implying that he’s not cool and that I could play his request but that I don’t want to play it because I don’t think it’s a cool song. So he insists that I do know what I just told him I don’t know. “Sure you know it, everyone knows ‘Angel Eyelashes’ by Fernstein Wallers!” “Sorry,” I apologize, “I’ve never heard of that song or of Fernstein Wallers.” And although I’ve been a professional musician for fifty-five years, sing in five languages, traveled the world playing music and know over a thousand songs, he will walk away in disgust and insult me, “You suck, you can’t even play ‘Angel Eyelashes’ by Fernstein Wallers.”

Sometimes the request will be more general. Rather than a particular song, the request will be for anything by an artist whose name I’ve never heard. “Hey, man, do some Woodruff Stong.” Or, “Do you know any Rathstone Hawkes? How about some Arlo Spreen?” Sometimes the requests will be a rapid fire list of names, so fast that I don’t have time to respond. “How about some Preston Hindlick, Pernell Hubbs, Harper Burnshack, Roda Lemline, Riley Tang, Ellington Fipps, Ursula Woo, Louden Goody, Benton Racks? You do any Kelton Bystand, Salome Biggs, Merritt Gernstadt, Oakley Miles? Hey I know…do some Stanley Crabb or Holloway Stolp.” This is the customer’s way of declaring to me who they are. They are staking out their musical territory and identity. They are trying to let me know that because this is the music they know about they’re cool.

It is not uncommon for some dude to walk into the lounge where I’m already in the middle of performing a request from a customer, perhaps a Frank Sinatra tune, and upon seeing a guy at a piano… me… yells, “Hey! Play ‘Piano Man’ …Billy Joel! Wooo!” This is wrong for several reasons; first, he didn’t enter the room, observe what is going on there and then behave appropriately. He is so self centered that he in unaware of anyone else in the room and feels it is entirely appropriate to walk into a public place and yell out loud what he wants. Secondly, he has rudely interrupted me while I’m in the middle of performing a song which, indecently, may have been a request from a customer who is already there enjoying the music. Thirdly, to automatically assume that “Piano Man” is a song that would be in my repertoire (which, by the way, it is) without first listening to a few songs I play to determine what genres and styles are appropriate for the present situation is ignorant and unsophisticated. Fourth, it is rude to demand any one to do something. It is polite to ask. Often people making requests of a musician just blurt out what they want, “Hey, play ‘Piano Man!” It is a demand, not a request. They do this when ordering food, too. They don’t come from a place of good citizenship and social behavior where the proper way to order a hamburger is to say, “I’d like a hamburger, please.” Instead they demand, “Give me a hamburger.” Or, a real indicator of the ego based personality is when they say, “I’ll take a hamburger.” The use of the words “I’ll take” instead of “I’d like to have” indicates a severely self centered personality and deeply ingrained greed. The civilized way to request a song is to say, “Excuse me, do you take requests? Do you know ‘Piano Man’ by Billy Joel? I’d appreciate if you’d play it for me. Thanks.” (Dropping a five dollar bill in the tip jar is very civilized, too.) And, fifth, it is extremely un-cool to yell, “Wooo!” at any time.

A drunk walks up to the piano player and asks, “Can you play Fuck A Bee?” The piano player says, “Wow, I’ve never heard of that song. I don’t know it, sorry.” The drunk replies, ‘Sure you do! I’ll sing it for you…’Fff I could be with you for one hour…”

Musicians often feel that the average person has no idea what good music is. There was an experiment conducted by the Washington Post that would seem to verify this. They arranged to have the famous violinist Joshua Bell, dressed in jeans and T-shirt, play for tips in the Washington D.C. subway on a three million dollar violin. The night before he wore a tuxedo with tails and played a sold out concert in Boston where tickets were $100 a seat. He played for about an hour in the subway and only 6 people stopped to listen for a brief moment. Only 20 gave him a tip. He made $32. When he finished no one applauded or noticed when he packed up and left.

The Snobs (good name for a band)

But all this I’m ranting about is just from a musician’s perspective. Often musicians think that they are in charge of proclaiming what is hip, particularly jazz musicians. Jazz can often be, for the musicians, a self indulgent form of music. They get to play whatever they think is cool and they don’t care about the audience. They get technical among themselves. “Hey man, this is a really hard riff to play. It goes from a G flat up two octaves to a B natural, man, ha ha, man that’s cool!” It sounds like shit, but it is a hard riff and maybe it’s cool to a music student, technically. They may be well trained musicians but often they are “better than they sound.” What makes them think that an audience wants to hear them screeching, flailing and pounding has always been a mystery to me. And yet they do find an audience, limited though it may be. After all, music is a bi-partisan activity. It is to be performed and to be listened to. Music is best when both participants, musicians and audience, understand their prospected roles. The audience gives respect by listening and the musicians give respect by playing well. The ritual of listening to classical music developed over time. In the 18th and 19th centuries the concert hall was more like a Grateful Dead concert. The orchestra played while people milled about and socialized. The activity of passive listening to music at a concert developed near the last half of the 19th century.

