Top 10 events in my life I didn't expect in 2008

Phone the neighbors and wake the kids. Or is it, Wake the neighbors and phone the kids?

Well, either way, get ready, because here are the top 10 events in my life that I didn't expect in 2008.

Hang on to your wigs and keys. Here we go.

10. Getting a Hollywood vet as a boss.

An upheaval last year at the leadership of the Foundation for Biomedical Research resulted in the hiring of a new vice president. Fresh off of a year working for the U.S. government in the literal war zone of Iraq, Paul McKellips was one of those larger-than-life figures who's compelling from the moment you meet him. Like him or hate him, this cigar-chomping font of creativity who for years labored in Tinseltown sure commanded one's attention. Ignoring Paul McKellips is impossible. In my case, I approached him with caution, but the moment he said he worked as an uncredited crew member for the hit TV show "Moonlighting," a favorite of mine when I first idolized Bruce Willis and had a crush on Cybill Shepherd, my suspicion of him immediately subsided and I resolved to myself, "You know what? I'm gonna like this guy."

He had impact on me, but so did the four guys I saw in New York City early this year in something I could not have foreseen last year ...

9. Seeing Clapton, Winwood, Shaffer and Letterman all in one day.

There may never be a 24-hour period with more influential celebrities, and if there is, I don't know how I could handle it. One day in February, my brother and a nephew and I hopped into a car to take a train in New Jersey up north to Manhattan for an evening of entertainment. I'd nabbed us a trio of tickets to Madison Square Garden for the first of three performances by Eric Clapton and Steve Winwood, reunited onstage for the first time since they were Blind Faith bandmates in 1969. To make the excursion even more wild, I somehow also acquired tickets to the same day's taping of "Late Show with David Letterman." Both Paul Shaffer's CBS Orchestra and the Clapton-Winwood band played "Them Changes" by Buddy Miles, who died the very next day. Also appearing in the Clapton-Winwood band was Chris Stainton, whose piano playing for Joe Cocker's Grease Band was nearly as influential to me as a young keyboardist as both Shaffer and Winwood turned out to be. Clapton was an early influence on my singing. And Letterman? Well, I'm writing a Top 10 list, aren't I?

Which brings us to ...

8. Stepping into the unemployment line.

The boss and I were lock in step when we simultaneously realized how uninspired I was in my senior writing position for the Foundation for Biomedical Research. I had just come off a weekend of leisure in which I wrote morethan 2,500 words all about music when I realized that it is my passion and it would be great to pursue a career in that passion. My boss told me the same thing. He let me go but did so compassionately, offering to help me reestablish myself under his guise. He told me about how he drove to L.A. without a job and conned his way into writing for a TV series. Inspired that dreams do come true, I spent the rest of my summer trying to figure out exactly what my dream was.

So then, there was ...

7. Checking out Nashville.

I did a lot of exploring this great land of ours this year, and most of it was in the Central time zone. I endured some awful Greyhound bus rides to spend some time in Music City. Using some contacts I had there, I always had a place to stay and friends to show me around. Plus, I didn't mind jaunts by myself. I even became a regular at one of the honkytonks on the main drag. PBR was affordable and surprisingly tasty to this beer snob. I checked out the Nashville music scene and dispelled any notion that it was all about country. Hank Williams and Johnny Cash are important but more out of a debt owed to tourists expecting them. Otherwise, it's just all about making good music, and doing it well, rather than strict adherence to any particular genre. When I interacted with most of the musicians I saw, to find out to what extent I would fit in if I moved there, I discovered three concrete skills or traits I would have to develop to blend and be competitive. That would take time. So while I didn't entirely rule out making a living as a career musician, I decided against moving to Nashville, at least for the time being.

One of these trips helped me accomplish another unexpeccted feat of 2008 ...

6. Seeing Robert Plant and Alison Krauss five times.

Five times all in the span of April through July, I saw Led Zeppelin's lead singer teaming up with the bluegrass sweetheart aided by a band of some of Nashville's best. And that band gelled as time went on, much to my pleasure, witnessing a better concert each time. Plant, who may have been a tad intimidated at first, was really coming out of his shell on that tour. I'm sure he was soaking it all up and making the most of his time. It was great to see this firsthand and report my conclusions to the folks reading me at www.LedZeppelinNews.com. Even if it wasn't the best news for anyone wanting to see Plant fronting the world's best rock band, it was great for those of us who loyally followed him. In doing so, I made my first voyages into Knoxville, Chattanooga and Atlantic City. My second time at Merriweather Post-Pavilion was Plant's second time performing there; the first was in '69, the only time Zep shared the bill with the Who).

My summer of exploring also turned up one other unexpected discovery ...

5. Falling in love with a woman who has four kids.

Now there's a big surprise. I've always been open to falling in love but never quite open to kids. My biggest fear of raising kids, though? Changing diapers. These kids are all out of diapers! They're too old for them! The youngest is 8, and the oldest is twice that. Sounds great! Not only this, but I got some new grandparents out of the deal -- great news since last year my own supply of parents' parents depleted for good. And the girlfriend? Her name, Layla, helped attract me to her, but it was everything else about her that drew me in and made us inseparable. We just spent a few days in the Florida Keys this month. I hadn't been that happy since Election Night!

Layla and I met at a conference in August that also provided another unexpected highlight ...

4. Performing "Abbey Road" and "The Dark Side of the Moon" in their entirety with an amateur group that sure seemed professional.

A little bit of coaching via e-mail and long-distance telephone, plus one long onsite rehearsal, was my method of getting this ragtag group of garage-band building scientists, who meet annually at a conference anyway, to practice up a prescribed list of tunes they like. We worked out and ran through a bunch of crowd favorites from the Stones, Bob Marley and, of course, Derek & the Dominos (added at the last minute to help me impress Layla). They were also game for pulling out two complete albums, and neither is all that easy: "Abbey Road," the Beatles' best studio set, and "The Dark Side of the Moon," Pink Floyd's most popular. Our performances of these took place in front of 100 or so lingering partygoers. Each was a highlight of my summer. That sure set the stage for what transpired in December ...

