With Knobs On!

It’s only been in the last couple years that I’ve felt comfortable enough as a live performer to sense that I could really DO something with a residency. Conveniently enough, Uncommon Ground offered me one for January 2011, and I couldn’t be more excited. Logistically it’s a bit overwhelming. Or I should say it has had, thus far, the POTENTIAL to be overwhelming. But I’m managing to stay fairly laid-back about it, not to mention organized:

St. Avril, watching over and protecting my tackboard.

I suppose it’s just like getting four gigs, right on top of each other. The most obvious bonus is that they let me pick the people I wanted to play with, and I’m glad to’ve gotten such a stellar line-up:

• WED 1/5 – w/ Eric Ziegenhagen – 8:00
• WED 1/12 – w/ Justin Roberts – 8:00
• WED 1/19 – w/ Deanna Varagona – 8:00
• WED 1/26 – Multi-friend free-for-all at 9:00

But the other, more subtle bonus to playing four weeks a row in the same spot? Well, I can only speculate, since I’ve never had a residency before. But I imagine that I’ll get more comfortable with my surroundings each week — especially since I’ve played Uncommon Ground more than any other Chicago spot. And as I get more comfortable, I hope I’ll do more things off-the-cuff, and it’ll be an increasingly intimate / communal scene.

At the very least, I’ll be amongst friends, so I think fun is pretty much guaranteed. Anything else is gravy…but I think there’s gonna be a lot of gravy. Check this here fireside chat for more detail, with plenty of “umm’s:”

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Oh my. Had a wonderful Thanksgiving back home in Cleveland, and now I’m back…and busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest. (I wish I knew a better euphemism for being busy. Some day, maybe…) And I only have Tom Dunning to blame.

Now that I think of it, there’s been no Hoot Night action since I resurrected this blog some 18 months ago, so maybe there’s some explaining to do. Hoot Night is an evening of music, organized an MC’d by one Thomas Dunning, where a whole mess of musicians (the “Hoot Night All-Stars”) are asked to perform a pair of songs each, based around a theme. (Like Iron Chef, sort of.)  Past Hoots have included “Food,” “The Cure vs. Diana Ross,” and “Blood and Lust.”

Sadly, Hoot Night doesn’t come around to Chicago often, as Mr. Dunning has been living in Dublin for eight years now. However, usually when he comes back to Chicago for any sort of extended visit, he throws one, and this week…is IT. Not only is there a Hoot this Thursday, 12/2 at Schuba’s (theme: Feast and Famine), but there’s going to be a special kids’ Hoot Night on Saturday afternoon, 12/4 at the Hideout. And I’m playing both.

For the “regular” Hoot Night, I’ve put together a cracking band which I’m very excited about. Matt Priest (Canasta) on bass and vocals, Larry Brown (Ambassadors to Mars) on drums, and John Saunders (The Long Count) on saxophone and vocals. There’s a long list of crazy-talented peeps on the bill, too, so you should come on down if you can. It’s a comparatively early night out, starting at 8:00. And if you have kids, then the Hideout show is at 1:00, and should be a lot of fun (and more chaotic, surely).

Not only this, but yesterday Tom came out here to Cicero to record at French Excellence. Yes, for a future project, Tom and “Your Boyfriends” are compiling a bunch of Morrissey songs. Not sure what format this will be released in, but he’s doing what I’ve always wanted to do — tripping from one studio / basement to another, spreading the work of recording over several locales.  For our session, I pieced together basic guitar tracks for “You Have Killed Me” and “I Know Very Well How I Got My Name” (the latter of which has to be the most Morrissey of Morrissey titles ever.) Tom just stepped to the “vocal booth” and sang a heap of takes, and in a few weeks he’ll be mixing them with a friend back home. It was lots of fun being engineer — and I’m kicking myself for not taking a photo or two to share with you.

At any rate, by Saturday night, I’m going to be a very relaxed individual. Until then, I’ll be wishing I had a second leg.  Or whatever.

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JUMBOTRON!

On Saturday, Amy and I took a short drive down 290 to the UIC Pavilion where I was scheduled to sing “The Star-Spangled Banner” before the Windy City Rollers‘ bout against the traveling Colorado team. I admit to fairly large butterflies in my stomach on first entering the place. I hadn’t been there since one of Ralph Nader’s rallies (!!!) back in 2000, and I’d forgotten how big it was. Especially in comparison to Cicero Stadium, where the WCR used to play, and where I did an anthem before a regular local derby event in 2008.

But actually, the pressure was off a little as I came to understand that I’d be singing before the first bout, where the “B Teams” square off. Turns out a lot of people usually skip the first bout, and thus the Anthem. But I’m not complaining. The Windy City Rollers are crazy good people, we had fun, and I was honored to do my patriotic duty. Many thanks to Kevin for forwarding along my info, and to Polly, who took a chance on me and was completely gracious. Also thanks to Amy for “talking derby to me,” and capturing the magic on film like so:

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The Adaptations Set Up

While in Cleveland, I met a friend of a friend who was, like me, visiting from Chicago. Sneza said she was in a pair of bands, one of which had a standing gig every other Thursday at a coffee shop in Pilsen. Since I’m of course always whoring myself out for gigs, I asked if I could play some time, and she said sure. When I got back into town, we emailed, and she suggested I hit up the venue’s open mike, to get a feel for the place.