After decades of being a professional musician I eventually ended up living and making music in New Orleans. I had a lot of intellectual “book learning” knowledge about New Orleans music, and had even played many songs that are famously New Orleans tunes. But actually being in the city and musical culture was a rebirth for me. It was like going back to the beginnings of when I was a youngster who knew nothing about music.

Before I was a musician I was a listener of music like everyone else. Music was magic. Songs on the radio mattered. Radio mattered. I saved money from chores and bought records. I was a consumer of music. Music was, and is, a force that is more powerful than yourself. It’s so powerful that many times all you can do is give up, surrender to it, and let it engulf you. Music is powerful like water except with music you surrender willingly to it. My dad, who was a professional musician, bought my sisters and myself some cheap acoustic guitars in Tijuana, Mexico. This was in the early 1960s when the latest music fad in America was the folk music craze. Hootenanny was a weekly TV show that featured folk singers, all playing acoustic guitars and singing songs in harmony. On summer nights a bunch of kids on our block would get together in the back yard and have our own hootenannies. This is when and where I got bit by the bug. There was something magic about this thing, music and making music, that made me decide to make this my life’s work. Over the next decades that’s what I did.

The Gift (good name for a band)

I had a knack for music. The adults told me I had a gift. I thought that meant I was special. It was an ego trip for me. I had something other people didn’t. This attitude is fairly common with good musicians when they’re young. And this is where a lot of musical snobbery among musicians starts. It wasn’t till years later that I learned that a gift is not something you have, it’s something you give.

What happens, though, is with more knowledge about how music is made and how to do it the magic part of it fades. When you watch a magician do a magic trick it’s fun and astonishing. But when you know how the trick is done it’s not astonishing anymore. It’s fun to appreciate the magicians skill at how he pulls it off, but it’s not surprising to you. So it is with music. Once you know how music is made you know how the trick is done the magic part of it is no longer a mystery to you. You appreciate music on a different kind of technical level. The thrill is gone.

Special Grease (their first album went platinum)

When I got to New Orleans the magic aspect of music was reborn in me. Even though I understood the technicalities of music there was something in the spirit of how New Orleans musicians play that was a mystery to me. Every musician has a middle C on their instrument, ( the note middle C). But when a New Orleans musician plays a middle C it seems like it has some sort of special grease that makes you feel something. Life gave me this opportunity to feel the magic and mystery of music all over again.

Music in New Orleans has traditionally been participatory. The line between performer and audience is not so well defined. Passive listening is merely optional in certain venues. Music is in the sacred streets of New Orleans where people dance and sing and play instruments all together. The musicians dance and sing as much as the folks not playing instruments. It’s an expression of one big shared blob of musical joy. They don’t play music as a performance so much as they are giving the music they play as a gift. They share music.

The beats and rhythms there have a unique feel. I worked with many great drummers. Just as every musician has a middle C, so does every beat have the same elements, but the New Orleans cats seem to have that special grease. The drummer and band leader of The Dukes Of Dixieland once explained it to me. When jazz was being invented and even up to this day, the music that is played in the streets, known as “second line, “ is spread out up and down a block of the street. The bass drummer may be in the back of the line while the snare drummer is up in the front. All the other instruments are spread in between. There’s a slight time lag between the front and back of the line, what the snare drummer is hearing from what the bass drummer is hearing. Also it all echos against the walls of the buildings as the line moves down the street. Everyone is sloshing around in this powerful echo-y ocean of music. So there is a natural looseness. Just as the ocean has waves and rises and falls it’s still the ocean, one big thing. Hence the second line never gets out of sync with itself. The musicians get used to hearing and playing this way. It’s like carrying a tall stack of dishes while you walk down the street. As you walk the stack of plates may waver this way and that a little bit, but the stack stays intact as a stack of plates. And you never drop the stack.

This brings me back to the opening subject of this essay. Opinions About Music. In New Orleans the musicians, generally, were not musical snobs. Though they do have pride in their traditional music, and there are musician cliques, but they are not elitists about music. Mostly they just love to play music, any music. When I was the “new guy” and first got working with some of the best jazz musicians in town I worried that I wouldn’t be hip enough to their repertoire. So, I brushed up on trad-jazz, ( traditional New Orleans jazz ), hoping that would endear me to the local cats. Then, on one gig, the band leader, the Dukes of Dixieland drummer, turned to me on the bandstand and asked, “Do you know Margaritaville?” At first I thought he was kidding. Surely such a respected trad-jazz and hip musician wouldn’t really want to play anything as corny and un-hip as Margaritaville. But he wasn’t kidding. He was reading the audience. He deemed that if we played Margaritaville the audience would love it. So we did play it. And we played it really well. He wasn’t concerned about his repertoire “being hip,” or worried that other musicians would think he wasn’t hip. He was interested in making music that made people happy and, of course, has to have that special grease, whatever the song is. Margaritaville was hip because we were playing it with love in New Orleans for people who loved that song and loved being in New Orleans. It was giving music as a gift.