3. Performing "Houses of the Holy" in its entirety with a professional group.

Led Zeppelin is my favorite group of all time, and that's no secret. Whenever asked what my favorite album of theirs is, I often reply with "Houses of the Holy" (that is, if the "Complete Studio Recordings" box set doesn't count). The variety and expertise on that album are second to none. So when I was asked to join up with Classic Albums Live for a six-show performance of the entire album and a slew of other Zeppelin songs, I jumped at the opportunity. There was no reason to be nervous; I was made to feel right at home within the band because I was a good player and exuding the requisite amounts of professionalism, aptitude, confidence and likability. Those shows were amazing. Best of all, I've been asked back.

2. Moving to Florida.

My six years in the D.C. area were great, but there are cheaper places to afford rent. I had already decided to move when I met my girlfriend over the summer. Since I had just ruled out my first choice of Nashville, I was back to square one. She was living in Boca Raton, FL, so I decided to visit a few times to check it out. Good excuse to spend some relaxing time in a state I'd been in three times previously but only for business trips. When my second investigation concluded that indeed I liked the Sunshine State -- surprise, surprise -- my next move was to cut the distance between Layla from 1,000 miles to four. And so, I headed down I-95 by myself on Halloween night with a U-Haul full of everything I could fit into it. The plan was simple: Florida would work so long as I could afford to live there. Rent was cheaper in Boca than in D.C., so what's the problem?

That's what I found out when rent was due ...

And the No. 1 event in my life I didn't expect in 2008:

1. Paying double the rent.

One little unresolved problem up in the nation's capital was the issue of my lease, which was valid through May 31, 2009. I couldn't just leave on Oct. 31 without paying November rent unless somebody else was taking over on Nov. 1. But that wasn't possible since the management company insists on renovating the house between tenants and doing some other maintenane work. Once all that was done, it was December, and few likely tenants emerged, with nobody sealing the deal for an expedient transfer, freeing up my end of the deal. I'm facing the proposition of paying my third consecutive month of paying for rent in two parts of the country, all while unemployed and making virtually no income. Yay! But it all works out, doesn't it?

All right. Take care, folks! Have a happy 2009! Hope it is an interesting one!

Dessie's kids, the music stars

I had the pleasure of shooting a video for the kids last weekend and then making it into something presentable on YouTube for them. Here's the fruit of that collaboration.

Dessie's kids

In my last post, I remarked that Dessie's friends are now my friends too as a result of hanging out once at a party. If only kids were that simple!

Dessie's kids are great. And they're my friends too. But you can't substitute the word "kids" for "friends" in a sentence about making her friends mine. It doesn't work that way.

Her kids are still very much attached to their father, who sees them almost every day and likes to keep tabs on what they're doing in between their sleepovers at his place and their impromptu phone calls to him just to say hi and then go silent. So yeah, he's still involved.

In their lives, that is. Well, by extenstion, in Dessie's life too. I don't mind that. In fact, I just suggested to her that they should all go to my gig this Thursday night. Her, him, and their three kids. OK, so part of that reason was so I could use her car.

But no, I haven't met the guy yet. He knows I'm a musician, and he plays guitar. Heck, he's been sharing that with his son, whose playing is a level above that of the average 11-year-old. So I figure, what better venue to present myself to him than when I'm doing my best work? And, in case I make a bad impression on the guy (or if I already have by dating his wife), there will be 100 or more witnesses to save me.

Point is, I'm glad to be involved in these kids' lives. And they're his, not mine.

But I had the opportunity to play Mr. Mom to them last night when I was over and Dessie was overly tired after dinner. I suggested she go to bed and I would take care of the kids and get them to bed when it was time. She was so sleepy that she had little reason to turn down the offer. I'm so glad I could lend a hand to her. What would she have done otherwise? No need to think about it.

So I got them to put on their PJs and brush their teeth. They helped me clean up the living room, which was something their mom wanted done. Then I got them to turn in. Two slept in their mom's bed with her, and one cuddled with me on the couch until we were both asleep. Overnight, I helped move two sleeping girls into their beds.

I'm not a parent, but I'm an involved adult. I realize that makes me nothing more than a babysitter. But I love these kids, and that's what makes the difference.

Awesome-weather friends (hey, it's Florida!)

This past week has been great for me. And I'm not just talking about the three killer shows I've just played with Classic Albums Live. (My accounts of the second and third shows are on my other blog, LedZeppelinNews.com.) It's also been cool just getting established in other ways here in Florida and with my girlfriend.

Dessie has this group of friends, basically some girls who all went to high school together. She didn't go to the same school and didn't even live around here when she was in high school, but she's been absorbed into their little group nonetheless. So they have these parties, and people show up and have a good time, and whatever.

Dessie asked me to come to their Christmas party after I was done with my Saturday night gig. And that show, by the way, happened to be the best concert I've played in my life. So I'm coming from that, I'm heading out on 595 to get from Hollywood to Coral Springs, and the mood is right. I just can't wait to see Dessie and tell her about the gig. At that point, I don't even care about meeting her friends.

So I get to the party, and what do they have on the stereo system inside? Led Zeppelin's Houses of the Holy. Well, good choice in music. But it's precisely the album I had just played onstage three nights in a row and was practicing for a month before that. I thought, Who's the wiseguy who put this on to annoy me as I arrived? But no, it was just by sheer coincidence that that's what one of the hosts picked! Like I say, good taste in music. And I got to turn up "The Ocean" at 1:38 and point out the phone ringing in the background. I had to play that part twice for the two guys listening with me because neither heard it the first time!

Anyway, I gladly accepted the co-host's invitation to take over the music selections for the rest of the festivity. So, we shifted forward two decades and listened to Cake's Fashion Nugget, Lenny Kravitz's 5, Beck's Odelay and Mogwai's Ten Rapid. These are classic albums of the future.

It was great interacting with all the folks at the party. Dessie's friends are now my friends. And it's a pleasure being able to say that. It's something I lacked in previous relationships. I always had those friends who looked at me funny as if they were suspicious of me. Not so with these folks. I think they can tell how genuinely happy Dessie has been the whole time we've been together, a marked improvement over the neutral status quo of the past few years. I'm glad I can make her happy, and I'm glad these friends like me. So I'm looking forward to more parties like that, and just hanging out in general.