The place is called Cafe Mestizo (1738 W. 18th), and it’s in a neighborhood that only a few weeks ago I would’ve considered unfamiliar. But as fate would have it, I recently switched up my bike route to work, and I cruise right through the heart of Pilsen — and past Mestizo — every time I make the trip. The open mike host had a DJ blasting hip-hop to warm everyone up, which I have to admit was a little off-putting at first. Not your typical open mike vibe. But then Sneza showed up with Caren, her bandmate in the Adaptations, and they started dancing and laughing. I struck up a conversation with a guy who runs the film series at the cafe. He was asking about my guitar; he told me he used to have a Jazzmaster, too, back in the 70′s, when they apparently weighed even more. The host and the DJ and everyone signed up for the open mike all seemed to know each other, but I didn’t feel excluded. On the contrary — even though I didn’t give in to any requests that I bust a move myself (Kompressor does not dance), I felt completely, instantly welcome.  Truly a gracious, friendly scene.

In short, Cafe Mestizo has a groovey thing going. They might be a little rough around the edges, but they’re what a neighborhood coffee shop should be — a genuine pillar of the community, always something going on, families and bohemians of all creeds and colors coming together to nosh and jam. I look forward to playing there with the Adaptations on May 20th.   I think they’re doing two sets of covers and originals — with their flute-and-guitar charm! — and I’ll be dropping a short set in the middle.  Come on by and soak up the vibes!  (And fair warning — the address IS 1738 West 18th, but the sign out front might still say “Lavanderia.”  They recently moved, and may have yet to switch it up…)

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I have a couple of “proper bar” shows next week, my first since “getting back into it” about…8 months ago…? (Cole’s was quiet enough, and the stage secluded enough, for it to not really count, in my book.)  These are shows at fully-functioning watering holes, and I’m sharing bills with some full-bore rock bands. Very much the scene that made me recruit Tom and Casey all those years ago.  Intimidating to confront all on your lonesome.

So it’s been a little weird trying to shift out of coffee shop gear. But the truth is, aside from song selection, there’s very little shifting that needs to take place.  It’s taken me a few rehearsals to realize this.  I’ve been hallucinating the need to answer loud crowds with louder guitar and more aggressive playing.  It’s been doubly tempting to lean this way, since I’m more rehearsed than I’ve ever been in my life (seriously), so I just happen to be capable of playing faster and harder.  But that doesn’t mean I should.

No, what I’ve been remembering this week is that if I crank the amp and attack the strings, it actually sounds like garbage.  Maybe one day I’ll write some garage rock songs, but right now that’s not really in my bag of tricks.  So I just need to play as I always have, as tight as I can, and leave the volume issues to the sound person.  That’s what they’re for, right?  Kind of a no-brainer, especially to people who get out there more.  But like with so many things, it’s better late than never.

After sussing out the practical approach, the rest is just psychological.  Which is not inconsiderable.  I can’t help but recall the last time I played Cleveland, I think in 2006.  That was basically the show that made me — that I stupidly allowed to make me — give up for a while.  I played after a trio of knuckleheads who heckled during my set, singing Bob Dylan lyrics at me between songs.  Because, you know, I was alone and bearded.  And old and quiet.  Whatever.  (Oddly enough, they friended me on MySpace a week later.  Ah, MySpace.  How 2006.  But I digress.)

Could something like that happen again?  Of course it could.  But it’s no reason to stop playing.  If I could go back in time, I’d have booked as many post-Cleveland shows as I could, stuffing them between me and that nightmare until it dimmed to transparency.  It’s best to take the long view, to gather all the shows and consider them on average.  That Cleveland show bowled well under a hundred, as did Indianapolis just a couple weeks ago.  But on average, the nights are getting better, my game / average is improving.  And I can’t be responsible for every lunkhead who shows up.  I can only bring the best playing and singing I can, transmit as clearly as possible to the room that we’re all in this together…and then see what happens.

It’s that last bit that’s new.  The bit about letting people in, being all in this together.  I’m not expert at transmitting that vibe, and might never be.  It’s sort of a “big ask,” considering how many anti-social bones I have in my body.  But I’m working on it.  One of the things I did during my “time away” was see Sunken Treasure, a movie about a solo tour Jeff Tweety did shortly after getting sober.  The most important bit doesn’t appear to be available online, so I’ve put another, somewhat similar clip above.  The bit I’M talking about happens backstage, where Tweety says (I’m paraphrasing) that when you play music live, you’re “performing a service.”  That in spite of any appearances to the contrary (standing in an elevated spot in the room, folks maybe paying to see you), gigs are not really about the performer.  (Or at least not exclusively.)

What I take him to mean is that while it helps to have good songs and to be able to play and sing them well, the performer isn’t the only measure of whether a performance is going to go well.  By the same token, if a show DOES go well, it’s not exclusively because the performer did his or her (or their) job.  Maybe I’m just fabricating something to make the butterflies go away, but I’m starting to believe it:  Shows are not a demonstration of my coolness.  Rather they’re events where, if all the elements are right, and if everyone is willing to be a part of it, something cool might happen.  Even in “proper bars.”

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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.

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--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.

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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!

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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.

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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?

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