The Revolution Will not be Televised!

This goes out to Gil Scott Heron, RIP.

One night I went to hear a friend play some of her music at the Black Cat Cafe in Portland Oregon. Now the Black Cat ( I don't remember the name! I could be way wrong!!) was a lefty place that served up "Fire your boss!" with your Mocha and "Smash the state!" with your Latte. I liked the joint and I appreciate folks working towards social justice, though I'm not a political man so I never realy felt comfortable or welcome amongst in this joint. Trust me, I'd feel just as out of water at a Tea Party rally as well.

As my friend got into her first song, a gentleman she introduced me to sat down and decided it was okay to chew my ear off. He had that rather pompous air about him, young, pretty, serious and cocky like I once was, and had a nice shiny leather coat with a shiny ponytail to match. Dude shined so much you didn't need anything beyond the candle light to get that revolutionary romantic vibe going! That ideal I was born into in 1968, except that it's 1999 and we're partying like Prince asked us so politely to.

He launces into something about this African dude who is visiting Portland and seeing he social justice work he and his comrades are doing in Portland. the conversationwas heavily one sided, I couldn't contribute much and really, I was trying to hear some music and didn't have the nerve to tell him to please shut it! And part of me honestly was thinking "this dude is talking about a guy from Mali visiting our beloved Portland, I wonder what the guy from Mali is thinking, like we live at the fucking country club!"
So he went on and on on his heavy trip when I finally tried to interject about the weather. I say "I'm happy the sun is finally shining I feel like riding my bike more!" This changes the topic to "oh, but the pollution in Portland is so much! the smog, riding a bike is terrible in this town!" I'm at a loss for words at this point, and bored with him and my friends music, but amused enough to stay a while.

So he gets back on his Africa trip when he annonces to me " you know, most of the violence in Africa is US instigated!" That hit my breaking point though I agree, economic plunder kills a lot of people. I told him a story about a friend who's sister lived in Mali. He went to visit her and one day they decided to go across the lake. To do this you had to go into town and hire a captain to take you in his boat. the captains usually hung out in the bar so that's where they went. When they found one they asked if their car would be safe. They were told "of course, do not worry, it is safe here!" When they asked how they knew a bunch of men gathered around to tell them that last year a man stole from the market. They chased him, beat him to death and tired him (the practice of wrapping his body in tires and setting him aflame! The men were proud to say "I dealt the deathblow!" "No, I did!'. they fought over this. I said to my young Castro a be, "No US instigated violence here, just plain old cruel stupid behavior." His reaction? "That guy stole, he was a thief!" I said, "maybe he was,or maybe someone just didn't like him, there was no trial, no due process, just the bloody murder of another human being. US or not, we haven't evolved beyond the point of violence and fear" He starts to argue with me about this and that and I turn the tables, I was getting annoyed so please understand, I used unusual language for me! i say "Mmm Hmm, and how many niggers (this is a word I had never used before and I didn't enjoy it, but something got so twisted in me I remember using it so he'd perhaps never talk to me again! I still feel yucky for using it, but I did.) got hung in the south for stealing and other crimes they were never convicted for, never had a trial for, how many lost their lives for looking at someone the wrong way, the right way, or maybe having a few too many dollars in their pocket or a good plot of land, how many motherfucker? how many?" This shut him down to the point where all he could say was "the revolution is coming!" My reaction? "Man, the only thing revolution brings is one regime taking over another and terrorizing the population into submission. He says, "name one that did that!' "Okay, let's start with the French, US, Cuban where they throw gay folks into jail still, Iran, Iraq, Vietnam where the French reporter who got to go north reported how young the population is, hmmm, I wonder what happened to the old folks? Cambodia, do you wish for me to continue?" Last thing out his mouth was "the revolution is coming, stay tuned" to which i replied "i feel like I am tuned, you best throw out your television!"

I think Gil Nailed it with that song 40 years ago, the revolution will not be televised. We keep looking for external forces and violent change. Hell, we keep looking for a bloody spaceship. The aliens have allways been amongst us. They arrive throught ways we can't understand or see. If they arrive in a ship we're in trouble cause that says they are as violent as we are!