Cranium is a great game, but cheaters never prevail. This means you, Heather!

While I'm on the topic of my new friends, I did have a few friends for a while that I knew only from the Internet that I have now met in person since I've been down here. And then I ran into one by accident the day after meeting him! Had I not met him in person the day before, that chance meeting would have happened but would not have been known to either of us. And one friend and I are talking about launching a band. We'll see!

More later... I want to write about Dessie's kids! They're the absolute best.

Classic Albums Live, Houses of the Holy: Soundcheck rehearsal and performance one of six

Some last-minute scurrying to figure out a way to get myself to play the keyboard parts of Led Zeppelin's pivotal album Houses of the Holy, and a few other songs we included as encores, paid off. Yesterday was a wonderful day, meeting some very talented and very professional musicians and having the immediate chance to play a proper show with them to an attentive audience.

Now I just have to keep the momentum from that initial experience alive for another week and two nights for the five remaining performances on our schedule. Classic Albums Live tackles the fifth Zeppelin album in its entirety again tonight and tomorrow at 9 p.m. and then again next week with the same schedule (Thursday, Dec. 18 at 8 p.m., Friday and Saturday, Dec. 19-20 at 9 p.m.) on the stage of Paradise Live at the Seminole Hard Rock Hotel and Casino in Hollywood, Fla.

The only band member I knew at all before yesterday was Nick Hildyard, who executed lead vocal duties for Classic Albums Live last month when I saw and reported on their handling of Led Zeppelin's 40-year-old debut album, note for note, cut for cut. And I knew him only because after he read my critical analysis of their performance, he contacted me, figuring I have a pretty good ear and must be a musician. When I told him I was indeed a keyboardist, the first thing he did was rejoice at having discovered another local keyboardist.

Then, without hesitation, Nick invited me to try my hand at Houses of the Holy, which I of course jumped at. For one thing, I'd just moved down to South Florida, and all the musicians I knew were still 1,000 miles north of me. An opportunity not only to get onstage again but to play a better gig than I'd eve had before? Sure, it was going to take some work to ready myself, but it was a challenge I would have been foolish to turn down.

Nick and I got together a couple times between early November and yesterday, and he also often checked in on my progress by e-mail while he was off flying around to distant Classic Albums Live shows in Canada and the United States. Busy guy, but accommodating and also pretty relaxed. I told him I was worried about some keyboard sounds not being totally accurate, but he said not to worry. He lent me a midi console with hundreds of instrument sounds on it.

Unfortunately for me, I never was able to practice with that console on my own because it was incompatible with my primitive keyboard equipment at home! In fact, we discarded my keyboard altogether yesterday because of its limitations. We were at a professional gig, so we were going to use only professional equipment. Nick provided me with some good stuff, and I took some time onstage at our afternoon onstage setup sorting out what sounds would be good for what songs and making copious notes to boot. Now I was starting to sound like the John Paul Jones Orchestra.

As I auditioned this plethora of sounds in my headphones, most of the rest of the group rolled in straight from the airport, where they'd just flown in from Toronto, home of a six-night stint playing nothing but AC/DC's Back in Black. They were jet-lagged and complaining of ringing in their ears and admittedly in need of showers, but it was time to get themselves musically ready first. I was told that we were on an accelerated rehearsal schedule because normally we meet each other a day in advance of our first show rather than the day of it. That wasn't possible this time, so we wouldn't be able to run through everything before showtime. I don't think anybody wanted to anyway.

These guys were getting in, and I shied away from interacting with them except just to introduce myself by name and say it was good to be making my Classic Albums Live premiere with him. I honestly expected them to be inaccessible and arrogant, but no: They were as friendly as Barney the Purple Dinosaur and as neighborly as Fred Rogers. Then, when they heard me play, they were as complimentary of me as my mom!

In Classic Albums Live, these performers don't specialize in any one particular group. They're jacks of all trades. The seasoned veterans have each played dozens of different albums by a wide variety of artists. One Houses of the Holy guitarist, Tom Mcdermott, was pretty new to the thing, but he already had albums by the Eagles and AC/DC under his belt. But they are as competent and fluent in Led Zeppelin's music as any Zep tribute band member I've ever encountered. This made it as awesome to talk with them as it was to play with them.

Of course, I don't think they were expecting to hear that this unknown 29-year-old keyboardist had interviewed John Paul Jones seven years ago, almost to the day. Our bass player, Johnny B., was tickled to find out from me that he's not the only bass player in the world who likes to stay close to the drums when performing live; Jones says the others in Zeppelin would encourage him to play at the front of the stage but he would find himself drifting back toward Bonzo's kit within a song or two.

In the case of our drummer, Rick Vatour, it's with good reason. Those two play off of each other unbelievably well. They possess the same chemistry that Jones and John Bonham did, and that Jones evidently has rediscovered with Jason Bonham for quite some time. Johnny B. and Rick Vatour form a tight rhythm section, one that really can't be described as tight but loose like Led Zeppelin's was. This is only by virtue of the fact that Classic Albums Live reproduces with precision the run-through of every song as it was laid down in the winning take in the studio. They aren't improvising; they're faithfully reciting the improvisation that was rendered on tape and played back on home stereo systems and on radio stations billions of times through the ages.

At the show last night, I sat onstage, unoccupied at two keyboards that were useless to me for seven minutes or so, while the band around me ran through an encore version of "Dazed and Confused" when it occurred to me, during Dom Polito's violin bow section with vocal responses, that the real action was happening on the bass and drums. These two guys were essentially playing a duet with each other, not taking their eyes off of each other. They had it all meticulously written out for them in their minds and memories, and the playbook was 40 years old. It was incredible to see, and I look forward to seeing that again soon.

The show wasn't without its gaffes, the majority of which can be blamed on the rookie on the keys. They were things I recognized right away and did what I could to correct them or file them away for future reference. A few notes into my "No Quarter" introduction, I recognized that I didn't have the phase filter on my Rhodes piano sound, but fixing that was just a quick switch away. I inserted one clavinet phrase too late at the ending of "Over the Hills and Far Away," but I won't make the same mistake tonight.

