art of the jam 28
"i have no idea," said wreck room wednesday night jam-meister lee allen.
the immediate situation was "what are we gonna play next?" but the jam-meister's response pointed to a larger existential dilemma: whaddaya do when you've been awake and working yr ass off for over 12 hrs already, the regular drummer is in florida, and the two other drummers you'd usually call are doin' family thanksgiving stuff?
some folks would say, "make the solo acoustic act before you [his name is vic, he sings soulfully in a manner reminiscent of jack johnson the college-indie guy, not the prizefighter, and he was in fallujah, y'all] play until the 'real' bands in the big room [in this case, that'd be mermaid purse and driven] are ready to play," but lee-boy is made of sterner stuff. so he played drums behind vic on one song and bass on another, then made way for amy royer to sing a few until, she reported, vic was "freaking out and asking 'where's the house band?!?!?'"
at that point, i strapped on the indonesian strat and lee continued drumming behind vic, amy, and david "kid" daniel (ex-fort worth cats, ex-icicle and the kid), who was visiting town from corpus christi and stopped by to offer up punk-garage-rockabilly wonderment. at a certain point vic took over the drums, but it still weren't pretty, and after awhile, things sorta petered out.
i was contemplating packing my shit and wondering what movie i wanted to watch when my sweetie and i got home when i saw lee returning to the stand with burning hotels drummer wyatt. did i mention that lee now has a "house backline" of zz ryder gtrs and little-bitty amps that are louder than fuck (and fuck, as you know, can be pert damn loud)? kulcha far i gtrist ron geida got up to put one thru its paces, and things started to get a little more happenin'. before the jams, there was a little discussion -- "nothing too complicated," said the jam-meister, "i just want us to try and have a collective thought here." it was a multi-generational unit onstage: wyatt's so young he hasn't even been born yet (altho he _is_ legal, tabc folks), ron and lee are mid-30s, and i'm pushing fucking half a century. what this means is that the common core o' experience that's usually a precursor to good extemporaneous improv shit wasn't necessarily present (not necessarily a generational thang: in terms of tastes 'n' influences, lee's prolly closer to wyatt than he is to me 'n' ron). p'rhaps this had been on lee's mind since he watched the rock camp kidzzz make hash of a blues at fred's last w-e. if so, he needn't have worried -- besides never having refused a challenge (cream? ummm, ok. black sabbath? uhhh, no problem.), wyatt's a thinker and listener as well as a groover behind the traps.
lee was particularly pleased by ron's suggestion of the frank zappa-penned minor blues "sexual harassment in the workplace" as a jam vehicle. "we did that at a recital when i was in college," said lee. "our choir sang, and then my blues ensemble played that toon." ron to' it up, too, playing furious flurries o' notes and big intervallic leaps that woulda made fz his own self proud. "kid" daniel got up to sing a couple more, to much better effect, then dax from the band ransom reprised his performance on "dazed and confused" from the latest "good" jam tape, and william bryan massey III got up to recite a holiday poem before lee handed his 6-string bass to matt skates from confusatron, and kulcha far i bassist john shook relieved his bandmate ron on gtr. by this time, there were a lotta ppl in the house, which always makes musos play harder. (lee: "i'm gonna have to start using my _big_ amp to play on the little stage." funny how having more bodies in the room soaks up more sound.) around one o'clock, lee took my place on the indonesian strat and ari from dogs with sticks briefly had his hands on the zz ryder. whew!
only non-snazz aspect from my perspective was the garrruuunnnk assholes that started a scrap by the main bar, the details of which i'm uncertain about but resulted in the door cat getting roughed up a bit by responding security and lee getting a cut above his right eyebrow and a mashed thumb. alcohol's a wonderful thing: it makes performers out of ppl who aren't (or shouldn't be), and makes great performers sound like terrible tyros. it also makes otherwise sensible folks behave like buffoons or worse. maybe that's why so many ppl i know on the set are adopting the course of sobriety. better to be in the audience at the circus that in the center ring wearing the polka-dot shoes and the big red nose. just an observation.
other learnings of the evening: 1) caroline collier's gonna start writing for the fweakly. while i'm ambivalent about the rag and the profession of journalism in general, caro's an insightful thinker and a great, thoughtful writer (dig her musings on her myspace blog thingy), so adding her to their roster is def a coup for the paper. i'm looking fwd to having her stuff read to me. 2) between the elusive hochimen (who have allegedly finished their sophomore cd, _finally_) making a rare appearance here in the fort (hell, anywhere) at experience the art of music (that'd be saturday, december 17th at axis), the performance by sleeplab at the same event makes it a can't miss at mi casa. dig this lineup: fern and jeffa on gtrs, jesse sierra hernandez on congas, frequent hank hankshaw / cadillac fraf accompanist michael preble on snare 'n' hi-hat, matt skates on standup bass, and cynthia foster on voxxx. hellz yeah, ya mo be there. maybe you, too?
yeah, art of the jam has lots to be thankful for this yr. let's call 'em out:
- brian forella for lettin' us do this in his house
- andre edmonson for making us sound better 'n you'd think
- graham, carl, lu, and elvis for pourin' the dranks
- all the jammers for their glorious noise
- all the ppl (may their number increase) who stick around to listen
- my sweetie and lee's bride for supporting us in all that we do
- you for reading this bullshit
peace, y'all.