Gil nailed it in a way that makes sense to me tonight. thousands of years of politics, religion, race, nationalism, have these solved one human problem? One? We only have one revolution we haven't tried yet, and that one is psychological, spiritual. Oh, there have been folks who have walked this Earth and have given us the opportunity to free ourselves, but we keep on  killing them. Tell someone who lives in the illusion that they are free that they are not, they will maim and kill to prove they are! That kind of violence is exciting, and gets televised 24 hours a day. Any real revolution at this point is inward and quiet. True liberation is so quiet it's not worth any money to advertisers, so, the revolution will not be televised.

Thank you Gil. xojb

Jackie O Motherfucker

photo: Dan Cohoon

In 1995 I left my home village of Baltimore, a town where I was well known and well loved and did as well as anyone could in the music scene at that time. There was very little structure to the Baltimore music scene which was as much of a benefit to it's creative forces as it was a liability. For me, I was bored and tired of living in a town where I looked over my shoulder at every turn, even during the day. Baltimore is a beautiful, beautiful city with amazing people, buildings, energy and enough creativity to change the world, or at least a few minds. It also can be a brutal place. Oppressive weather, psychic and physical violence. After seeing enough bodies and experiencing the death of my well loved scene (a great scene is fleeting, I've since learned to let the good times go!) I fled. I felt a bit like a refugee. This is what I have told many folks who ask "have you seen the Wire?' as soon as they find out I lived here. I have yet to watch and frankly, John Waters is more my style. I love a good crime show, but that's just too close to home.

So I moved to perhaps the most opposite city I could find, Portland Oregon. You could eat a mushroom, walk from one end to the other and feel safe the whole way. Bike lanes everywhere, buses that actually ran, and a young population of people creating what they called "cottage industry" or something like that. That was enough to to get me to move there. Oh, my beloved Portland had plenty of shortcomings, but I was tired of the violence. Tired and bored of it. Violence is pretty square. You gotta be pretty uptight to harm another person.

In Portland the rain can be oppressive, but once you set foot into that summer, you never want t leave. It's hard to do anything in weather that nice, especially if you've been bordering on suicide after 9 months of gray skies! In Baltimore the climate dictates how I created in a much different way than in Portland, and Portland was and still is quite strange for me to get my creative muscle going. When I arrived in November 1995 I had little idea of what I had just walked into. The music scene was quite foreign to me. There were literally no bands I liked and I couldn't understand what folks dug about them.  Well, with the exception of The New Bad Things and Muslim Delgados' The Caseys. They were just enough of a disaster to hold my attention. What I found there was divisive musically. People were into how you looked more than what you can do for the sound of their band. Where I came from you had to be good at what you did to gain an audience. What i mean by good isn't necessarily chops, but have heart, passion and be commited to the moment you are living. In fact the lifestyle had as much to do with it as the music. In Portland I don't know how many folks told me they were proud to have a mediocre band, and be a mediocrity, I do know I heard that bit enough to get pretty depressed. Funny bit was I could play well, an asset in Baltimore, a liability in Portland unless I went the straight route, blues, jazz, R&B, funk, etc. To me once music has a genre it's done on both sides. Not exactly a marketable attitude, but that's honestly how I've allways felt.

The first 2 years were rough. A few kind hippies would jam with me but most folks were pretty disinterested in anything I had to offer. I don't blame them and it was okay, I was at such a crossroads at that point I wasn't even sure if I'd continue making music. Then one day a dear friend introduced me to Jackie O Motherfucker. Nobody in the band had any chops and somehow they still wanted to work with me. At the time it was perfect. It was the first band I could explore playing 1 note for a 1/2 an hour and at that time it was the first completely sober band I had ever experienced. That in itself was really compelling when you realize you can feel what all of your bandmates were feeling moment to moment during performances. You could feel the love, insecurity, terror, ecstacy, joy, hatred. I was at a point where I couldn't remember what I liked about making music and I couldn't feel anything unless it was extreme. I had become uncomfortably numb to survive. Plus, I had re-padded this clarinet some friends found in an alley in Baltimore and I needed to learn how to play it. No other band would have tolerated me learning on stage unless it was free improv. I like melody, rhythm and harmony. I still like scales. the music we were making was like electricity and my job usually was to be the ground wire. I loved the role most days, other days my ego was frustrated by it, but I was learning so much it didn't matter. This was the first band I was in that made records and actually released them. I learned with intent, it's not hard to get a record made. The work falls into place if you have vision, and Tom Greenwood has that.