And I committed a song structure error during "Kashmir" that also used to trip up John Paul Jones during live performances to the point that he would have to refer to his own handwritten notes about the song structure at his keyboard to help him from getting off track. Perhaps that's good advice for me too!

I went over some of these blunders with my bandmates after the show, but they were more interested in congratulating me on doing certain things that I did that most keyboardists they've worked with don't. For one, Johnny B. said I was correct in playing low notes on the Rhodes piano sound during the verses of "Stairway to Heaven." He said most keyboardists wrongly believe that's a bass on the record, and he said he was surprised to have finally found a keyboardist who agrees with him that there's no bass in the song until the third verse after the 12-string and Rhodes enter.

Meanwhile, the only constructive criticism I received from Classic Albums Live founder Craig Martin wasn't musical at all. It was on my wardrobe! I shouldn't have exposed the Foo Fighters T-shirt I was wearing underneath my button-down, and socks and shoes should have replaced my flip flops. (Hey, the guy's Canadian, not Floridian, so I'll give him a break!) But Craig did tell me that I had "big eyes and big ears." By this, he meant I was capable of following the other musicians' lead, being ready to interpret musical cues whether by listening or keeping my head up, and blending in accordingly. Craig said, "That's what it's all about." Yes, it is.

And that's something I've been trying to convey to all my bandmates throughout my years of playing. It's the ability that made Led Zeppelin a band of such great performers, and it's what kept them together all the years they were. It's probably what Jimmy Page is experiencing with the Jones-Bonham rhythm section of the 21st century and is drawing that trio back to wanting to work together again, whether or not they're joined by Robert Plant. It's a good thing that magic was there for Tom Mcdermott and me as we worked with the polished band of Nick Hildyard, Dom Polito, Johnny B. and Rick Vatour for the first time. Since our rehearsal time was so limited, it was excellent to go out onstage at showtime and be able to present our magic act to "The Ocean" that had gathered to witness it.

Excited and terrified at the same time

Funny how things happen. After less than a month living in Florida, I was invited to play with a highly successful musical venture when it covers my favorite album by my favorite band.

My last live gigs were on Oct. 25, when I finished up my tenure with both the Usual Suspects and Trademark with two shows on the same day before I moved south 1,000 miles from the D.C. area.

And now, Classic Albums Live is having me on board in two weeks when they perform Led Zeppelin's LP Houses of the Holy, song-for-song, note-for-note, start to finish (plus some encores) over six nights in Hollywood, Florida!

How I stumbled across this is worthy of mention. I went to see Classic Albums Live tackle Zep's self-titled debut on Nov. 6, and I wrote my assessment of it over on my other site, www.LedZeppelinNews.com, where it was noticed a few days later by the singer. He commented on my blog:

"it is our sincere pleasure to reproduce those incredible songs as they were recorded. nobody in the band minds not improvising. it's not our place. we didn't write it. we will leave the improvising to Jimmy. There aren't a lot of people out there who can replicate the studio solos note for note. I am honored to perform with players who have the ability."

Then he contacted me privately and asked what instrument I play. He could surmise from some comments in my written review that I must be a musician with a good ear and some chops. After I told him I play keyboard, he asked if I would be comfortable sitting in with them when they play Houses of the Holy at the same place in Hollywood, Fla., on Dec. 11-13 and 18-20. And of course, I jumped at the opportunity and told him I would start studying the album right away. Nice assignment.

I'm both excited and terrified at the same time because of how difficult and intricate it is to play an album with meticulous attention to detail. I just saw them pull off the Beatles' White Album last night, and that eight-and-a-half-minute soundscape that's normally my least favorite cut on either disc was the best one performed live. So I don't know whether I should be encouraged by the way they pulled it off or intimidated.

The problem runs deep. Led Zeppelin liked to jam, and so do I. Led Zeppelin never played a song the same way twice, so why should anyone covering them? That's what makes Zep music so amazing, in my opinion, its malleability! And this rules my mindset. I've never been one to memorize any instrument's "part" exactly as is and play it back verbatim. But that's what the Classic Albums Live format dictates its onstage musicians will do.

I don't want to screw this up. So far, I'm sounding good in rehearsals on my own, and I have a great MIDI console lent to me to practice with and for use at the show. And I'm looking forward our first rehearsal, which is the soundcheck on the day of the first show. That's when I'll really know how well I'm playing. I'll find out if I measure up to my bandmates that day, and they'll find out too.

The current Beatles White Album series marks the Classic Albums Live debut of this one bassist. He did great when I saw him last night. Good for him! That'll be me pretty soon. If I can impress my peers and the audience over the two weeks of these Houses of the Holy shows, who knows where or what I'll be playing next! So I just have to pull this off.

Houses of the Holy should be a good starter for me: Now that I've seen how seamlessly "Revolution 9" can be duplicated live, "The Rain Song" and "No Quarter" seem like a cinch.

Update: Just minutes after posting this, I found an interview with Classic Albums Live founder Craig Martin that makes me feel more comfortable with this mission. The key paragraph for me is the one that says this:

I'll tell you one thing about the series that's really cool, and that's a lot of the players are in their 30s and 40s or even late 20s, some of these cats. And you know, the music business has changed so much, and a lot of them are coming face-to-face with the reality that their dream of making it, or even carving out a living, is getting tougher and the door is slamming – if not closed already. Classic Albums Live allows these guys a place to come and flourish and meet their full potential and keep on challenging themselves and teaching themselves. We keep a really tight crew of musicians that we get involved with here. We're not into egos or anything. It's a very selfless thing we do, and we take it very seriously. This music is sacred to people. When we boast note-for-note, cut-for-cut, we better be able to back that up, because you know this is like church for some people, and we're carrying the gospel. So these musicians come and they are able to have a career again. I'm able to offer them work, decent venues for decent pay, and it's really rewarding that way.

Yay.

Wishful thinking: Led Zeppelin filmed in 3D

A question for all you Led Zeppelin fans out there: How would you like to enjoy your favorite musicians in 3D?

