Clair

A lifetime ago I had a terrific band in Baltimore called Q, we were kinda Baltimores supergroup. It formed around 1991 so I was 23 years old.

We formed out of at least 3 bands, Warren Boes (All mighty Senators, False Face Society), Landis McCord (All Mighty Senators), Jack Denning (Golden Sound Axis), Barry Hampton and myself (Funkyard). We got together one monday night in Sowebo and played the next night in front of 100 people on Halloween. Instant hit. For the next 3 years or so we pleased an awful lot of people.

I was young and full of myself, an ego disaster waiting to happen. I can't quite say why I did this but in those days it was normal for me to drink a bottle of red wine before I played. I wanted to be as drunk as I could possibly be, and I always had this awareness of how phony that was. I wished I could black out, I'd remember everything I did and I did some pretty stupid things.

I think maybe my drinking, and I'm not alcoholic, I can enjoy a drink every now and then, maybe it was like this. Some indigenous cultures have a ritual for young men that they may not come back from. We don't have that. Perhaps we need that. To be pushed to the brink of death. I don't get it. That age is such a macho time, proving your worth etc. We don't have a ritual welcoming us to 'manhood' so perhaps we invent one. For me it was drinking excessively. 

I am blessed with a rather weak system. I can't take chemicals. After a couple of years of this my body was shutting down. Yes, partly because of the booze but also because I was being a MAN, which for some stupid reason means not showing emotion, I would stuff those tears down. I learned how to never grieve. It's a problem this stupid society creates. See for yourself, inward and external violence. It starts with the nasty question 'is it a boy or a girl?'

We showed up to our favorite spot in Nags Head North Carolina, the MexEcono. Great venue, good times. I went to their nasty rock n' roll bathroom and spat blood. I knew I was in poor shape. I don't remember if I drank that night. I do remember playing that gig, we did Hendrix' Manic Depression and I remember seeing a wall of grunge muscles, tattoos and long hair spinning around WHOOSH WHOOSH WHOOSH. I wanted out. The music was so loud and I was in a lot of pain down to my spirit.

https://soundcloud.com/q-104/boil

But, after the gig this woman approached me. She was everything I thought was beautiful at that time. Kinda dark, a little gypsy chic. She appeared out of nowhere it seemed. She said "Jef, can I speak to you outside?" I said "Yeah" then turned to my band and said to them "I'll see you guys tomorrow."

Now in those days I was a mess. A pretty lady would save my life and I could forget all my troubles for a bit. She saved my life for real, but not in any way I could have expected.

We stepped into a dark area in front of the club. I was ready for some action. She says to me "Jef, what the fuck are you doing?" I'm stunned, silent. "Um, huh?" "I asked what     the     fuck     are    you       Doing?" 

I had no answer. I couldn't figure out how she knew my name as we had never met before. Next thing she said blew my mind. "Look Jef, I've been watching you for a long time and you are killing yourself with this bullshit life you're leading. You aren't happy. You aren't happy with this band, your life, your music, your SELF soooo WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING THIS FOR JEF?" 

I didn't feel threatened, insulted, violated, manipulated. I just felt relieved. I didn't say anything except "Thank You" at the end of what she said. Wierdest thing was she said she had been watching me for a long time. I would have noticed her, she was striking, gorgeous and dressed so odd for that scene.

I went back into the club and never saw her again. I do remember her name, Clair.

About 2 months later the band broke up while Island Records was trying to sign us. The breakup was heartbreaking but I never look upon it with regret. That time was exactly what it needed to be. And I was a scared kid who needed to hear the truth. And best thing is, I chose to live.

I also choose to think that she was my guardian angel. Maybe that's what happened. A messenger came to tell me what time it is. 

Thank you Clair.

JB

Rain

Today I was sitting with friends in a Starbucks on 35th near Madison. It was a lovely warm day. We got into this discussion about intuition. The sky turned black. BAM. East coast thunder shower.

When I left the air felt crisp. I could notice people better than before, like I could see their souls.
Everyone was beautiful.

Mushrooms, Meter Maids, Change and Anarchist

I had a real turning point in this life about 7 years ago. I was living in this big old blue house in a recently gentrified neighborhood called the Mississippi District in North Portland Oregon. I had been there for some years, it was the old Jackie O house aka The Michigan Avenue Social Club.

I had my shop one block away on Mississippi Avenue, a killer commute through the Re-Building Center in my back yard. Life was so easy, my rent was $225 a month, rent in my shop another $300.