Funny thing was, my old guard for the most part seemed suspicious. I felt some of my friends were puzzled by my choice to create the music we were creating, with folks that didn't have my chops or abilities, whatever the eff that means! Some of my dear old guard let me know they disapproved of me playing the sax. To this day some give a sigh of relief when I say I still play electric guitar, like some kind of nightmare isn't true. I don't know why anyone would be afraid or bother to be offended, and I really don't care. 1992 Jef Brown died in 1993. Okay, the dreads lasted until 1998 when a lady told my drunk ass "mmmm, those dreads say 3 words: I want Pussy!" Those dreads got shaved off that night and I welcomed a new era immediately! Fuck stagnation! It's a terrible way to live! Change is scary, I know that. But I never want to be that desperate 22 year old ever again.

With the Jackie O, we made about 6 records together, Flat Fixed, Wow, Change, Fig 5, Liberation, Majic Fire Music and countless CDR releases. We'd make a big vat of poppie tea, some pasta, feed people, go into the basement at the Michigan Avenue Social Club and burn 4 track tape. At it's best we realized there is no failure in experimenting, just different degrees of success. I wore a lot of hats. Musician, engineer, writer, producer, music memorizer, cat herder. It was too much at points, but the work needed to get done. And we all wore many hats. Without Tom there would never have been any tours or records or music for instance. I've never been adept at sending out demos, calling clubs and selling the music. Writing about it tonight, I realize how incredible the whole experience was just in the fact that we accomplished so much.

Around the time Fig 5 was released my flight mode (I've lived in fight or flight conciouness for most of this life!) was starting to kick in. Mike Hinds of Roadcone records did a great job of marketing that album, and it was a good album. Groundbreaking. We had recorded Majic Fire Music in Baltimore earlier and that was my favorite record. Beautifully recorded by Craig Bowen at ACR studios, it captured us as a hungry rock band fresh off our second tour. It was released by Thurston Moores' Ecstatic Peace but was impossible to find and there was no press and none of Toms lovely artwork submitted was used. I was upset by this. I appreciated his help in getting us on the map but that record I would have loved to have more support with. So the record that got the press was Fig 5. And Mike did a bang up job. The reviews were glowing. We started being called "American Primitive" and all this jive about Harry Smith etc. I can't speak for anyone elses feelings but it seemed i kept reading the same review over and over again, like it was just a re-write of the press release. It seemes the writers were writing for each other and not really digging into their own feelings, like they just needed to impress each other. And this was perhaps my biggest mistake. I started reading them! Reviews whether good or bad have no actual meaning, it's all one persons experience at best. A good review can really fuck you up if you are like I was and needed approval all the time. See, musicians tend to be a low self esteem lot. You toil away in obscurity for years and one day someone likes what you've done and they wish to share it with the rest of the world. There is no ill intent there but suddenly the situation creates an agenda. It seemed to creat a , um, genre. Genre is something i've never been involved in, to me music is music, and suddenly that approval set what seemed to be an agenda for the next albums. Truth was, I was scared to death on the next records. "oh, are they gonna like this? Are they gonna hate it?" I was afraid to make anything that wasn't as good as the last thing and when I heard those albums back, that fear is what i kept hearing. And I got bored. Really bored. I started to wonder what things would have been different if Majic Fire Music got the press it deserved and Fig 5 didn't. In those days I had little understanding that everything happens in it's own perfect order, and to just relax. I had become aware of my own self sabotaging ways and it took most of my energy to not destroy a good thing. And with that awareness I still grew bitter and more depressed with the whole thing.