If only this weren't just something I'm dreaming up. Maybe these thoughts of mine will go straight from my blog to Led Zeppelin's ears, and maybe it would be something to consider.

How about Led Zeppelin performing a reunion concert, another one just like last year's one-off show, and broadcasting it live all around the world with pristine sound, stunning 3D images, and with camera angles you wouldn't be able to experience from the floor or in the stands?

I started thinking about this when I was reading this Reuters report about some new technological advances that are making fact out of science fiction.

I don't know if any diehard sports fans have ever envisioned they could go to a movie theater and watch the big game on the silver screen in 3D. Seeing quarterbacks Philip Rivers and JaMarcus Russell throw passes in a 3D setting may not have been a lifelong goal for gridiron fans on the sidelines.

But this technological advance is real, and it is here. They're trying it out. And technogeeks will surely pack the three participating theaters on Dec. 4 when this unprecedented display of live 3D football occurs in private showings for industry insiders.

From a Wall Street Journal article on Nov. 24:

This isn't the first time the NFL has participated in a 3-D experiment. In 2004, a predecessor company to 3ality [Digital LLC] filmed the Super Bowl between the New England Patriots and the Carolina Panthers. When Sandy Climan, 3ality's chief executive officer, shows the footage, "people crouch down to catch the ball," he says. "It's as if the ball is coming into your arms."

Cool. But will there still be tailgating?

This marks the arrival of something monumental that was predicted less than a year ago by Michael Lewis, chairman and cofounder of Real D. He's quoted in this Wall Street Journal piece as having "long advocated the transmission of live events to theaters in 3-D."

One past example of him making this prediction came in February, when the Associated Press reported his opinion that "3D technology eventually could expand [to] turn theaters into venues showing live concerts and sporting events."
The article explains that Real D was the company whose technology was employed in separate 3D movies showing pop starlet Miley Cyrus and rock band U2 at the time. The AP quotes Lewis as saying:

"There are a lot of places, a lot of small towns where we have Real D in place where U2's not going to go, Hannah Montana's not going to play there. ... They'll be able to see it in theaters, and in my view maybe with a better seat and better experience than if they were actually there live."

And that's a common theme among people who, as I did, experienced the movie "U2 3D" in IMAX theaters this year. Seeing that film in February stands out as one of the most memorable and moving moments in my life this year. And yes, I felt like I had some better views of the stage than I would have as one of tens of thousands of fans stuffed into a stadium.



Here's what Richard Harrington of the Washington Post had to say back in January:

In "U2 3D," the band seems so . . . up close, personal and dimensional, it's as if they're slipping off the screen into your lap.

Welcome to the future of the concert film, where you'll duck your head as the Edge's guitar neck pops out with such immediacy you'll want to retune it! Or you'll want to slap hands with singer Bono as he reaches out to you in the middle of "Sometimes You Can't Make It on Your Own."

Even better than the real thing? Maybe not, but surprisingly close and accessible.

Director Catherine Owens, who has collaborated with U2 on the band's elaborate concert visuals for 15 years, recalls a discussion with a colleague that "the future of entertainment would be that bands don't actually have to go on the road -- somehow they'll be holographically beamed. And we were joking around, 'Not in our lifetime.' But in a funny way, this film is that."

The Wall Street Journal says Real D "has rolled out 3-D systems in 1,500 theaters around the world" and that "some live events, including opera broadcasts and circus performances, already pop up on screens at theaters across the country."

But have there been any live musical performances? If not, this could be a frontier for Led Zeppelin.

Yeah, yeah, I know. Robert Plant said this and Jimmy Page said that. Of course I know it. Robert Plant only said he's against touring with Led Zeppelin for now. He never said he wouldn't do another one-off concert with Led Zeppelin. And I'd be surprised if Jimmy Page and John Paul Jones have written off that possibility either.

Wouldn't it leave a permanent historical mark if Led Zeppelin became the first group ever to perform a concert shown in 3D simultaneously to 50 countries?

I don't care if it's a one-off performance. That's fine. Fans would get more mileage and satisfaction out of this one-off performance than they did out of the O2 show, and Led Zeppelin wouldn't have to worry about disrupting Plant's anti-tour stance.

People who just want to see Led Zeppelin, complete with Robert Plant, will go and see the 3D film. Movie tickets are more affordable than concert tickets.

Theaters can keep showing it over and over again. Midnight showings. In 3D. All over the world. For a decade. Maybe forever. As long as there is a demand for it. And few bands have the cross-generational staying power of Led Zeppelin.

Heck, it would be in the spirit of Led Zeppelin to do three concerts, shoot all three in 3D and broadcast them live worldwide in 3D. That way, the band can improvise every night and change things up the way they always did. A longer guitar solo here, a melody line shift there, an impromptu jam one night, you name it.

This would give fans like Eddie Edwards of The Garden Tapes something to look forward to in repeat showings. And to really keep the fans on their toes, the theaters should never indicate which of the three concerts they are playing on any given night. Fans might never realize it could be one of the three until they start noticing the differences on their own.

This would be a throwback nod to the ingenious plan to release six different In Through the Out Door LP covers in 1979. Since the album covers were hidden underneath the seal of a plain brown bag, and because the plot was initially a guarded secret, consumers had to buy multiple LPs before they knew they were possibly collecting six different covers.

I'm just thinking aloud here. But I hope my words don't fall upon deaf ears. I hope Jimmy Page, John Paul Jones, Robert Plant and Jason Bonham take this into serious consideration.

The technology has arrived to present 3D concerts live on a large scale. We have a barrier to break, a frontier to bust through. History will be made whether or not Led Zeppelin is on board. I just think it would be a whole lot cooler if Led Zeppelin were on board, and I'm sure a lot of other people would agree.

This could only further cement Led Zeppelin's already immense position in the history of music, plaster casters and all.

You thought playing at the Olympics would lend some visibility? Just you wait.

'I Beat the System'

This is a song I wrote on July 26, 1995. Its protagonist, though riddled with guilt, senses vindication to come. I had a primitive recording of myself playing and singing this song within a few days of writing it, but that recording is long gone. It wasn't until this past week, over 13 years later, that I finally re-recorded it. This time, using Garage Band, I had the luxury of adding more than one vocal track. The electric guitar is sampled from "Jimmy Olsen's Blues" by the Spin Doctors. A few days after I finished this new recording, I shot and compiled the video. Here it is in its entirety for your enjoyment.

