Zapruder Point
Consumer/Songwriter

Tear Down The Wall!

I went all-out nutty with gig-grubbing emails at the very beginning of the year, and for a while there I was worried that I’d get exactly NO bites, but no! I mean yes! I have a show back at the Uncommon Ground in Wrigleyville on Friday 2/5. And there are slight feelers out for stuff in March, both in and out of Chicago. Oh, and a little feeler out for a possible Cleveland showing in April. So it turns out that my Merge-book-reading prediction is coming true. Perseverance will eventually lead you to gigs, and gigs themselves will show you which venues / folks / scenes are appropriate for you. Elementary Watson, and all that. The only hitch being that it’s a slow process, and a very rusty engine to turn over if you’ve been away for a few years. I’ll forgive myself my impatience, if you forgive me my absence (all three of you reading this).

Meanwhile, my actual paying gig has gotten strange. In September of 2001, I took my first non-private sector job, working for a group within the group that I currently work for. I sat in a cubicle in the South Loop, and though the work was sort of menial, I was happily salaried, and it was here that I first tapped into my own “geek potential.”

Flash forward to 2009, and after a couple of misguided detours, I’m back working with basically the same organization, but with more responsibility / challenge / (dare I say) fun…and in a far better office space, right in the Loop. But due to some budget straining, in December our physical office was closed, and we were scattered to whatever desks could be scrounged in State and/or University buildings around the city. So guess where I landed? Exactly one cubicle north of of where I was in 2001. Also due to…the nature of grant-work, I guess…I’m one of two people working on a fairly data-intense project, and we both wear ALL of the hats — including data entry and (gulp) filing. So not only am I physically in the same place I was in 2001, but for huge chunks of time, I’m doing the same type of (yes I’m glad to BE employed, but let’s be honest — it’s kind of boring) work. The only difference is the upgrade from Discman (!!!) to iPod.

It’s like there’s been a fold in time. And the fold is reflected my musical life, too, since it’s been about that long since I tried to get my solo self “out there.” Zapruder Point was definitely at its most active when Tom and Casey were in the band, but before then, I did some solo gigs, and I remember being especially excited about writing and recording. This was the period when (the then-two-disc) Low Resolution was “out,” and all the American High songs were coming together, and in general the potential of songwriting — the throw-anything-at-it spirit — was very strong in me. I listened to Ted Leo on the Discman, tuning into the glory in spite of the drudgery surrounding me.

And now I listen to Vampire Weekend on the iPod and do the same. I gather paper cuts and feel the same hope and expansiveness, even as I’m soaked in fluorescent light. And yes, this is playing itself out in the songs I’m currently writing, where they’re coming in thick, and I’m just flinging ideas at them. Lyrics unparsed but pretty, shouts and squiggles, tempos slowed to silence. In short, I think I’ve got some live ones here, and I’m excited.

Stay with me.

I set up this show as a challenge to myself, since when I attempted to play here a little over a year ago things went very, very poorly. Since then, I’ve come to realize that more shameful than the fact that, IMHO, the Buzz Cafe doesn’t really care about music (and probably shouldn’t ever host it) is how, at my first appearance there, I huffed out without playing a full set. Sure, I had technical difficulties, and I chose to play on Halloween for some reason, and some guy sitting near me told me, sans prompting, that I looked like Kevin Smith (a detail I’d blacked out from my original recall). So there were extenuating circumstances that couldn’t be laid at the feet of the venue, that were just random…erm…happenstances. But then by playing just four songs and splitting, I merely became one more contributing factor to the hellishness, yes? The fact is, if one is going to play places cold, one is going to have Bad Shows. And in those situations, the challenge is to Avoid Piling On To The Fiasco by playing well in spite of it all. True, that kind of evening is nowhere near as fun as Connecting With An Audience…but in the grand scheme of things, it does trump staying home and watching TV, I think.

--Pic by Amy--

The Buzz is insanely convenient to our house, just four blocks west and across the Ike. It’s the requisite indie coffee shop anchoring the “arts district” of Oak Park. The plan was that Amy and Jill, both of them in the middle of a crazy work schedule, would come out to the early show, and afterward (it being a Friday and all), we’d go back to our place and watch scary movies and have this kick-ass soup Amy made the night before.

We rolled up on the Buzz at about 7:00, fifteen minutes before I was meant to play. Aside from the teenage staff, no-one was there. Literally. My name was spelled “Zander Point” on the chalkboard. Years ago, when booking a show over the phone, I’d mistakenly made flyers for my band’s Chicago debut as taking place at “Fireside Bulls.” (It’s “Fireside Bowls.”) But in this day and age, when shows like this one are booked via email… Anyway, no biggie. In fact, I just smiled with every hiccup. I was Challenging Myself. I was Righting The Wrong.