http://youtu.be/cGQVzBJNV6w

The last tour I did with JOMF was in Europe during the fall of 2002. The first notes of the first night in Leeds I knew I was leaving at the end of that tour. I can't imagine I was too much fun to be around. I was really depressed and getting deep into hatred mode! Not a fun place to be but also not to be avoided either. There is a lot of truth in pain, just as much as in pleasure.  I got to see some awesome places and had a hard time appreciating that I was in Finland and Greece! It's crazy what being addicted to "more" can do to your well being! We recorded at the BBC in the same room that The Beatles did a record in and I hated every minute of it! Crazy! In fact i was deathly ill and went to the hospital in Leeds later. If my mind was in better shape, I'd have been healthy. Part of my struggle was I felt little connection with the other members on that tour. The band was usually men and women, this tour was all men. We also had no real time together. I don't like to rehearse too much, but with no time together it's hard to create a vibe. In 6 weeks I remember us really hitting our groove maybe 4 or 5 times. And when we did, it was incredible. The rest I was waiting for the bell to ring so I can go to social studies class.

But really it was just time for me to go. I had nothing else to say in context of the group. I knew I had to go cause I couldn't serve the band, myself, the audience and god in a way that was beneficial to any of us. About 4 shows into the tour I found my answer to what i liked about making music the most. We played a rather lackluster show in Belgium and an audience member expressed his dis-satisfaction after we finished. He flat out said "we payed good money for this, and you're not done!" We played another set and gave it our all with it ending with me on the sax and Michael Henrickson on drums. I blew that raggedy ass horn till I couldn't see straight and Michael beat those drums till he just about collapsed. The feller said "now that's what I'm talking about!" Really, at the end of the day it's about the same thing it was at the beginning, just doing your best. Doing your best opens that heart up wide and shares that love with all those around you. In that moment I realized what I like about making music. It's a sacred space where only the truth needs to be and fear ceases to exist. And it didn't matter if I felt bad or good, in that space there is no bad or good! I know we all did our best and I'm glad to see JOMF has continued to create and travel the world. And I'm glad I got to be a part of the trip. We made some shockingly beautiful music.

Funny thing was, when I returned to the states, the same folks who were suspicious of me joining such a band couldn't believe I would leave it now. "But, you guys are doing so well!" they'd say. Some folks will just never understand!

Keep the light flowing, xojb

Thoughts on Celebration

Hi out there. Had a great discussion about the importance of celebrating tonight. It occured to me that I ran a business for 5 years, not so much financially successful but definitely successful in every other way. Opening day was easy as pie. Not much planning had to go into the business, I had been fixing amps for 15 years at that point, so all I had to do was set up the room and get to work. My first customer was a fellow named Scott who had been using my services for years at that point. It was allways an honor to work with him and everyone else who entered my little shop. When the day was over a neighbor came by to check out what was going on in the mystery building on Mississippi Avenue in Portland. I wasn't particularly nice to him, in fact, I was pretty cold. Nothing personal, he just perhaps represented to me what I didn't dig in the neightborhood, which was progress and economic growth, something that I was, uh, yeah, a part of. When you see your neighborhood get gentrified, it's easy to idealize the old days and hard to let them go. When you are allergic to money making, it's really easy to judge those who seem to make money or some other form of success and smile about it. I don't know what my trip was, but whatever. I decided to be friendly with that dude later on. Change, gentrification, these are emotionally sticky issues. Truth is I was sad to see so much go but taking it out on my neighbor, and taking it out on myself wasn't helpful in any way!

In the weeks before I opened my shop I got tagged by the local anarchist. There was a hilarious poster wheat pasted to my windows stating "Don't you feel sad that no people of colour or no poor white people are being represented by the new businesses on Mississippi avenue?" First thought that went through my head was "I wonder which 'punk' had their amp fixed by me and didn't know this was my shop!" I laughed pretty hard. The last thought that went through my mind was "I wonder how they'l feel when they realize I'm, well, mixed. Some folks know right away, some don't, too many see what they want to see. But truthfully, I was perhaps just as afraid of what change I brought to that neighborhood (i was a 10 year resident at that point) as they were. I was just as afraid of becoming successful as they perhaps were. It's easy to judge and tear others down when you are afraid of your own potential, at least it was for me and I don't think I'm unique in that respect. That message screamed "stay small!" I complied.

