Failure is an Option
Jan 18, 2010 ramblings
I was walking by a cube and noticed a sign stating “Failure is not an option.” At first I thought, wow, that’s dedication and determination. Later, however, I wondered, what does this person do? What do they create? Heck, if all I set out to do must succeed, I’m doomed! And how will I learn? What can I explore, how many chances to mold the clay do I get, can’t I ball it up and try again if the pot I spin really sucks?
I’d never write another song, or play another gig, shoot a photo, attempt to teach my kids, or try to be taught… I mean, really, failure is not an option? Obviously, the context here is not about being a screw up, but in the realm of creativity and how we do what we do for a living. If I don’t try I can’t fail… if I don’t stretch myself to be better at things I don’t know or yet do well, I won’t fail. Neither will I be fulfilled as an artist or just being.
So, at least for me, failure is an option.
“I am not discouraged, because every wrong attempt discarded is another step forward.” — Thomas Edison
Spare Change
Jan 10, 2010 ramblings
Not sure why it’s taken me this far into the New Year to post (FWIW), until I got to thinking about it… there’s lots going on!
On top of winding down from the holiday season, which has only been a week now, I’m transitioning out of a training/education centric approach to writing and performing to generating product and getting it [and me] out there. This means some real discipline at home in the studio, because I don’t have the funds for studio time. It also means figuring out how to build a fan base, both live and virtually, as well as getting back into networking with our local creative community.
If I didn’t have a 50hr. a week day job, no problem. But I do, and I can’t let it be a problem. I also need to be sure I don’t get frustrated when the game plan isn’t producing as fruitfully as I’d hoped, or I need to deviate to hit a target. The key is to keep moving forward and adapt with whatever is happening. So, if my home recordings don’t get produced as well as I think they ought, I still need to get product out the door, or there’s nothing to share. If I don’t go and sit and wait 2-hrs to play 2-songs at an open mic, I won’t get to meet other writers to write with or maybe play in the round with. Sure, I can’t be out every night, so I need to plan when I’m going to attend a week night show where friends are playing and work from home the next day so I can sneak an extra 30 minutes of sleep the next morning.
There’s an element of adventure I’m really looking forward to, also. Maybe I’ll take 6-months of guitar lessons, or do an EP of just instrumental stuff, or finally make that trek down to Central Ave. and get that tattoo. Not sure how our search for a new church home will come in to play, but I also feel like it’s time to get back involved with music ministry. Making this transition won’t be easy, and I need to be patient, but I’ve done it before. I used to have one of those 5-gallon water jugs from a dispenser for spare change in an apartment years ago. I was always amazed when I’d tally up a half-full jug. Long as I keep dumping effort into my songs and music like spare change into that jug, I should have plenty to show for it quarter by quarter in 2010.
Later…
Dec 31, 2009 ramblings
Someone asked me today about my New Year resolutions. Truth is, I don’t make any. I’ve undergone lots of changes in life since 2000, surely made lots of mistakes, too. But one significant thing I learned is to try and keep things realistic and simple. Which, at least for me, means cleaning out the emotional, spiritual and physical closets of the clutter and baggage that inhibit a real and simple means of living, including setting goals and how to achieve them.
Resolutions have never worked for me because they seem rather “shot in the dark” to me. Sure, I need to keep working out and eating better, but that’s more a lifestyle paradigm than a resolution, IMO. Point to this very brief farewell to 2009 is just that; the 2000-2009 decade has come and gone. No need to agonize or lament, instead build on the accomplishments and lessons learned.
To all my friends and family, all the best for a happy and healthy 2010.
Later… 2009
Smokescreen
Dec 1, 2009 ramblings
I’ve never had a bent toward protest songs. That’s certainly not to say we don’t have lots of material for great protest song fodder, and I do have some VERY strong opinions about what’s happening in our country today. So when I got an email about a veteran who is turning 95 in a couple of weeks, a man with some very similar perspectives as I do, I felt compelled to use that content in a song.
Now, I did research the letter that was in the email, and it appears to be genuine. Though some dispute its authenticity and the content is widely and vehemently dissed by those with opposing views, oh well.