Big time popular music has always been controlled by corporate business. But it came from the streets and was marketed and monetized by the corporate business world. It’s the same today but the music rarely comes from the streets. It is mostly contrived by Disney or Sony employees and made on computers. It’s big time. It’s become more about a show biz spectacle, 21st century rehash of hokey Vegas burlesque song and dance reviews, than about the music.

There is still music magic but it’s not in the mass media. It is coming from the streets from the hearts and souls of real people.

All this having been said, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

There’s a difference between being a musician and being in a band and that difference is the bag.

Being in a band usually starts around the time when you’re a teenager. That’s the age when pop music becomes important to you. Certain songs make sense to you and seem to express what you couldn’t express yourself about your identity and inner feelings. You relate to the visual image of the band members, too. You wish you could be like them so, you decide to get into a band with your peers who share the desire for that same self image. You learn how to play and sing those few songs and that makes you feel really good. Musically these pop songs are pretty simple to play. So, if you know a handful of simple guitar chords you can learn them fairly easily.

That’s just being in a band. It’s a small bag. A musician is a tradesman with a marketable skill that has mastered multiple styles and genres of music. He or she has a big bag.

I started a professional musician, got my union card, at age 15 in 1966. Just to work in a bar band at that time required a fairly high degree of musicianship. All working club musicians had to be able to master many styles of music. You had to be a real musician, not just “be in a band.” You had to have a big bag.

Every generation has a crop of new bands that the corporate music industry foists on the public. This is why each generation seems to define itself by its own music. As a “Boomer” when I was a teenager the variety of pop music styles in the main stream was immensely wide. From the late 1950s main stream popular music began to change. Radio ruled. Whatever songs they played defined popular culture in America.

To be a working musician during these times required musicians to be extremely versatile and flexable. You had to learn to play whatever were the latest most popular hits on the radio. Every week radio stations and record stores would put out what they called the “top 40 list.” This was a list of the 40 most popular songs in America for that week. To keep working, musicians had to learn whatever the new hit songs were. Especially the top ten songs of the list each week. In those days we referred to ourselves as “top 40 musicians.” Above all else, though, we were professional musicians. Our job was to be able to play music, not just to “be in a band.” The variety of styles and genres we had to master was astonishing. Here’s why.

For us Boomers the old guard were artists like Sinatra, Dean Martin, Nat King Cole, Perry Como, Dina Shore, Doris Day, Peggy Lee, all hold overs from the dying Big Band Era. By the late 1950s they were all grown up adults. We had to cover a lot of their music. Just to start out we had them in our bag.

But popular music was changing to appeal to younger people. The music industry was having success introducing newer and younger “white pop music” artists to the main stream. The radio played cute songs sung by artists like Teresa Brewer, Pattie Page, Brenda Lee, Connie Francis. Though not like the big-band old-guard in song style, the production was orchestrated and polished using old-guard musicians and arranging methods. ( Rock ’n roll was new in that it was produced and recorded by small self contained combos. )

At the same time the radio airwaves created brief music fads. Calypso, cha cha, mambo, from Latin culture, had their day in the sun. We had to learn how to play that music, too. At first rock ’n roll started as one of these fads. Grown ups and old -guard musicians never thought it would last for more than one summer.

Possibly as a reaction to the Cuban Missile Crisis of 1959, the fad of Latin based mambo, calypso and cha cha music fell out of main stream popularity. Curiously, around the same time a new fad happened to catch on. It was also quite different from music of the old guard and “white pop music” styles. But it was nostalgically American. The Hootenanny era of folk music swept the nation. Artists and songs by Bob Dylan, Peter Paul and Mary, Joan Baez, Joni Mitchell became main stream. Even though a lot of folk music sounded old and traditional it wasn’t full-on country-western music either, and it was being performed by young people. For top 40 musicians this was structurally easy music to play but didn’t lend itself much to night club work because it wasn’t dance music. To us it was “square.” But nevertheless, to get the gig, we learned “Puff The Magic Dragon.” Back then an aside gag by top 40 musicians to one another was “folk you.”

There was still a lot of classic rock ‘n roll happening, which wasn’t yet classic because in its day it was new. We learned to play songs by artists like Chuck Berry, Little Richard, Buddy Holly and Elvis. This was dance music and dance music is what filled the night clubs. Before long there were the Mo-Town groups getting lots of hit songs on the radio. They bridged rock ’n roll and soul music. The bands were actually quite sophisticated often having small horn sections, yet the rhythm sections were funky, kinda like rock ’n roll, but they had some kind of special grease to the beats. It was dance music that was way hipper than rock ’n roll. There were great vocal groups like The Drifters, The Temptations, The Four Tops, Sam and Dave, The Supremes, James Brown, etc. Top 40 musicians playing in the bar at the local bowling alley were skilled enough musicians to recreate this music. If you weren’t one of the “up front” singers in the group you could get a gig playing in the back up band.

We were also influenced by country music cross-overs that became main stream. Hit songs by artists such as Jimmy Dean, Tennessee Ernie Ford, Roger Miller, Bobbi Gentry, and Glenn Campbell were added to the bag. There were occasional jazz tunes that crept onto the main stream airwaves, too; Dave Brubeck’s Take Five, The Girl From Ipanema by Stan Getz and Astrid Gilberto, Linus and Lucy from the Charlie brown Christmas TV special by Vince Guaraldi. As top 40 musicians we learned to play country music, rock ’n roll and jazz in 5/4 time.