So on opening day what did I not do? I didn't bother to celebrate. I didn't do this on closing day either. 200+ customers a year, a roof over my head, overcoming my own fears on a daily basis, weathering the economic crash of 2008, building 30 amps for amazing clients, having a business that employed the coolest person I could have hired and contradicting the uber-male world of tube amplifier repair, listening to clients with an open heart day in and day out (I should have charged to be a shrink to some of my clients, and they loved being there for my listening skill!), tackling some impossible projects and most times prevailing, putting the right instrument or amps into alot of the right players hands. All these things feel great but for some reason, I never celebrated. I tend to get fixated on the negatives and let those lil' critters far outweigh the many more positives. Stay small! Somewhere in my life I got the belief that either I'm not worth a damn or equally bullshitty, I have to remain this ideal version of modest and suffer. Suffering is not modest! Suffering is just suffering. That's all. Nothing more and nothing less. We'll all suffer someday, terribly suffer. So why create it? Why wallow in it especially when you're still healthy enough to run a business? I carried the message that to celebrate is to brag and be egomaniacal. That's a real healthy way to stay small. I could have lit a candle and stuck it in a twinkie! That would have been enough! But my mind would say that's even too much of a pain in the ass. I'd have to get a twinkie! AND A CANDLE! AND TWINKIES ARE REALLY BAD FOR YOU!!!!!

When I closed my customers were pretty bummed. I don't believe in competition myself (comparison is of the devil, qualities divine!), people use my services because they like my style of kung fu. If they don't like my style, that's perfectly allright as they may like another shops style better. So my customers tended to bond with my shop pretty well and I enjoyed every moment with them. I didn't even notice that I had just closed my shop and not had a going away party. When I did realize that I wondered that if I could have one, would it be for me, or for my customers? Funny thing is, what difference does it make? I helped a lot of folks create success, and they helped me create success, so why not celebrate together? I look back on the whole experience with a great feeling now, and tonight I was asked what can I do to celebrate that time? Once again, I siezed up mentally. Uh, I dunno. But I do know that celebrating even the smallest success is critical to having a happy life and fullfilling your dream. It's difficult to build momentum without it. So I think tomorrow I'll get a candle and a good macaroon and find a friend to do some high fives with. I'll just try that on and see how it feels. It's like learning an instrument. Just takes practice. And for me learning is remembering. I just forgot how to celebrate along this journey!

xojb

The Art of Complaining

The art of complaining is to not complain. Ever! It's a difficult one to master but easy should one commit to it. Actually, any pattern is easily dissolved if one chooses to notice the pattern. We all get hurt, that's a fact of life. Tell the story once, it's venting. Go for it! Twice, it's complaining, notice it. Three times, if you're not telling your counselor, you will tell it a fourth time, fifth time and 20 years later you may be still telling that tired old story. If you're not in the solution by the third time you're abusing the people around you. How do I know this? Well, an expert is writing this right now. I struggle with letting things go myself. So let me share a bit of my experience and I'll tie it to music and business.

I first became aware of my complainy tendencies when I opened my own business in the spring of 2005. Oh, people had been telling me for years but there was no way I would listen, it was much safer to be right than to just be kind. Prior to opening my shop, I worked retail in a guitar store in downtown Portland (ore.) for 9 years. That was a great adventure. A shop that was in the toilet and through teamwork I got to help turn it around into a profitable business that thrives in todays world. Now, I know there are plenty of readers who felt slighted or disrespected by smug guitar or record store personell, I was on both sides of that fence. I could have a nasty attitude at my old job and sometimes it seemed justified (I threw out an average of 3 people a week, drunks, jerks, people higher than a Kentucky pine etc.) and defenses were high all the time. Once I opened my shop I had a steady stream of folks who were former customers I didn't even recognize who said "you're a lot nicer than I thought you were" or, "I used to think you were just plain crabby (I am a cancer!) and I'm glad to see you're not!" Those comments meant alot to me. In 5 years of running my lil' shop, I had perhaps 2 interactions with customers that didn't go well and that I'm not too proud of. Both involved moments where there was fear, and I took jobs only cause I needed the money and business was down rather than have faith in better jobs coming next week. What made the difference?