All I’ll say is I think our country is reeling, essentially being dismembered from its roots — but I don’t know that folks truly understand what’s going on. It could be they don’t want to take the time to do so, God help us, it could be they just don’t care. Maybe it’s all the social and political agendas we have to decipher or because we’re moving so fast in our daily self-indulgent lives; regardless, I contend we’re either missing or ignoring what’s going on behind the smokescreen. I do hope you’ll take a few minutes and listen to my interpretation of Harold’s story. The recording is quite rough around the edges, poetic justice?
Before I Do
2009 © zero360music
Hairballs
Aug 8, 2009 ramblings
Yep, life’s a hairball… a tangled mess. We either live in it or hover just beyond it, but can’t live without it. Get too close, you get sucked in — too far away and you’re isolated from the hairball — but then, what’s life without life?
After my first pass through Gordon McKenzie’s “Orbiting the Giant Hairball,” a book touted to address the mayhem inside large corporate work environments, I got to thinking the same is true of life. Very interesting read, IMO, from the format and style of delivery to the content… I’m buying a copy to keep on my nightstand with the other books I periodically thumb through.
I work in the corporate hairball described and addressed by this book, and have for many years. Having to navigate the gravity surrounding the tornadic swirl of red tape and politics and not get sucked into it — yet not get so far from it that I either quit or get fired, wears the heck out of me. But, as an artist, I’m totally with the proclamation McKenzie makes in the last chapter about “my life’s masterpiece”, entertaining and profound.
[begin rant]
Now, I don’t write politically charged protest songs, and don’t necessarily intend to start — but of late I’m really struggling with all the yak about who’s to blame for the current economic hairball we’re experiencing, why we’ve gone from digging an economic hole with a shovel to a backhoe and all that jazz. Uh, not the [only true] American art form, but the fuzzy math and self-centered “if you don’t agree with me you must be stupid” type of jazz.
Does anyone read history anymore? I mean accurate stuff, not the interpretations and CNN/MSNBC commentary. I mean stuff like how economies cycle, and people get blinded by poop-y promises made by politicians put on pedestals built on the frustration and disillusion of the masses? And how societies crumble because we seemingly [choose to] avoid learning from those mistakes?
Are we so entangled within the hairball, that the simplicity of hope and trust between good people seems out of reach? Has the collective isolation of minds shut off from reality by earbuds, the web, addiction to virtual reality, etc., made it easy for those holding the reigns to steer us down roads we shouldn’t be on?
Sadly, me thinks — YES.
I’m not saying anyone should compromise on what they believe, or give up our 1st Amendment rights. But should we be required to fund (via taxation) abortion and Acorn… should these type of social issues and vehicles of manipulation really be part of the Washington [funded] agenda? Shouldn’t our “representation” be more concerned with ensuring federal funds [aka stimulus] allocated to states keep teachers teaching, roads built and maintained and beefing up local law enforcement and fire departments, instead of building tourist attractions and funding bogus research projects? It concerns me when “we the people” allow the 10 Commandments to be torn down in the name of separation of church and state (and to appease those who like the great opportunities we all have by living in America but aren’t signing up for the heritage part of the deal), then time and again vote in government officials who endorse billions in illicit gain… help me out here?
Any chance we can get back to basics (like “Thou Shall Not Steal” from the taxpayer to bail out the boardroom) before my hairball adventure is over? Is common sense passé?
[end rant]
I recently read CB’s blog about “needing to write,” which really speaks to me. I do need to write, but sometimes avoid writing what I’m really passionate about. Like God, the one who I believe sent Jesus, so we could have a reason to hope in a future past the hairball… controversial, for sure. And I believe in living life to the fullest, while not abusing my body or taking advantage of others, also controversial to many. I also believe the music industry has blown its feet off up to its hips, and now barely keeps its collective head above water with gimmicky playlists.
True artists will keep good music and song alive, for the sake of art, in the name of hope. I can only hope to be part of this troupe, and that I’ll continue to create my own masterpiece. One thing’s for sure, whatever it is I write next will be from the gravity surrounding the hairballs I’m living with… whee!
Glass House
Nov 6, 2008 ramblings
I just read “Grace” by Richard Paul Evans, a novel. An easy yet intriguing read, primarily because it’s a story of the heart. While it’s comprised of classic elements, the outcome is challenging, and very much speaks to my being.