I set up in the corner, had a cup of coffee, and in came Jenn and Ada! In an instant, the crowd was doubled. And then who should I see in the back but Mark! Mark’s the brother of Greg, my former fellow-bandmate. He’s planning on moving to Chicago from Columbus and was moving some stuff up here when he thought he’d catch the show. Hadn’t seen him in years, so we caught up a bit. A couple other tables filled up, and then I started. I did it like this:

She Thinks I Still Care [George Jones] / The Next Thing You Know / Jay / True or Lonely / Where You’ll Find Me Now [Neutral Milk Hotel] / Bury the Lead / Get on With It / Good as Gold / The Ballad of Roy G. Biv / When You Were Young [The Killers] / I Still Miss Someone [Johnny Cash] / Everybody Looks Like Somebody Else / Cure for Insulin / Johnny Without June / West of Western / The Short List / Soda and Sympathy / The Condensation

I did the George Jones a capella. I did the Killers cover faster than I usually do, because folks were talking loudly towards the front of the place, and I wanted to take a break from hearing them. (More on that later.) “Bury the Lead” and “Get on With It” were in-front-of-people premieres. I was emotionally side-swiped by the Neutral Milk Hotel song, as it reminds me of suburbia, and I could see the streetlamps through the windows… As you can see, there was a painting of Rush Limbaugh looming over me the whole time, which was pretty surreal. Before the last song, the staff turned on the house music, which we (me, Amy, Jill, Jenn, Ada, Mark) took to mean they were ready for me to stop. But then they turned it off again. Very confusing.

There were a fair number of people towards the front, hiding from our happy little group in the back and chatting, chatting. Like other coffee shops I’ve played before, of course. Still, I totally soldiered on, and in my head I was letting them go: So this is the kind of place where people talk, okay, not their fault, don’t have to play here again after this, and their kids are actually kinda cute, so what the hell, just sing well anyway and keep the grudge off your face, okay, alright… I did a pretty good job of looking at people, which is something I’ve been training myself to do. It helps, actually. If you don’t do that, the performer / audience divide sort of yawns. I’m writing this off the top of my head, but it’s kind of like…you can’t “retreat within yourself” without the audience’s permission. I mean, if you want to get that intense, you can’t just barge in and start doing it — you have to wait until they “say” it’s okay… So looking at people when I feel like I’m getting too self-serious (or whatever) is a way of saying, “Hey, can we start over?” Hmm. That theory might need to cook a little longer. Anyway, looking at people when you play: It’s A Kick!

All in all, a good set. Hardly any mistakes. And hey — Jenn can’t take Ada to bars, obviously (she’s 4), so it’s good to play these TYPES of venues, right? Keep it on the sunny side. It was good to play for them and Mark and Amy and Jill. Yes! I came, I conquered, and some friends (and strangers, one hopes) got to enjoy themselves.

And yes, we went home, ate soup, and watched a zombie movie.

Now I gotta get some more shows. Hmm.

[UPDATE:  The other band on the bill this night was Prabir And The Substitutes.  Quite good!]

First things first: This wasn’t a Zapruder Point show at all. I was merely sitting in with Goner for the last three songs of their set on a Thursday night at Irish Pub Tir Na Nog. Still, I learned a lot just dipping a toe into a “proper rock” milieu…

I got into town the night before, and I attended Goner practice. Their practice space is mostly occupied by heavy metal acts, as half of the building doubles as a metal club by night. There was a poster for an upcoming Three Inches of Blood show that was particularly creepy. I stared at that thing while Goner ran through their “normal” set, getting well-spooked. We ran through the trio of songs I’d play and sing on — my own “The Next Thing You Know,” their “The Winter Pageant,” and a cover of Billy Bragg’s “Accident Waiting to Happen,” prepared special for the birthday of the Bragg-fan pub owner, which fell on the night of the gig.

I’d been practicing “Accident” alone for weeks, feeling like I was “strangling” its lone bar chord (a B-Minor). In my own music, with few exceptions, if I’m not playing just the lowest two strings, I’m usually just playing “cowboy chords.” I think these are also called “open chords,” but I’m not sure. Either way, they don’t require you to “bar” the whole fret with your first finger. Anyway, when I did so for the B-Minor in “Accident,” it sounded out of tune, and I attributed it to me being a sucky guitar player, who wasn’t accustomed to “the bar.”

Well, the cruddy-sounding quality cropped up during the Goner practice, and Scott immediately suggested it was my cheap-ass GUITAR causing the problem, not me. They handed me a Fender Stratocaster that belonged to one of the bands sharing the practice space…and it was amazing. Playing the B-Minor was easy AND it sounded just fine. Not strangled, not out of tune. This is one of those “no duh” moments greater musicians might’ve had before my ripe old age…but better late than never. To Larry and Aselin and all the sane, reasonable fellow musicians who have begged me to cut the $150 guitar nonsense…I hear you, finally. I will invest in a “proper” guitar and relegate my current Les Paul knockoff to “strictly two-string” status…