At my old job if I was in a horrible mood the fastest way to turn that around was to be as kind as possible. One customer, a rather irritating fellow, once told me he had just gotten out of jail, came to our shop, and I greeted him with a simple "hello, how are you?". He told me later how moved he was by that. I was the first person to treat him with kindness and respect in years. (I'm tearing up just wrting this!). I didn't know I was capable. On the cash register side of the counter it's safe and easy to be smug and superior, especially with folks you'd never choose to hang out with. Once I opened my own shop, well, it's like having a baby. You have to take care of it. Your vulnerability is allways high and your defenses better be down. I truly enjoyed every customer I had on some capacity, even those I didn't like. Once you choose to create something, you don't have time to complain. At that point I made it policy to remove myself as fast as possible from complainers, and the occasions where I had customers complaining about some past transaction (this is common!), I'd calmly say to them "I just want you to notice that that was 23 years ago and that has nothing to do with this moment right now. I'm sorry that happened but a lot of great things have happend since then!". Not once did I get punched in the lip for expressing that, infact, you could see a cloud starting to part, every time!

The same thing is true in my musical journey. I'm the first to admit, there isn't much music being made today that I understand or like. "Freak Folk" and "smooth Jazz" were the 2 genres that really got my goat. I let their existence bum me out until my energy was drained, which means I can't create. Complaining is addictive! Again, if I have a need to be right about how much Smooth Jazz sucks, and focus on how it's killing our kids, it just grows bigger cause my attention (yours too!) is like the sun, and whatever you shine it on will grow! I had many discussions with folks about how much I hated this or that until.....I started putting out my own records. When I hear the complaints I say to my dear friends "have you made a record yet?" or the truth which often is "you're jealous, they have a hustle and you don't!" Make something, get it out there and sell it ( I still have 300 of my first LP! Wanna buy one, email me!!!) and keep your attention on WHAT YOU WANT TO DO! And ask youself, how can I help humanity with the creation I'm allowing to pass through me. My mother once stopped my mid "freak folk" rant and reminded me that music is like the Quaker church. You sit in silence for an hour on sunday and once in a while someone gets up to speak. You may be the only person to dig that message while the rest of the room is thinking "ugh! Will this guy just shut up?!" Next speaker you may be the only one who wants to throw a tomato at, and the rest may be digging it! A week later I was ranting with a friend about some freak folk artist and I stopped myself and announced "this is the last time I talk about this!" Majic! Just announcing that intention has freed up tons of energy to prctice more, write more and listen deeper!

Now, I'm not saying I'm there yet. I lost my business, bad economy and a lack of experience with finances did it in, plus, I lost the passion and that's 90% of why. And since then I've had to work for other people. It's a real challenge not cause of the task involved, but being in the office where people complain from the top down (this rock star pissed me off 12 years ago waah waah waah!), I have to summon extra strength to not partake. Sometimes it gets the best of me still and I fall off the wagon. I left my last job largely cause I felt my old ugly ways were starting to infect the infected, a mutual downward spiral! But to see it as an opportunity it looks like this: "what do I want my life to be and how am I going to allow that to happen?????" I'm doing my best to serve and doing my best to create that life. I'll let you know how it's going! For now, pray for each other that we may find the strength to stay in the solution and keep bringing in the light!

Blessings, JB

Guitar shopping in a Ghostworld

It's late, and I'm really tired. A dear friend has suggested I start blogging about being behind music and what that's like. I think it's a good idea just to get some stuck energy moving. I'll be using this space simply to practice writing so much of it will be crap and some will be jewels.

My first bit of writing is inspired by the film Ghostworld. Today I feel that film. I just started a job at a large corporation that specializes in selling musical eqipment, mainly guitars. My feelings are very mixed. I appreciate having a job in these times, and have no complaints. I have a lot of experience in the field of music retail. Working for a large company is a new venture for me. I realize I have a lot to learn, mainly about marketing and selling and this is a great opportunity for me. The base pay is minimum wage but there is commission. Should I want a paycheck, I have to hustle it. So what am I afraid of? Am I afraid of anything? Or do I really find some things about this gig hard to deal with? The equipment is way more complicated and cheap than it was when I first got into retail, talkin' guitars, amps, recording devices and our cash register or phone message system!