Over the last few weeks, I’ve looked high and low for a summary statement about my feelings toward the deceptive time in which we live. I’m taken aback at the level of compromise our society embraces, and that “making history” is more important than truth, integrity and honor.
“Grace”, I believe, provided the perspective for which I’ve been searching:
“I had a dream that the world turned to glass.
Those who had much to hide were very afraid.”
When I got over the knot in my stomach caused by contemplating the vileness of my own heart, I wondered when we, as a people, stopped caring about the level of transparency expected from executive leadership — or how far some are willing to carry out or minimize the impact of a lie for personal gain, or contribute in any way to such fallacy.
There is no stone in my hand, just a question… why?
Old Friend
Sep 22, 2008 ramblings, sojourn
Yogi Berra may have said it best tonight, “I’m not going to miss it”, referring to Yankee Stadium, where the last game of its storied 85 years was played in front of over 74,000 fans. As a boy, I attended several games and got to see the likes of Pepitone, Mantle, Maris, Howard, play ball on the perhaps the most famous of diamond dust. Too young to really understand the history and lore, more than aware of the dreams it placed in my heart.
Baseball preceded my enamor with music, and very much remained during my stages of developing as a musician. I have childhood memories of oiling my glove in the latter days of each winter in anticipation of the season’s first game of catch. From then until the chill of October we played baseball, stick ball, whiffle ball — any and all forms of our great national past time.
I believe my father had hopes that all his boys would become players. Only my youngest brother and I really stuck it with any semblance of endurance and passion. I gave up softball a few years back because my competitive nature was turning nicks into bodily damage. There’s been a deep void in my soul since that day. My youngest son enjoys the game, but the jury is still out on whether he’ll give what it takes to make a run at college ball or the bright lights of the “bigs”.
Yankee Stadium is an old friend to New Yorkers and the extensive cast of players that graced its stage. I’ve stayed up way too late all too many times during playoff and series games to watch the Yanks, win or lose, and there have been many bittersweet moments.
I’m grateful to say I got to go to the stadium on more than one occasion with my dad; and though he got into the Mets when they came on the scene in the early 60’s, the Yankees were his first love as a New York baseball fan. I’m sure he would have enjoyed the game tonight, and maybe shed a tear like me when the last out was made and the broadcast was over.
I’ll keep Yogi’s words close to the vest and do my best not to miss Yankee Stadium. Jeter, too, said it well, “memories are made to be passed on to generations.” From Rizzuto’s “holy cows”, to Reggie’s three home runs in a single World Series game, to the countless other dramatic plays, hits, and pitching performances, thank you “old friend”. You won’t be missed… so long as you continue to be a part of me and everyone else who chooses to let you live on instead of saying good-bye.
Tags: baseball, dreams, memories, new york yankees
Suppose…
On my way to San Diego for a work related conference, I started reading “Blue Like Jazz” by Donald Miller, non-religious thoughts on spiritual Christianity. Right out of the gate I was captivated by a statement about jazz being a product of the first generation of post slavery Negroes. I studied Jazz in college, and though I played the genre for many years, never became an accomplished jazz musician. For all my time within these circles I’d never heard this fact about the purveyors of the only true American art form.
So I started thinking about how this mindset has impacted my life. That is, where has conflict played itself out in ways I could not have expected and enabled me to either prosper or go in a direction that compelled me to explore creative or spiritual channels I otherwise might not have considered. No need to for excruciating detail, but there was a season I managed to invite trouble in various shapes and forms into my life, and with fairly regular consistency. I managed to lose my driving privileges, and had to work within reasonable distance from my apartment. So while working as a waiter at a vegetarian restaurant located about a 10 minute bicycle ride away, I overheard a fellow waiter’s mother, a local public service celebrity, having a conversation about an opportunity that led to a junior college music scholarship, which I can honestly say I likely wasn’t qualified for. But I worked my tail off and actually got through my first level of formal music education, including my first taste of various flavors of jazz.