There were a lot of songs by many flash-in-the-pan one-hit-wonders, too. We learned them all, played them for a month or so, then they went out of style, we forgot them. ( From way back, “Flying Purple People Eater,” “Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini,” and up to Bobby McFerrin’s “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” come to mind. “ ) Old cats like me will comment to each other that we’ve learned and forgotten more songs than we currently know. Every so often we have to empty some crap from our bags.

Then The Beatles came on the scene and became, like… everything! They revolutionized pop music and started “The British Invasion.” This was a time when all you needed to get a record contract was to to have long hair ( a Beatle hair cut ) and a British accent. The Rolling Stones, Dave Clark Five, Chad and Jeremy, Herman’s Hermits, and on and on, etc.

As the years went by all these genres mixed into new hybrid forms of pop music and we started getting Folk Rock; James Taylor, The Eagles, Linda Ronstadt, Crosby Stills Nash and Young. Donavan was a blend of The British Invasion, folk music and rock ’n roll. Jazz Rock and “horn bands” came along. In a way these were spin offs of Mo-Town bands which often had horn sections. These iterations, though, had more jazz influences mixed with rock; Chicago Transit Authority ( known as “Chicago” and “CTA” ) Blood Sweat and Tears, Tower Of Power, Earth Wind And Fire, etc. This was technically more challenging music to perform requiring music reading skills. The Tijuana Brass and Santana, though totally different in sound and style, were both were hugely popular. The common denominator was that they were both rooted in Latin American music yet appealing to American pop culture. We had to master these diverse styles as well.

Through all these phases and fads of popular music there are songs and tunes that have lasted. These are known as “standards.” Much of the Duke Ellington catalogue, and Broadway show tunes from Gershwin, Cole Porter, Rogers and Hart, Irving Berlin and all of the material from the “tin pan alley” song smiths. This is known as “The American Song Book.” ( Sometimes as “The Great American Song Book.” ) As top 40 musicians we had all this in our bags as well.

So, there ya’ go. That’s my rant about the difference between being in a band and being a real musician. It’s about what’s in your bag, man.

saved inside a cave,

was a flute fashioned of bone

that someone, nameless, made.

It’s five finger holes,

including the thumb,

fit well the hand

of a man, or a woman

who breathed,

as the breeze in the trees,

into this wing bone of a vulture.

Imitated, as it were,

the sound of the birds.

The story, so, was told

to the heart beat of a drum.

The sound of the soul

was the music they heard

‘round the fire in the sand.

There were no former tunes,

so, like jazz cats they jammed,

spawning Culture.

Innovated, as it were.

They played to the moon.

They played to the grave.

From way back then,

from the same cave,

We came.

Twenty four holes on a saxophone

is a pretty far cry from five finger holes

of a flute made of bone.

Yet still, the same game.

But now we name names;

Sydney Bechet, Stan Getz, Kenny G,

( a pretty far cry from that bird in the tree )

Bud Shank, Canon Ball, Coltrane and Bird,

Desmond and Mulligan

preserving the word

of a flute bone cave song,

of the same cave from

whence we all come.

A pretty cry from a flute bone long gone.

Four score and forty millennium ago,

way before “The Fall”

the bone flute blows

with the beat of a drum.

and someone, nameless, man or woman,

marked the cave inside

with a five-finger hand,

including the thumb.

The writing’s on the wall,

not yet erased.

In ochre t’was scrawled

in brownish rust,

with unmitigated gall…

declaring,

“We are us.”

The sky, on earth, was traced.

We mark space with stone

in circles ‘round the sun.

And hardly just for fun.

Blood was spilt.

We name names, again;

Gobekle Tepe, Sacsayhuamán,

Stonhenge, Giza,

to name but some.

Ruins sunken down in silt.

Mudumal Telangana, Teotihuacán,

Easter Island, Poverty Point Lou-eee-sian’!

And on and on and on.

From cave walls scratched,

thus we built

true story buildings.

True…story-buildings.

Thus was patched

our family quilt

long before the printed word.

This story told and saved

since the bone flute first was heard.

“We are us.”

We come from the same cave.

Verse:

Gm D7

I got me an amigo named Mario

D7 Gm

He brought me a bottle from Mexico

Cm Gm

It was the color of the sun It tasted like gold

D7 Gm

It was moonshine tequila from Tequila Mexico

Chorus:

Gm D7 D7 Gm

Moonshine Tequila, woh, oh, oh. Moonshine Tequila, woh, oh, oh

Gm D7

It was the color of the sun, it tastes like gold

D7 Gm D7

Moonshine tequila from Te-quil-a Mexico

Verse:

Gm D7

I poured a li’l glass I took a li’l sip

D7 Gm

In just un momentito my knees began to dip

Cm Gm

I chugged another swig and tried to keep a grip

D7 Gm

But that moonshine tequila It put me on my lips

Chorus: Gm etc.