I've been playing guitar for almost 30 years now. I've been repairing musical equipment , mainly tube amplifiers for 20. When I first started down the road of creating music, my father took me to my first real music store, a shop in Catonsville Md that is still there. Having grown up in a city that feels more like a suburb, the concept of used guitars was new to me at the age of 14. New and really exciting. I used to lose sleep over the excitement of my pop taking me to that store. My dad bought me a black hardtail '77 Stratocaster (an awful guitar! but it was mine!!!) which suited me cause it was the first used strat I had seen. I could not imagine anyone parting with a "Jimi" guitar. I had to have it. the price was $389 and my dad bought it with the condition that I had to learn how to play it or pay him back. I went straight to work on that guitar, playing up to 12 hours a day. My dad, who played a little, allways picked up this ancient Epiphone Batwing that cost only $129 and marveled at how comfortable an instrument it was and how it was allways there and how cheap for such a good guiatr. In those days it was hard to sell some used guitars, they weren't exactly vintage, just used. And if they didn't have celebrity attached to them, the collected dust. 

A few months later i walked across from the music shop the street to this pawnshop and found a lake placid blue '66 strat. I remember it being beat to hell and soooo beautiful. it sang unlike mine which just didn't sound great or play as well. I knew right then that there was something about that old world craftsmanship that was so special, something that we were trading in for speed and "value". Oh, the price of that guitar was $550. The whole instrument vibrated as I played "Hey joe", and you could feel the 14 years of it being played in bars night after night. You could smell the smoke and gin and that patina is something you just can't fake. 

Over the years I've seen some great music come and go, and have been blessed to have been able to be a part of much of that music. I've never been one to look back, and feel like "remember when" is the worst form of conversation there is, but lately I've been feeling sad. Not so much longing for some idealized past, but because I'm just not excited or inspired by what we are creating today. When I first got into guitar, Hendrix was my hero, along with PIL, the Edge, Charlie Christian, Bob Dylan, Billie Holiday and Django Reinhart. What was uber special to me wasn't their ability or even their music. It was their outsider status. They were these living gods  not to be looked up to, but to communicate with as equals. They were freaks, outcast, and subconciously they communicated those feelings to my awkward teenage self. I felt a part of this secret society when I locked myself in my room and played my guitar. I had found a way to express what is deep inside that at times had perhaps too much power. The thing that got me the most about them was how cool they were, how relaxed they seemed and at the same time how energized they were. Yeah, I was experimenting with drugs at that point, but even at the age of 14 I knew that wasn't it. By 1982 the vibration was just different. It was tense and greedy. We had moved out of the age of blind possibility into the age of entitlement. Part of my problem has been I'm still mentally in the age of possiblity and have no real tools to navigate the information age, or, minutea age. Guitar has been really square now for many years. When someone talks up my abilities I cringe. To alot of folks now being a good guitar player means sounding a certain way and playing a certain way. I've met many with 10 styles under their belt, who can really burn those styles, but yet, have no style. And I've met far too many who focus on the brand of capacitor that is in their amp and never find time to create anything or practice. School, internet, television, the most incredible weapons of mass distraction!!!!!

Fast forward to the last 48 hours. There will be no more guitars with that wonderul 2 pack a day Lucky Strike patina. But now, they put that on at the factory along with the dents and cracks. When I was a pothead teen, I could flip burgers for a summer and buy a great old guitar with lots of character and lots of stories to tell for less than a grand. Unless a kid is born rich, your options are  mediocre guitars, or if you have the money, you can get something with the wear and tear built into it at the factory, the perfect fantasy that someone great played it before you. That was allways a part of buying an old beat up guitar. My imagination could soar and i could think about it's history. That's not required of todays youth. I'm sad about that. it feels disconnected. 

We all do best with the information we have so for now, I'll just do my best to sell guitars and bring a smile to peoples faces. That's all I have to do. That shop I bought my first guitar at is still open, but many great little places have gone away, eaten by our violent and greedy society that for some reason digs CEO culture. A society that has a narrow version of what success looks like, loud and shiny and big big big! I don't blame us, I don't blame anyone for how we've changed. To do so would be a waste of energy. It's only change, though I'm not so sure it's progress.

xojb