A little more than a year after getting married to my precious wife, Karen, things in the local music scene were getting rocky. My wife sees an add in a newspaper for military musicians, specifically the Navy. I call the number and talk to someone who invites me to audition. So the day of the audition, I call and ask for the person I’d originally spoken with and they were not expecting me. Seems most folks that get these type interviews are brought in by recruiters or some other “reputable” source. I’m pretty sure the smirks were real as I passed through a rehearsal room to “jam” with a rhythm section. I was a pretty scraggly, long haired presentation, not military looking whatsoever… they accepted me just the same.
Just ten months later, having gone through boot camp and six months of military music training, I checked into my first Navy band in Newport, RI. A year later, in the midst yet another tempest created by my own selfishness and inability to recognize and cling to grace, our first son was born. By God’s mercy my wife endured this season of turmoil and we headed back to FL a couple of years later. It was the end of my enlistment and I somehow had come to the conclusion the Navy wasn’t my career path, though I’d been offered the bass instructor gig at the school of music where I learned how to be a military musician. End Part A of my second level of formal music education.
Suppose my wife had left me, suppose I decided to re-up and go to another band, or take the bass instructor position? Well, I didn’t, which led to a series life changing events over the next couple of years. I heard some intriguing music that totally drew me in, on a contemporary Christian station. I got a job that was supposed to be for a woman at a communications shop where three guys evangelized me. Suppose I’d changed the station and never went back to it, or wasn’t forced to take a administrative assistant job I really needed, suppose I didn’t respond to the message of the Gospel?
As it were, I ended up in a great blues band by night and working as a graphics, data, network guy for a day job. I was struggling in many ways just to make ends meet for our family now of two boys, as well as the notion of being a new Christian, which I really had little grasp on, and ended up back in the Navy Music Program for another couple of years — all this being Part B of my second level of music education.
After leaving the Navy, and the routine of working a day job and playing whatever gigs I could get, I chose to play music only in church, leading to yet another set of circumstances that otherwise would not have happened. At a Saturday morning rehearsal, one of the worship vocalists ask for a few minutes to share a lyric for the sake of having someone put it music. A bit to my surprise, no one jumped in… I’d done this once before in college, so I took the challenge. I guess I’d always been a sort of a songwriter, but this one event helped me realize I could get back to music outside the context of such structured musical vehicles like the Navy or church. Suddenly the chips began to fall such that I met with a friend from a previous job who is an indie artist that invites me to a meeting held by a local chapter of Nashville based songwriting association… suppose I’d not listened to the voice of encouragement at that Saturday morning rehearsal.
For the last five or so years I’ve been honing a new set of musical skills, while adding the fundamentals of being a writer. But having a full-time day job makes being a serious writer difficult. I do mentally draining work all day long, and though I try to spend time on a song or playing music in some form or fashion just about every day, it’s easy to get discouraged about chasing a dream at this stage in my life.
As long as there’s breath, there will be conflict and resolution — risk and reward — faith and hope. Challenges can bring pain, but without them there’s no refinement of my being. I want to grow as a person, father, husband, writer, and musician… by past grace I’ve made it this far, by future grace I will run this race to the end. I’m pretty sure if I had never found the blog that led me to “Blue Like Jazz” I’d still have these perspectives, I suppose just not in the same light.
Tags: conflict, crossroad, grace, resolution, suppose
Every Man
Jun 14, 2008 ramblings, sojourn
It’s not easy to write about someone I don’t personally know. Though every time I’ve seen and listened to Tim Russert, he made me feel as if I did know him. His approach to journalism as personal as it gets, whether president or military leader, he never pulled punches. But as deep as his questions got, he was not harsh, demeaning, or biased. Tim Russert was a man for every man.
He probed to make us think, and in turn, make us more effective people and Americans. The pending campaigns and elections need Tim’s centered, balanced approach to the issues, who will fill this gap? In the grand scheme of God’s sovereignty, it sure seems like the most interesting of timing for Tim’s passing.
How do I miss someone I didn’t really know? Not sure, but I’m fairly certain, the impact of his death will have far reaching implications in a political climate where trust is all but completely eroded. Let every man take note, we can do better, and it starts with taking Mr. Russert’s lead — seek truth with dignity and respect and settle for nothing less.