the immediate situation was "what are we gonna play next?" but the jam-meister's response pointed to a larger existential dilemma: whaddaya do when you've been awake and working yr ass off for over 12 hrs already, the regular drummer is in florida, and the two other drummers you'd usually call are doin' family thanksgiving stuff?
some folks would say, "make the solo acoustic act before you [his name is vic, he sings soulfully in a manner reminiscent of jack johnson the college-indie guy, not the prizefighter, and he was in fallujah, y'all] play until the 'real' bands in the big room [in this case, that'd be mermaid purse and driven] are ready to play," but lee-boy is made of sterner stuff. so he played drums behind vic on one song and bass on another, then made way for amy royer to sing a few until, she reported, vic was "freaking out and asking 'where's the house band?!?!?'"
at that point, i strapped on the indonesian strat and lee continued drumming behind vic, amy, and david "kid" daniel (ex-fort worth cats, ex-icicle and the kid), who was visiting town from corpus christi and stopped by to offer up punk-garage-rockabilly wonderment. at a certain point vic took over the drums, but it still weren't pretty, and after awhile, things sorta petered out.
i was contemplating packing my shit and wondering what movie i wanted to watch when my sweetie and i got home when i saw lee returning to the stand with burning hotels drummer wyatt. did i mention that lee now has a "house backline" of zz ryder gtrs and little-bitty amps that are louder than fuck (and fuck, as you know, can be pert damn loud)? kulcha far i gtrist ron geida got up to put one thru its paces, and things started to get a little more happenin'. before the jams, there was a little discussion -- "nothing too complicated," said the jam-meister, "i just want us to try and have a collective thought here." it was a multi-generational unit onstage: wyatt's so young he hasn't even been born yet (altho he _is_ legal, tabc folks), ron and lee are mid-30s, and i'm pushing fucking half a century. what this means is that the common core o' experience that's usually a precursor to good extemporaneous improv shit wasn't necessarily present (not necessarily a generational thang: in terms of tastes 'n' influences, lee's prolly closer to wyatt than he is to me 'n' ron). p'rhaps this had been on lee's mind since he watched the rock camp kidzzz make hash of a blues at fred's last w-e. if so, he needn't have worried -- besides never having refused a challenge (cream? ummm, ok. black sabbath? uhhh, no problem.), wyatt's a thinker and listener as well as a groover behind the traps.
lee was particularly pleased by ron's suggestion of the frank zappa-penned minor blues "sexual harassment in the workplace" as a jam vehicle. "we did that at a recital when i was in college," said lee. "our choir sang, and then my blues ensemble played that toon." ron to' it up, too, playing furious flurries o' notes and big intervallic leaps that woulda made fz his own self proud. "kid" daniel got up to sing a couple more, to much better effect, then dax from the band ransom reprised his performance on "dazed and confused" from the latest "good" jam tape, and william bryan massey III got up to recite a holiday poem before lee handed his 6-string bass to matt skates from confusatron, and kulcha far i bassist john shook relieved his bandmate ron on gtr. by this time, there were a lotta ppl in the house, which always makes musos play harder. (lee: "i'm gonna have to start using my _big_ amp to play on the little stage." funny how having more bodies in the room soaks up more sound.) around one o'clock, lee took my place on the indonesian strat and ari from dogs with sticks briefly had his hands on the zz ryder. whew!
only non-snazz aspect from my perspective was the garrruuunnnk assholes that started a scrap by the main bar, the details of which i'm uncertain about but resulted in the door cat getting roughed up a bit by responding security and lee getting a cut above his right eyebrow and a mashed thumb. alcohol's a wonderful thing: it makes performers out of ppl who aren't (or shouldn't be), and makes great performers sound like terrible tyros. it also makes otherwise sensible folks behave like buffoons or worse. maybe that's why so many ppl i know on the set are adopting the course of sobriety. better to be in the audience at the circus that in the center ring wearing the polka-dot shoes and the big red nose. just an observation.
other learnings of the evening: 1) caroline collier's gonna start writing for the fweakly. while i'm ambivalent about the rag and the profession of journalism in general, caro's an insightful thinker and a great, thoughtful writer (dig her musings on her myspace blog thingy), so adding her to their roster is def a coup for the paper. i'm looking fwd to having her stuff read to me. 2) between the elusive hochimen (who have allegedly finished their sophomore cd, _finally_) making a rare appearance here in the fort (hell, anywhere) at experience the art of music (that'd be saturday, december 17th at axis), the performance by sleeplab at the same event makes it a can't miss at mi casa. dig this lineup: fern and jeffa on gtrs, jesse sierra hernandez on congas, frequent hank hankshaw / cadillac fraf accompanist michael preble on snare 'n' hi-hat, matt skates on standup bass, and cynthia foster on voxxx. hellz yeah, ya mo be there. maybe you, too?
yeah, art of the jam has lots to be thankful for this yr. let's call 'em out:
- brian forella for lettin' us do this in his house
- andre edmonson for making us sound better 'n you'd think
- graham, carl, lu, and elvis for pourin' the dranks
- all the jammers for their glorious noise
- all the ppl (may their number increase) who stick around to listen
- my sweetie and lee's bride for supporting us in all that we do
- you for reading this bullshit
peace, y'all.
posted by stashdauber at 9:17 AM
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