Music, video added to 'It Is Without Remorse'

I came up with the lyrics Aug. 10 and spent the other night writing music for it and then making a video for it.

Lord, was I born a ramblin' man?

It's a ritual I know so well by now: Rent the truck, pack the boxes, drive the truck, unload the boxes, return the truck, get situated. I have it down so well by now I'm not sweating it. There are only a few days left before I move 1,000 miles from the nation's political capital to its, uh, retirement capital, but I'll be fine.

After some counting, I've figured out this is my eighth time moving in eight years. And that's not counting in and out of dorm rooms for the three years before that. I'm such a pro at conducting this ritual.

But there's more to relocating than just the process of picking up and going somewhere else. When you move a great distance, you have to say good-bye to familiar people and places things and get used to unfamiliar ones. When you've had experiences as great as I've had with the people and places of the D.C. area, it's not easy just to pick up and move on.

The past two weekends were great ones for me personally as I reflected on the friends I have and where I am headed. The weekend I wrote about already, celebrating Canadian Thanksgiving, was spent with one of the very first friends I gained upon moving to the D.C. area, my great friend Brian, who has been like a big brother to me over the past six-and-a-half years -- and who even let me pull in some hours at his company when I needed it. We shared some drinks last night, cranking our favorite band, Led Zeppelin, on Finn Mac's jukebox with the World Series on the big screen.

Last weekend was one I spent in Washington with my girlfriend, Layla. She met some of my other closest friends on Friday night, and I took her out on the town for a full day on Saturday to be her tour guide and show her exactly what has kept me interested in D.C. for so many years. Pleased with her taste of the town, she hopped a flight to return home to Florida on Sunday morning, and I'll be joining her in the Sunshine State when November begins. It feels so good to say that.

Oh, and I cast my absentee ballot for Barack Obama by mail this afternoon, which also makes me feel even better about the future.

So I now say good-bye to Jan and Kristin and Betzer, Chris and Aprille, Duncan, Karlin and Tracy, Todd and Whitney, Ed ("Otter"), Archie, Jeff, Nick, J.D., Viddy, Doug, Seth, Robbie, Dorsey, Will and Christine and Ainsleigh, Chef, Petrick, Brandt, Clay, Ben, Glenn, Diane, both Joshes, Fuzzy, Paul, Frankie, Mary, Matt, Louise, Adrienne, Megan, "Hersh," Jess, "Merit," Bill and Joan, Celia, Brian, Irene, "Who the Hell Is" Angela, Kate, Katie, Charlie, the Bay Street Girls, Jesse, the Usual Suspects, Trademark, World Peace Party, the G-Tones, and all my other bosses, co-workers, friends, musicians, SigEp fraternity brothers and bartenders in the D.C. area whose company I appreciated and who had the patience to put up with me.

I also say good-bye to Chuck Brown, the Washington Nationals, Noah's Pretzels, the Washington Post, Metrorail, the DC Delta chapter of SigEp, the SigEp Feds, Zipcar, the Brickskeller, RFD, Ben's Chili Bowl, Five Guys, Wok 'n' Roll, Fado, Blues Alley, Bohemian Caverns, the Black Cat, the 9:30 club, the Rock & Roll Hotel, the Birchmere, Wolf Trap, Merriweather Post Pavilion, Lincoln Park, Stanton Park, Thunder Grill, Union Station, Union Pub, Schneider's, Jacob's Cafe, Tunnicliff's, Yarmouth Management, Eastern Market, Finn MacCool's, the Ugly Mug, Capitol Lounge, Hawk & Dove, Tune Inn, Banana Cafe, the D6, the X2, the 38B, the N22, the Circulator, the MARC train, the Freer and Sackler Galleries, the Botanic Gardens, the Sculpture Garden, the Smithsonian Museum of American History, the Air and Space Museum, the Corcoran Gallery of Art, Farragut Park, Georgetown, Glenmont, the Stained Glass Pub, Clarendon, Restaurant Week and, of course, being called for jury duty every two years on the nose. Every one of these D.C.-area institutions has provided me with lasting memories -- even in the case of a certain winery on 8th Street SE whose name I never really knew in the first place but whose proprietor recognized me by name every time I walked in, right from the very first time I ever bought alcohol in D.C.

I've already celebrated Thanksgiving this month in Canada, but I barely even thought about any of what I'm thankful for. I'll have another chance to celebrate Thanksgiving next month in the United States, and then I'll do it better.

With a list like that of everything and everybody I'll miss when leaving the D.C. area, and with Layla by my side and a future bright ahead of me with memories yet to develop, this "Ramblin' Man" won't be singing some Allman Brothers Band chorus about being born in the backseat of a Greyhound bus -- because I certainly wasn't.

I ought to be singing about myself the same ELP refrain I associated with my grandfather when he died last December after having lived a long, fulfilling and rewarding life: "Oh, what a lucky man he was."

Guess it runs in the family.

Canadian Thanksgiving

Just getting back into D.C. after a milestone weekend in my life and also one of those rare meetings of the minds.

The weekend started as a friend of mine, Brian, left work with me early on Friday to book it to the airport. We flew to Buffalo where one of his industry contacts picked us up and took us out to eat in Buffalo. She picked up the tab for Brian and me. Then we stayed in the presidential suite of a swank hotel. In the morning, we met the sales manager for a complimentary buffet breakfast.

As soon as Brian and I said good-bye to her and grabbed some coffees, in walked the woman who was coming to pick us up  and kidnap us for the weekend across the international line. Brian had been Lou Anne's guest last year, so they recognized each other, and our meeting in the hotel lobby -- 30 minutes ahead of schedule -- was unplanned and coincidental. (As in, no cell phones were used in the making of it! Go figure!) We all went up to the presidential suite to sit and talk for a while before grabbing all our stuff and heading on the road.