Verse:

Gm D7

So, Mario and I were feeling pretty high

D7 Gm

Then Mario decided he’d try to kiss the sky

Cm Gm

Then he flapped his arms and he started to fly

D7 Gm

It was the moonshine tequila, you know I wouldn’t lie!

Chorus in Gm….. Then modulate ...........E7

Verse:

Am E7

He was floating on his back, flying through the air

E7 Am

He was talking to a lady who maybe wasn’t there

Dm Am

Then he started getting necked but no one even stared

E7 Am

They were drinkin’ that moonshine tequila and no one even cared

Chorus variation:

Am E7 E7 Am Am E7

Moonshine tequila, Moonshine Tequila, …..Moonshine Tequila

E7 Am Am

Moonshine Tequila from Tequila Mexico

Am ( cut ) E7 Am

Moonshine Tequila, Ay, yai, yai. Moonshine Tequila, Ay, yai, yai.

Am E7

It’s the color of the sun, it tastes like gold

E7 Am

Moonshine Tequila from Te-qui--la Mexico

Instrumental Tag: E7 Am

His bird has flown

His heart can’t rest for one more day.

Must be some kind of omen

Red bird singing him a traveling Song

He’s long gone John

Filled his face with New Orleans

For one last rhyme -

Bagged his rags, jumped on that train

He’s Leaving it all behind

Gotta heed those signs, come a break of dawn

He’s long gone John

So, While ya still gotta chance ya better hear his song

‘Cause He’s Long Gone John

Refrain:

He’s long gone John,

Long gone John

One day you’ll look but he won’t be found

‘Cause He’s Long Gone John

He’s long gone John,

Long gone John

So, While ya still gotta chance ya better hear his song

‘Cause He’s Long Gone John

next page

I’d atone if’n I’d ‘a sinned

Where shall I begin?

This rolling stone’s rolled over again

It’s time to shed my skin

Now there ain’t nothing there but empty air

I’m Long Gone John

A Different world, a different sky

A new and different hue of blue

Hope to find on the other side

The same sweet you

Can’t hang around where he don’t belong

He’s long gone John

It’s okay, ain’t nothing’s wrong

He’s just long gone John

Refrain:

He’s long gone John,

Long gone John

One day you’ll look but he won’t be ‘round

‘Cause he’s Long Gone John

He’s long gone John,

Long gone John

While ya got the chance ya better hear his song

‘Cause He’s Long Gone John

It might be your last chance to hear his song

Cause he’s

Long

Gone John

I can help you get on down your road

But I can’t take you all the way

I would like to lighten up your load

But someday you’re gonna have to carry your own weight

I’ll help you make it through the night

But I can’t fight your fight

As your darkness fades away

You’ll be on your own come break of day

My friend, I wish I could do more

To somehow even up the score

But there’s only just so much that I can do

I’ve walked more than a mile in your shoes

I know your pain and understand

If you ask my aid I shan’t refuse

Just call my name and I’m you’re man

On down the lane we chased our dream

Then this old train ran out of steam

I’ll strum the chords and play along

But I can’t sing your song

I’m way too torn to sing the blues

And I’ve already paid my dues

There’s only just so much that I can do

It seems I often fail to dry your eyes

It breaks my heart to let you down

though forever empty I apologize

Like a broken down, painted-face, sad, gay clown

I fake my way and talk some talk

then I can’t walk the walk

I make believe it’s all come true (but)

of course it all falls through

in the end I can’t pretend because

[ coro] There’s really only just so much I can do

When the moon is pale and your soul feels stale

If you go off the rails I’ll pick up your mail,

If you land in jail I’ll pay your bail, but

[ coro] There’s really only just so much I can do

I care for you, I’m there for you,

To be fair I only say a little prayer for you

when I cheer you on your latest scary daring-do. But…

[ coro] There’s really only just so much I can do

I’d go to bat. I’d never rat

Help you fix a flat. I’ll feed your cat

Tell you that those pants don’t make your bum look fat, but

[ coro] There’s really only just so much I can do

When you’re sinking inside and got no place to hide

I’ll give you a ride when your brain is fried

Even if you lied I’d probably just let it slide, but

[ coro] There’s really only just so much I can do

The truth is that I’m really helpless

I’m not that good at being selfless

There’s only just so much that I can do

Drench me with your waters of song

Go and forgive her, cry me a river

Crying more tears into the waters of song

Until the waters overflow

Wa-wa-wa-wa-waters of song

I’ve been sitting on the dock of the bay

On the banks of the old Ponchartrain

Just watching the river flow

Twixt the devil and the deep blue sea

Crying out my tears into the waters of song

until the waters overflow

Come with me to the sea of love

Just catch the wave don’t be afraid- { of loving me }

How deep is the ocean?

