art of the jam 11
maybe if we'd quit after the first set i wouldn't feel so ambivalent. but then if we had, i'd have missed out on the best part of the whole night. one of the musos put it this way afterwards: "we hit on some good grooves, played some good music, and made a lot of noise." just another wednesday night at the wreck room.
i dunno (do you detect a hint of chickenshit self-censorship here? i thought so) what it was, but after awhile the second set got, um, how you say, kinda _diffuse_. blame alcohol, if you will. blame weird friction between certain of the players' auras, if you must. personally, i'm more than happy to blame it on the visitors from a parallel universe where ppl still actually _like_ to listen to steve miller, lynyrd skynyrd, bob seger, and eddie money, who answered jam-meister lee allen's call for requests. (the phrase that pays: "be careful what you ask for.") but that wouldn't be entahrly honest. sometimes, i guess, you just run out of steam. or ideas. or focus. or all of the above. just part of the fun.
the good stuff: brian sharp showed up to thrust his trumpet, flugelhorn, and array of mutes into the spotlight ("just add horns to _anything_ if you wanna class it up," he opined). joe cruz, who just signed on as drummer with villain vanguard (check out their new lineup and killer new toonage at the black dog on august 19th), was celebrating by taking more chances than usual and playing some particularly tasty cymbal shit (this time he brought his own crash). myself, i'd spent the week listening to/watching live video of neil young and deniz tek and decided that technical limitations be damned, sometimes it's more about the jam between the notes than the notes themselves. there's _always_ a gap between what a player wants to achieve and what the audience receives. i still don't dig about 80% of what i play, but i figure that the only way to increase the amount of good shit i play is, well, to keep playing (_not_ "to play _more_").
the best for last: during the break between sets, i noticed andre, the wreck room's wizard of sound -- just back from his colorado jaunt with a-hummin' acoustical acupuncture, which sounds like it was heap big fun -- mic'ing up the conga drums from painter/sho' nuff stylin' mofo/closet congero jesse sierra hernandez' adjacent art studio. it made my whole week, seeing jesse up onstage during the _snazz_ portion of the second set, looking for all the world like one of the musicians he paints, adding some cayenne pepper to the musical stew. "it was a privilege, man," he told me later. shee-it, jesse. the stage is _always_ a privilege. you just made it extra special. i hope we get to jam together again soon.
as much as i await the return of carl pack to the wednesday night jam stage.
i dunno (do you detect a hint of chickenshit self-censorship here? i thought so) what it was, but after awhile the second set got, um, how you say, kinda _diffuse_. blame alcohol, if you will. blame weird friction between certain of the players' auras, if you must. personally, i'm more than happy to blame it on the visitors from a parallel universe where ppl still actually _like_ to listen to steve miller, lynyrd skynyrd, bob seger, and eddie money, who answered jam-meister lee allen's call for requests. (the phrase that pays: "be careful what you ask for.") but that wouldn't be entahrly honest. sometimes, i guess, you just run out of steam. or ideas. or focus. or all of the above. just part of the fun.
the good stuff: brian sharp showed up to thrust his trumpet, flugelhorn, and array of mutes into the spotlight ("just add horns to _anything_ if you wanna class it up," he opined). joe cruz, who just signed on as drummer with villain vanguard (check out their new lineup and killer new toonage at the black dog on august 19th), was celebrating by taking more chances than usual and playing some particularly tasty cymbal shit (this time he brought his own crash). myself, i'd spent the week listening to/watching live video of neil young and deniz tek and decided that technical limitations be damned, sometimes it's more about the jam between the notes than the notes themselves. there's _always_ a gap between what a player wants to achieve and what the audience receives. i still don't dig about 80% of what i play, but i figure that the only way to increase the amount of good shit i play is, well, to keep playing (_not_ "to play _more_").
the best for last: during the break between sets, i noticed andre, the wreck room's wizard of sound -- just back from his colorado jaunt with a-hummin' acoustical acupuncture, which sounds like it was heap big fun -- mic'ing up the conga drums from painter/sho' nuff stylin' mofo/closet congero jesse sierra hernandez' adjacent art studio. it made my whole week, seeing jesse up onstage during the _snazz_ portion of the second set, looking for all the world like one of the musicians he paints, adding some cayenne pepper to the musical stew. "it was a privilege, man," he told me later. shee-it, jesse. the stage is _always_ a privilege. you just made it extra special. i hope we get to jam together again soon.
as much as i await the return of carl pack to the wednesday night jam stage.
posted by stashdauber at 6:21 PM
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