Tags: cornerstone, impartial, people
Paint
Jun 7, 2008 happenings, ramblings, sojourn
Last night I played a gig with Rick Spreitzer and Kevin Edwards at the Green Rice Gallery in NoDa… very enjoyable. I mean, people flowing through all evening, looking at the various artwork hung on walls and placed on stands, sipping wine and beverages, munching on treats — lots of smiles and conversation. All this going on as the three of us sat in a corner and jammed acoustically (me on electric bass) to Rick’s original indie music, sort of an art on art foundation.
Rick mentioned at one point, “starving artists don’t just paint”, which I thought was a great off-the-cuff line, unfortunately, I’m not sure anyone heard it through the buzz of chatter. We were not turned up very loud and had a sort of muffled edge, so during a 10 minute break, we tweaked the sound then took off for a 2nd set. As the night progressed I felt as if we were less the foundation and more an art piece in the corner. Some folks commented as they’d wrap around the walls viewing art, buy a CD, or stand and listen longer than most before moving on. The flow of ever-changing faces was really fun to watch.
All in all, the night, which I actually wasn’t even looking forward to because I’d had such a busy and at times oppressive week, ended up being a wonderfully relaxing and inspiring time. As we packed up, the buzz between Rick, Kevin, and I continued. When the owner paid Rick, she said she hopes to have us back. We roadie’d the gear into a night totally lit with sound and energy from all the people on the streets and both the indoor and outdoor bands at the Muse and beyond. I’ve been hanging out in NoDa, albeit infrequently, for a few years and have observed it become what I saw last night… good for all. Business owners must love it, the folks that hang must love it, and other than the fools that choose to rely on crime to feed their vices, it’s really a pretty eclectic, peaceful scenario.
Funny that out of all that is enjoyable, reality comes back and paints our next hours, days, and chapters. I got home more tired than I thought I was… barely lasted an hour before my eyes were shut, battled the fact I needed to sleep about 30 more minutes, then just went to bed. Overslept, wasted half the morning, now I’m writing this entry… be right back, I need some more coffee… OK, I’m back. So, today will be “busy” with whatever I need to get done, would like to do, and maybe a little day dreaming. But reality will “paint” my thoughts and actions, and influence my hopes and dreams.
I heard on the news last night (in between dozes) that Al Sharpton is coming back to Charlotte to tongue lash our law enforcement agencies for shooting a young black man that was waving a gun at police. It would be nice if he’d come and stick his nose in the crack houses and gang dens and try to make some sense of that mess, too. Maybe take a ride through some once thriving neighborhoods now littered with for sale signs, which are perpetual lawn ornaments. Who wants to buy a house in a neighborhood that’s either gang controlled or where owners don’t care enough to mow their grass, much less maintain their houses — black, white, Hispanic… whatever! Hey, Al, why don’t you get in a Charlotte cop car on a Friday night and experience what they see and deal with on a daily basis?
And I’m so perplexed by the “Got Hope” t-shirts for B’Obama… give me a break! The Dem’s have had control of the house for almost two years now… nothing. Gas prices up what, $1.25? States in the great northwest are poised to deliver alternative energy, but for the red tape… where are the Dem’s? We’re still spending BILLIONS on space programs — who cares the dust on Mars is red — where are the Dem’s?
Our country’s livelihood is at stake, most just complain about it, hope is at a premium. If the only hope we have is to vote in a new president, that’s not a hope with much (if any) substance. My hope is in that which I can’t fathom or see, the hope promised by the word of God, which is in and of itself God, at least to me. My hope is based on promises so misconstrued and twisted by man, mis-labeled as “religion”, that I can understand why it seems so few choose to travel this narrow path. This hope paints a picture of peace for eternity, and in my heart. But along with this hope come the promises of life… struggles, fears, pain, and despair.
It’s up to me which brush I choose — the broad or the pencil thin tip — and what colors I paint, black and white, shades of grey, or a broad palette of lush colors I create from the basic set. We are all painters, artists in this life, it’s how we express and portray our hope that makes us who we are, to ourselves and those with whom we share our lives. It’s up to me to determine if hanging on to what I know is worth the possibility of missing out on adventures I’ve yet to imagine.