The water is wide, I can’t cross over

So many tears in the waters of song

Have faith in the waters of song

Dreams come true on blue bayou

Like a bridge over troubled waters

the waters of March, { Agua de beber }

Rolling, rolling, rolling on a river

Rolling on the waters of song

Up a lazy river in the noon day sun

Down by the riverside

Somewhere beyond the sea

Everybody’s gone surfing

Surfing on the waves of the waters of song

• I only want to see you laughing in the purple rain

It is the current consensus of science that Nature evolved human consciousness and intelligence as a survival tool. Since we’re not the strongest nor the swiftest of creatures on the planet, Nature gave us “smarts.” We use our consciousness as a tool, a weapon, to be used against Nature in order to survive.

About 10,000 years ago, …

Read more

Andy Kurz on Bass

David Mahonney on Drums

J Riley Cain on keyboards/vocals/harmonica

Read more

Read more

Video of "I'm Done"

When popular culture celebrities reach late middle age they all seem to claim they have no regrets in life. Self-help gurus and spiritual pundits encourage us to adopt this attitude. They tell you, sure, you’ve made some mistakes or had some bad breaks, but those were not actually mistakes or bad breaks. Those were experiences that made you grow and become stronger. Everything happens for a reason. Those experiences actually made you into the magnificent person you are today. It’s all how you look at it. Therefore, we shouldn’t have any regrets in our lives. Once you realize this you are to be admired for your perseverance. The premise is that by having no regrets you show that you have lived a meaningful life. This belief is expressed in the famous obnoxious song, sung by Sinatra, “I did it my-y-y-y-y-y way!.” ( Although, he did have a few regrets, but then again, too few to mention. )

Besides, being embarrassed is a horrible feeling and should be avoided at all costs. It’s like the inspector Clouseau character in the Pink Panther movies, brilliantly portrayed by Peter Sellers. He’s an egotist who is over confident about his own abilities. In reality he’s a bumbling fool. He never admits his mistakes. If he trips on the sidewalk because he's clumsy he tries to cover his embarrassment by saying, “That felt good! I meant to do that. Everything I do is carefully planned!” Or else he blames someone else, “Whoever poured that concrete was an idiot!”

Like most average schmucks, I used to accept this philosophy of no regrets. But, lately when I think a little more deeply about this it seems like a crock of shit. It’s easy for famous rich celebs to make this claim. They’re rich and successful. They don’t have to worry about paying their bills. Everything in life worked out great for them. They seem to imply that having regrets in life is a weakness and that is what makes you a failure. But, really, what’s wrong with having regrets? Saying you have no regrets is actually a way of not taking responsibility for your actions. It’s a cop out. Declaring that you have no regrets is an ignorant and massive ego trip. It’s spiritually lazy.

You can make mistakes in life, survive your fuck ups, learn from them and then move on. But you should regret them, especially if your fuck ups hurt other people. My view is that it’s better to admit responsibility for your mistakes. The claim that your mistakes and bad luck made you who you are today is true to a certain extent, but you have no way of knowing how much better your life would have been if you hadn’t fucked up that one time. What if you hadn’t gotten that divorce and instead worked through your relationship problems? What if you hadn’t had that one last shot of tequila and didn’t get a DUI, or injure an innocent person in a car wreck?

I’m not saying that you should dwell on your mistakes. Just get real. Just because you survived a bad decision or bad situation doesn’t necessarily mean you’re better off for it. It just means you survived. You have no way of knowing if you’d be much better off today if you hadn’t made that bad decision. The argument that it wasn’t a bad decision, that it was what you needed at that time for your growth is a naive justification for who you are now. That there are no accidents and that everything happens for a reason is bullshit that we tell ourselves to not feel embarrassed. There are accidents. You do make bad choices and sometimes there are no reasons for things that happen to you. It’s terrifying to accept that life is random and that the universe is chaos.

I have regrets. I do regret some bad things that others have done to me. They actually were evil assholes and they did damaged me. I did not deserve what they did to me and in no way did it make me a better person. I’ve made some bad choices that damaged myself. I shouldn’t have done them and I wish I hadn’t. I’m embarrassed by some of the things I’ve done and by some of the choices I’ve made. If I could, I would go back and change them. True, they made me the person I am today but I still regret them. I regret things I’ve done in my past that hurt other people. Even though it was unintentional there’s no excuse. I fucked up and I have to live with it, and the people I hurt have to live with it as well. I clearly would have been a better person if I hadn’t done certain things. But there’s nothing I can do about it now. It’s the past. I take responsibility for my actions. By admitting this I’ve learned to not make as many bad choices and to be more thoughtful. I believe this approach makes you a better person. Claiming no regrets is just another way of lying to yourself.

We all have a little Sinatra and a little inspector Clouseau in us. In my personal experience I’ve learned faster from moments of embarrassment. Whatever it was that I did that gave me the feeling of embarrassment I vowed to avoid from there on. Like the nun said after riding her bicycle down the cobblestone street, “I’ll never come this way again!” And, I’ve learned more from losing than by winning all the time. Mainly, not to make losing a habit.

I’m not sure if all this makes me feel any better about myself but at least I’m honest with myself. So, I guess in a way it does make me feel better. I have no regrets about having regrets.

J Riley Cain's Music

Some lies hurt someone.

Some lies hurt yourself.

You lie because maybe it doesn’t matter.

You lie because you don’t care if it’s a lie.

Or, you lie because you do care.