Getting into Canada, I didn't have my passport, but my photo ID supplanted by a birth certificate worked. (I was just afraid it wouldn't be sufficient to get me back into the States! But it did.) We were coming up to celebrate the early-harvest Thanksgiving holiday with them with a meal on Sunday, one day early. So the first stop we made was a little grocery store where Lou Anne needed to pick up the humongous turkey she had ordered ahead of time for the following day's meal. Brian and I checked out the selection available at the liquor store next door. There were so many beers I hadn't ever seen or tasted before, which is very uncommon for me. I felt like a fish out of water.

We stopped at Lou Anne's farmhouse, where she gave us the grand tour and made lunch. Then she asked what sightseeing we'd like to do. Niagara Falls is in short driving distance, and although Brian and I had each been there before, it's really worth seeing again and again. This was my first time standing on the Canadian side and looking over at the U.S. side though. After that, we had a drink inside the Hard Rock Cafe and ducked into a casino for some rounds of craps, which I now know I understand even less than I knew I did. Once we hopped back in Lou Anne's car, I took a short nap in the back seat, and Brian dozed off in the passenger's seat. The afternoon was capped off with a tour of a winery in Niagara-on-the-Lake before we returned to the farm.

For dinner, we were finally joined by a fourth personality entering the mix. Lou Anne's brother, Frank, who's now a published author. Lou Anne is the editor of his book, and they're now working on a second volume with a third shortly to follow. They share synergy and passion in their work, but she has all these cracks about the hassles of editing her brother's work, and his humor is very self-deprecating. Frank makes himself the butt of every joke, and Lou Anne is eager to go along with the gag. I played the piano and organ for everybody. Even my friend Brian was surprised to learn I am more than a little decent at it. All three of us males are really deep into an appreciation of Led Zeppelin, so we stayed up pretty late discussing our common interest over drinks.

On Sunday, we had a quick breakfast at the farm. Lou Anne stayed back to prepare Thanksgiving dinner while we three kings went over to Frank's place to check out everything he has collected related to the band. There was enough to do for hours, and we really only scratched the surface of a thriving glacier. In the middle of the day, we broke for some outside time and fresh air. Conveniently enough, Lake Erie is just across the street from Frank's place, so we hopped a barrier and sat on the ledge dangling our feet over rocks and the lake. We could see Buffalo just on the other side of the water. Frank says this ledge is his place to get introspective, so he and Brian took a few minutes away from the Internet and cell phones to think about where we are in life and what we're doing. Me? I took a load of photos of the scenery and of the three of us.

Dinner back at the farm was wonderful. The three additional people who joined us resulted in a fusion of personalities. The company was excellent, and the food couldn't have been better. There was very little difference between that meal and the ones I grew up eating on the same holiday but on Thursdays in late November. I encouraged Frank to bust out his acoustic guitar and play whatever Neil Young and Led Zeppelin songs he knew so I could jam with him. That went unbelievably well.

This morning, it was awful we had to leave so soon. I hope to be back again someday soon. It's not really Canada I'll be missing so much as Frank and Lou Anne. They are just some really great people, and I'll now respect their friendship much more.

Rote memorization, and a noise complaint

"I pledge allegiance/ to the flag/ of the United States of America;/ and to the Republic,/ for which it stands:/ one nation,/ under God,/ indivisible,/ with liberty/ and justice/ for all."

I was first introduced to these poetically arranged lines of prose in kindergarten. It was through rote memorization that they became a ne'er-understood ritual for schoolchildren 180 days of every year. For one thing, we certainly didn't know what words like "allegiance" and "indivisible" meant, much less why our allegiance was being pledged literally to something symbolic, a piece of cloth. Years later, we were privy to (and perhaps in solidarity with) arguments against the pledge's use of the words "under God."

I think I can count on one hand the number of times outside school I have been in the presence of a pledge of allegiance. The pledge seems irrelevant to me as anything. It's simply a recitation of a pledge whose underlying meaning I fail to grasp fully. I understand pledging oneself to his or her nation. I understand supporting the troops fighting for his or her nation. However, the flag? Does questioning why one would pledge a personal connection to a piece of cloth, no matter how symbolic its stars and stripes may be, make me unpatriotic?

A gig I played in Maryland at a partisan political function made me think about that conundrum and more. I've lived in the politically charged capital area for six years. In that time, I watched many hours of political television and read many column inches of political periodicals. But as for actually participating in our democracy, I can claim only that I voted a few times, spread a few self-created e-mails mainly about the District of Columbia's lack of voting representation, switched my political party affiliation once, wore a few buttons in support of particular candidates, and had drinks with some of the capital's movers and shakers. At times, I may have unknowingly sat next to a member of Congress on the Metro. A few more times, I've been an impartial reporter watching as lobbyists and private-sector constituents made points to their elected officials, but that's about it. In all, I would say I'm politically aware and yet not politically active.

Yesterday, I had a front-row ticket to see how the other half live. With a set of 88 keys in front of me and ready to see if a bunch of white-haired Republicans remembered how to twist again like they did 50-plus summers ago, I saw first how political activists conduct themselves when they're among themselves. And you know what? I'm glad I haven't been politically active.

The Grande Old Party officially kicked off its afternoon picnic with the pledge to allegiance, followed by an improvised prayer led by one of the moose hunters hand-selected only seconds in advance after the first two turned down the offer. It being a prayer, I wasn't all that surprised to hear God's name invoked. But my jaw dropped when I heard Jesus Christ mentioned as our lord and savior. (OK, so I looked around and didn't see any Jews, Muslims or Buddhists crying foul, so maybe the prayer leader was safe.) But then my jaw took another fall when the prayer went on to thank God for John McCain and his pick of Sarah Palin and for the policies that are right to lead this nation down the correct path. Since when does God -- yours, mine or anybody's -- give a shit about Wall Street bailouts? I was later fed the lame excuse that she was nervous and didn't know what to say; my problem with her prayer has more to do with what she didn't know NOT to say.

The prayer ended with a restrained "amen," and following a perfunctory rendition of "The Star-Spangled Banner," it was time for the band, including me, to entertain with the Coasters' "Young Blood," the Rolling Stones' "Brown Sugar" and other assorted love songs. Since the Republicans in our band were dedicating every other song to Sarah Palin, I took it upon myself to interject what I considered a mild anti-Republican jab into "Superstition": I followed up the line "Seven years of bad luck" with an improvised "and going on eight."