As for the show itself, well. I maintained my policy of not drinking beforehand, and I must say that I like that policy the more I employ it. Thing is, you’re really going to feel nervous either way, so why add fogginess into the mix? I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t catch the name of the first band, but they were hella catchy, kinda power-pop, proper bass lines and sweet singing. Goner brought it in the usual fashion they do, full-force rocking. Especially enjoyable was a reworking of a song of theirs called “Disappearing Sparks.” The harder they rocked, the more I feared my presence would spoil the soup. Did I mention how disorienting it is to check your instruments in a proper rock club? With the sound guy blasting whatever CD he has, and a (small, but big for me) crowd jostling a matter of inches from your tuning pedal? A tuning pedal whose battery decided to die right then and there? Whew…

Well, for all that, it went off well. I still blanked on some of the chords for “Accident,” which prompted me to promise myself a second musicianly promise: ALWAYS use chord cheat-sheets, if you’re doing a newish song. Afterward, I met some drunk dudes, of course. I’m just not used to rock shows, I must say. I enjoyed a Guinness, I talked with the fellas, and I got to know Katrina, head of Superfan Records (The Monologue Bombs, Starmount), who was as energetic, cool and funny as her label name would suggest.

We loaded and unloaded, laughing like in my old rock-band days. I went home with Scott, and we were asleep with a quickness. You can still give people the business and get a decent, non-passing-out night’s sleep, and Goner is proof positive of that. Thanks guys!

So I’ll be playing at Cole’s Bar Tuesday, and I’ve been pulsing nervous and calm, off-and-on, for the last couple weeks thinking about it, preparing for it. On the one hand, this is far from my first barbecue. On the other, it’s going to be my first public performance in almost a year.

I keep thinking about this thing that my brother Scott put on The Monologue Bombs’ Facebook Page. He put it under “band interests,” but I swear he was referencing a conversation we’d had early this year, where we were coming up with some cardinal rules of performing. I think what he wrote was half-remembered and impromptu, but still, the points were:

1. Know your song well before you start singing
2. Mean what you say
3. Have fun (it’s allowed)
4. Reach out

Actually, come to think of it, these weren’t rules for performance so much as potential LEVELS of performance. At the first level, you’re merely well rehearsed (but at least you’re well-rehearsed), so you soldier through a set with demonstrable competence, hoping the songs speak for themselves. On the second level, if it’s not a horrific scenario you’ll loosen up enough to invest in the songs a bit, or “mean what you say,” regardless of whether the crowd is into it. At level three, there’s at least some percentage of the audience that’s smelling what you’re cooking, who are tuned in or whatever, and so between songs you can joke around, or fuck up a chord with impunity and humor, etc. Finally, at level four, you know there is a connection happening, but instead of letting this psych you out (hey, it’s happened), you seize the opportunity to “reach out.” I’m not enough of a believer (yet?) to say “reach out,” though. I’d rather say that level four presents the potential to really and truly “give them the bicycle,” as J.D. Salinger (or more accurately, Seymour Glass) would say.

But what’s this “levels” business, anyway? Maybe the most important thing to remember about this gig — or about any gig — is that there will be another one after it. Wasn’t that what stopped me the last time? Placing too much importance on any given show, or song, or moment? Wouldn’t that be the dictionary definition of diva? I think of all the Chicago-area musicians I’ve met who grind away at this, who have good shows and shit shows, who I’d imagine get to a point where they’re not so phased any more. I’d like to be like that.

At first I was young and I thought I was important, so even though I played a lot, I never could handle folks not paying attention. (Yikes! Sorry, but it’s true.) Now I’m older and I play so infrequently that the same thing threatens to happen again — but not because I think my songs are so damn important any more, but because I’ve “bothered” to practice, damn it, and this takes effort, and I have to put in a late night and…

Wow, without realizing it, I think this has become part three of my “in front of people” rant. Way back in part 1, at the end I made a note to myself to explore “defining ‘worth’ and ‘it’ when wondering if a gig is ‘worth it.’” And I think what I’m trying to say, and what I’ve come to realize in these past few weeks of preparation for this show and of just “getting back into music” in general is that I can’t really weigh this show-by-show. In other words, every show is “worth it,” because it’s an excuse to become well-rehearsed. Every show is “worth it,” because the “it” here is my sanity overall. I’ve really MISSED playing out this past year, and leaving it out of my life has emptied me in ways I never could have imagined. I don’t want to get too sweeping and dramatic here, so maybe I should just say that it Gives Me Something To Do…and idle hands…and all that.

And, you know, hell. With all this talk about girding myself against bad shows, let’s not forget that it’s not exactly impossible that a show can turn out GOOD. I mean, you never really know — though staying home like a scaredy-cat will assure that you’ll never find out. A cold comfort at best. Not to sound like a liquor ad, but screw that.

So come on out Tuesday. We’ll see what happens.

Maniac Robot Good Show!

I’ve used this picture before…but that was four years ago for a coffee shop show. Much more suited for a regular bar show, don’t you think?