You lie because you’re scared.

You lie because you’re scarred.

You lie to get a laugh.

You lie because you’re lonely

And you’re lonely because you lie.

You lie to keep from crying.

You lie to save someone’s life.

You lie without even knowing you’re lying.

You tell lies to impress others.

You lie to belong, to fit in.

You lie to impress others.

You lie because telling the truth makes others dislike you.

Pretending something is true when it is not is lying to yourself.

You lie when you don’t really know the truth,

So you call it faith.

Faith is the art of lying to yourself.

It is a lie about a lie.

So you lie because everyone else does.

You think that if enough people agree to believe the same lie

that will make it the truth.

That’s lying about a lie.

You lie to protect yourself, to save your self.

You lie to escape.

Some lies make you poor.

You lie to make a buck.

Some lies bring you wealth.

You lie because you’re embarrassed.

You lie because you hate.

You lie for fun.

You lie because you love.

You lie because you don’t know the truth

And that makes you feel weak.

Or, you lie because you don’t want to admit the truth.

You lie because you know the truth and don’t like it.

You lie to hide your offenses and sins.

You lie to hide your guilt.

You lie to hide your faults.

You lie because you don’t know the answer.

You lie because it’s easy.

You lie because sometimes the truth is hard.

You lie because you can.

You lie because you’re a man.

You lie to be loved.

Nothing fools you better than the lie you tell your self.

To your shuck and your jive

the pluck and the drive

That kept you alive.

Somehow you survived

With no fountain of wealth.

Here’s to the Jesus inside your self.

To the Buddha inside of you.

To the silver thread of mental health

Of the dude that stayed true.

Here’s to you.

Here’s to you.

To the hero and the lover,

To the child and the mother

And the self directing grown up

you became as you grew.

To the song in you,

Here’s to you.

Here’s to you.

To the light inside of you

And the wrong in you,

To what’s right in you’

To the fight in you,

To the war in you

That tore you in two

And the peace you finally found

That released you whole and sound.

You made it through, so,

Here’s to you.

Here’s to all your names and all your games,

Here’s to your shame

and for the fame you never knew.

Here’s to you

Here’s to the god inside of you.

To the truth inside of you.

To the proof that’s in you, too.

Even to the zoo inside of you,

To The dog and the cat,

The hog and the bat,

To the lion and the lamb,

And to whoever you think you am.

Here’s to the glue inside of you that holds you together.

To the sky that’s grey and blue in you

No matter whether the weather

Is the rain and the pain

Or the sun and the Spain

inside your brain.

You’re still sane, so

Here’s to you.

Here’s to You.

To the losses and the gains

And the chances that you blew.

To the chances that you took

When you took that left hook.

Here’s to the moon and the stars

And to who you think you are.

You made it thus far, so,

Here’s to you.

Here’s to you

To the tears and the fears,

The years and all the beers,

The sadness and the cheer.

Here’s to your ear.

To the straight and the queer

And the faith you hold so dear.

Here’s to you.

To the love you gave

and the love you lost,

To the face you saved ,

And the lines you crossed,

To the love you shared,

To the soul you bared,

To the times you cared .

You made it through

So, here’s to You.

We are often told by those who are supposed to be wiser than we that life is an opportunity. But an opportunity to do what? Our species believes it has a purpose for existing. But we’re not clear as to what exactly that purpose is. There is a lot of disagreement about this. We do share a general notion that we’re here to improve living conditions for the human race. We want to advance our knowledge in order to be more comfortable, safer and happier.

The belief that we have purpose indicates that we believe, somehow, that we must do things to justify our existence. We’re supposed to be doing specific things that are proper and correct behaviors. I’ve pondered some about where this notion comes from. Why do we think that we, Homo Sapiens, one of a species of primate apes, are capable of knowing how the universe works. Are we even supposed to know how and why the universe works?

So far as I can figure, all of this comes from our imaginations. We are unaware that this idea, that there are reasons for things, is a product of our imaginations. There is nothing outside of the human mind that explains it. As far as I can tell cats and dogs and other animals don’t entertain questions like “how” and “why.” The questions of how and why are anthropomorphisms. They’re products of human consciousness. There may not be any reason for existence. “How” and “why” only exist in the imaginative minds of Homo sapiens. In the grand scheme of things things there may not even be a grand scheme. We assume that our way of experiencing existence is the way it is for all beings. But, as you know, when you assume you make an ass out of me and Uma Thurman. ( That was joke. )

Studies in neurology about how the brain works tell us that certain parts of the brain “light up” with certain kinds of thoughts and emotions. When you experience pleasure or sadness science has figured out ways to measure specific biological functions in the brain that seem to correspond. ( But look, the brain actually doesn’t “light up.” From physical sensors attached to a person’s head electronic signals are sent to a computer program which creates an abstract electronic image of the brain on a TV screen. With certain actions, thoughts and emotions this shows sections of that brain’s image “lighting up.” ) But these abstract computerized images showing functions of the brain by “lighting up” are not the same thing as what you are experiencing. Biology and science can tell us about the mechanics of how the human brain functions. But the results and purposes of these functions, what you are experiencing, are way more complex than the mechanics of what we are able to observe, describe and measure. Just as the numbers on a thermometer measuring the temperature are not the same as the feelings of hot or cold that your body actually experiences. The scale of degrees is an abstract intellectual invention of the human imagination so that we have a way to talk about the heat or cold we feel.