I had fallen into this routine of getting up at the last minute and racing to the coffee shop (The Fresh Pot) and having some crazy coffee drink and a croissant, buzzing faster back home and then flying through the Re-Building Center to work. My adrenal glands depleted from caffeine and sugar, I wouldn't get anything done for the first 2 or 3 hours.

The Mississippi neighborhood was one that was flipped in record speed. It was once the center of black Portland, still is, and much like most of these United States, that harsh history of racism and red-lining caused it to be economically depressed. As an artist, well, this is where we choose to live. The rent is cheaper. When I first moved to Portland I moved to North East Alberta Street, that took about 4 years to flip. I know that just the presence of myself and my friends was a part of that change. We got priced out. This is just what happens. It hurts to see it happen again and again.

We moved to the Mississippi neighborhood because it seemed safe from all of that. Don't get me wrong, I like a good coffee shop. I like balance. What happens is balance doesn't happen. But we got about 4 years of peace in the Mississippi hood before the developers found us. Then, BAM! Whole new scene. Very hard to not get bitter and resentful about it. But bitterness and resentment kill and dying for change simply isn't helpful.

So back to my story. As I was walking back from The Fresh Pot I noticed a tow warning on my lovely '69 Ford Falcon. My ego at the time couldn't imagine it was real so the first thought that flashed through my little brain was "Ha! I wonder which of my friends put that on my car? What a great practical joke!"

I grabbed it off the windshield and read it about 5 times. It was a tow warning, a real tow warning. I was picked for having an abandoned vehicle. Me? Abandoned vehicle? Nonsense! I drive this baby daily! At the bottom of the tow warning said in all caps "MUSHROOM GROWING ON THE FLOOR!"

Go on, laugh. It was true. My car had a leak in rainy Portland and yes, there was a mushroom growing on my floor.

But rather than do anything sane I chose to become temporarily insane. I went into a 3 day rage. Couldn't sleep, called the city and screamed at some unfortunate but very patient employee. "I AM A BUSINESS LEADER IN THE COMMUNITY!!!" Yuck. I wrote to the local Cascade Community paper about this injustice. (Man, talk about 1st world problems!) Thankfully that letter never made it. It read something like "I go this tow warning and I WAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!"

I remember the person on the phone sounding like he doubted my story, I mean the part about I drive this car daily. This made me furious! I even called the meter maid and left her some venom.

3 days, I couldn't work, couldn't sleep, couldn't eat cause I NEEDED to be right. I never felt more horrible. Over a little tow warning.

Then one of my friends who identifies himself as an anarchist said "It's the war on the poor man!"

Szzzctnnejxmklflmnwq scratch!

Say what? "Who the @$#^ are you calling poor????" said a small part of my small brain. Aw hell no.

I don't like this word poor to describe people. Poor to me means poor quality, second hand, made in China under forced labor and usable one time. I don't like the idea of calling people poor because of simple economic status. Some of the richest people I know have no money and some of the poorest I've met have millions.

But I went along still angry. Got out of bed the next day and went to the car wash. Vacuumed out my car, cleaned it, burned a little sage in it and was driving home still fuming saying in my mind "Man, @4&* this city, my car's all clean now, and it smells nice, and I like driving it, and my car is shiny and looks sharp, and my car is happy cause it's all clean and $*(# all this change and WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME???"

I had to admit I felt good driving my shiny '69 Falcon and maybe that meter maid was an angel who was saying to me "YO, GET YOSELF TOGETHER!"

I cried. I knew I had a serious problem with my ego. I needed help, fast. If I were willing to get this stretched out over a little car problem, god help me if I have a real issue to deal with.

I went to my shop and called the Meter Maid. I didn't get her on the phone so I left a message saying, "hey this is Jef with the Ford Falcon on Michigan Avenue. I need to say I'm really sorry about my behavior, that was terrible of me. And i also want to say thank you for pointing out a real problem I was refusing to see, take care." She left me a message saying "Hey don't worry about it, I removed your name from the tow list. And thank you for the call, I really appreciate that. I understand, sometimes I let myself go and don't take care of myself too."


That was a lot better. All it took was to put myself in the shoes of a Meter Maid. She has a job where she gets lied to all day by people who don't want to take a little responsibility for themselves and say things like "but I'm a business leader etc." Why should she believe me? Especially with all that hostility? And frankly, my car looked like it had one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel.

I can't associate with folks that don't embrace change any more after this experience. If I am to make a difference in this world, I can't accept truth as a static idea, I can't accept my neighborhood as a static idea, I can't accept my life as a static idea. Truth, neighborhoods, life, these are alive. None of this makes any sense without taking care of myself and that includes washing a dirty old car.

Love, JB