There is obviously a larger principle happening that is much more complex than all our thoughts and explanations about existence. I think we can generally agree that our existence is a process of nature, of the universe, which is immense compared to what’s going on inside our heads.

We don’t know why or how we exist, yet here we are. We awaken into an existence we didn’t ask for and had no say so as to how it works. We were born, not asked. We are expected to adapt to the culture and even pass it on.

Most of us are not given the chance to figure it our for ourselves. As children we are quickly indoctrinated with whatever cultural explanations our parents have been indoctrinated with. These vary depending on where you were born geographically. If you were born in the western/European culture part of the world it will be some form of Christianity. If you’re from the middle east it will be Islamic or Judaism, from India or Asia it will reflect those religious cultures, so on and so on.

All these religious traditions are merely Homo sapiens very first primitive attempts to explain life. These are but stories from our primitive ancestors who had no idea what germs are and no idea that we live on a sphere, had no idea that the earth orbits the sun. To them thunder and lighting obviously came from the god Thor, (duh!), unless you were born around the Mediterranean where it was obviously Zeus who threw the lighting bolts. (No duh!) Around the 1600s Homo Sapiens began inventing science as a new method to explain the world. Although our ancient religious traditions have been altered over time they do so at a much slower pace than the scientific method which is designed to adapt as new knowledge is gained.

As individuals, rather than trying to figure all this out for ourselves we look for answers from more experienced people. Experts! ( Yes, experts who, by the way, often disagree with each other. That never made sense to me. It would seem that if you’re experts on a topic y’all would agree on the facts. ) After all, who has time to ponder all this deep stuff when you’re busy just trying to keep a roof over your head and food on the table and trying to get laid? Many of our fellow humans, these experts, claim to have the answers. This aspect of life becomes a search, a sorting out of a bunch of options, to try to find this person who has the answers; a doctor, a wise man, a holy man, a scientists, a guru, a savior. ( Why is it almost always a “man” who is in charge of telling us what it’s all about? But I digress. ) These dudes give us various strange explanations for existence that may or may not be true. Many of these people are con artists playing on your ego and your fear of death. Some of them actually believe their own bullshit. So, they’re either lying or delusional. They have a lot of information to offer but it should all be taken with a grain of salt and skepticism.

There are many reasons why we think that somebody else knows the answers to The Big Questions of “what is this life that is happening to me? What happens to me after I die?” I know this much, anyone who claims to know what happens to you after you die is a liar or is delusional. No one knows. The idea that somebody else knows the answers and you don’t, and that you have to trade off something to them to get the answer is a con game. If someone else can find the answer then you can find the answer yourself. No one knows you better than you know yourself. But, nothing fools you better than the lie you tell yourself. You are “life” as much as anyone else. No one needs to teach you how to breathe, grow your finger nails, circulate your blood, or how to convert the food you eat into the stuff that makes you… You. It’s all a process of nature. So too, you are capable of figuring out life as much as anyone else. Maybe if there is no answer it’s not because you can’t figure it out, it’s because there is no answer. In the grand scheme of things there may not be a grand scheme.

Probably most of us don’t spend much time thinking about these profound mysteries. It’s uncomfortable and all we want out of life is to have fun and be happy. It’s easier to accept what an expert in the subject says about it than to do the work of thinking for one’s self.

How do you determine the truth? Personally, I don’t intend giving up on finding the truth by just accepting the words of someone else. Of course there are others who know more about some things than I do and I avail myself of their knowledge and skills when needed. But when it comes to the Big Questions, I’ve lived too many years and seen too many bull shitters who give convincing performances that dupe millions of folks. I think it’s dis-empowering and maybe even lazy to think that someone else has the answers for these profound questions about your own life. You can do this yourself! Life is a do-it-yourself project.

Nights are getting cold
Another autumn rolls around.
The trees are looking old,
Their leaves are falling on the ground.

In the sky the crows are crowing.
The snow will soon be snowing.
The feeling in the air,
It always makes me think of you.

I don’t want to spend
Another October alone.
Are you still my friend
Or is this whole relationship blown?

Maybe you think I’m just too crazy. Maybe you get too stoned,

But please don’t let me spend Another October alone.

Barefoot summer clover
and dreams of sweet Octobers
Burned by kisses hotter than the August sun.

Like a turn of the earth
And a whirl of the world we are.

Warm summer skies changing into autumn stars

Baby, I just can’t stay here, Maybe I can’t go home
But, please don’t let me spend Another October alone.

It’s just because October
Is the time when things are over
And nothing new is gonna start again till spring.

Baby, I just can’t stay here, Maybe I can’t go home
But, please don’t let me spend Another October alone.

I don’t want to spend
Another October....
I really don’t wanna have to spend October without you

Words and Music by John Cain ©John Cain –All World Music 2017