I'm not big on rote memorization, and it seems like that's all Sarah Palin was doing in that first interview with Katie Couric when she seemingly tried to spout off every talking point in existence in the span of one sentence. Sarah "Punchline" Palin's performance in the later-aired interviews were similarly unimpressive, such as when she was at a loss for any Supreme Court decisions with which she disagreed, or when she couldn't name a newspaper she reads. And I thought the lackluster performance that saw Palin visibly squirm in her chair was a point everybody, regardless of political leaning, could universally concede.

There were no such concessions from the people I talked to at the event yesterday. One blamed the interviewer, Couric, insisting Couric is "a B-I-T-C-H." (Yes, the person who said this spelled the word aloud to me, either because the word is not appropriate in polite company or because it bestows more punch when spelled for emphasis -- i.e., "Katie Couric is not just a bitch; she's a B-I-T-C-H." The distinction here must be crystal clear.)

I don't see how Couric's demeanor could be the culprit for Palin's embarrassing performance. I will agree we didn't see the same squirming when Palin took to the podium facing off Thursday night against Joe Biden, even if she did rail against debate moderator Gwen Ifill on more than one occasion. But the fact that she didn't monumentally falter on that Washington University stage in St. Louis only intensifies for me how poorly she did, in contrast, when she was lobbed Couric's non-"gotcha" softballs. The only way Republicans see fit not to agree on that point is by sidestepping the issue and instead focusing on an irrelevant point -- exactly the way Palin herself insisted on changing the topic and not addressing Ifill's questions during the debate. I find this to be disingenuous and dishonest.

I also felt the same way about one of the messages I saw relayed on the back of two T-shirts on display yesterday. Shortly after I picked my jaw up off the ground following the so-called prayer, I saw two backs emblazoned with pictures of Barack Obama and Osama bin Laden, with only the rhyming portions of their names in writing, and the second letters of each highlighted in a different color. It said, "The difference between OBAMA and OSAMA is just a little B.S." Disingenuous, dishonest, disgusting!

Now, it's not that I disagreed politically with the things said at yesterday's event that has me up in arms. And it's not that I would have rather hugged some trees and attended a Muslim marriage of two lesbians. It's just that these political activists are so philosophically divergent from me that I struggle to understand their behavior on the most fundamental level. One woman who appeared to be in her 70s or older came up to the band during a song in our second set and emphatically cupped her ears and otherwise signalled that we were too loud for her liking. I signalled back, shooing her away, because she was right next to our sound system, the single aural vantage point at which we were loudest. When the song ended and her excessive-volume protests were still continuing, I immediately pointed the speaker and informed her, "That's a speaker. Of course it's loud here. Don't stand next to the speaker." She responded in the only sensible way one could: by taking my advice and retreating. Wow, what a novel concept!

The woman's retreat doesn't mean she eschewed victory, for what is victory? How can it be defined in any confrontation? How can victory be achieved in a war whose stated goals have shifted whenever the original mission was declared accomplished and the new goals were judged irrelevant or unattainable? I don't claim a personal victory over the woman with an unworthy noise complaint; in the end, I believed it was logic and reason that triumphed.

There will be a victory after all the votes are counted on or shortly after Election Day. It is my hope that the winner of this presidential election is the one who espouses superior logic and reason.

It's been an amazing week

It's been an amazing week for me personally and also for some of my favorite celebrities.

I'll give a day-by-day rundown, starting with the weekend.

On Friday afternoon, just as I touched down in Florida, I checked my e-mail to find a dubious news article from The Sun, a British tabloid, claiming that the members of Led Zeppelin were determined to tour in 2009 whether or not Robert Plant was to be included, even to the point of having someone fill in on tour who had been sitting in on vocals while the others rehearsed. I didn't know what to make of the report, but I posted it right away to my site, www.LedZeppelinNews.com, which was the right thing to do . The story was out there, and it was a big one that could not be ignored, even if it was patently untrue. I made sure to note that the story wasn't necessarily true at all.

With that decision behind me, I looked forward to the rest of my weekend. I was in Florida to spend the next few days in the Miami area with my girlfriend, Layla. It had been a month since I was down there to see her last, so we hugged while her gas tank was filling up with $75 worth of the stuff. I suggested we eat at a Thai place for dinner. We joked that it was our first actual date with each other. I guess it was, but it was a successful one since we took our time and were the last customers to leave.

On Saturday, for breakfast, we started off the day with a trip to a Jewish diner. She said to expect their bagels to be better than any I'd ever had before. If they were, I didn't even notice. What struck me the most and stuck with me all through the meal was the first thing delivered to my table: the orange juice. It was freshly squeezed, and you could tell from the taste. It was better than any stuff from a container. I guess Florida is known for its orange juice, and maybe I'd never had a Florida orange freshly squeezed. Great stuff!

Also, the hostess at the front recognized the name of my fraternity on my T-shirt. She said her boyfriend is a SigEp too, attending Florida State but away from campus this semester doing an internship.

In the afternoon, I had an appointment at the Florida DMV. I got my driver's license transferred to that state and registered to vote as a Florida resident, which will come in handy very soon. In the shade that evening, Layla and I watched the sun set on lawn chairs right at the edge of Biscayne Bay. Once the sky was almost completely dark, we noticed that a cloud above Miami was illuminated by the lights that are constantly on in the city.

That night, we went to Delray Beach. On our way to the boardwalk for a stroll holding each other's hands, we stopped by a cute little gallery on the main drag where some large framed photographs of classic rock artists were on display. James Fortune shots of Led Zeppelin were the highlight for me, as Layla knew in taking me out there. After our walk, we people-watched from our seats at a cheap Italian restaurant. The food was delicious and plentiful -- enough to feed us lunch on Sunday afternoon!

Layla had never seen "An Inconvenient Truth," so she had asked me to bring my DVD with me to Florida. We watched it Sunday morning. It's funny that even while listening to the movie's dire message, we were still able to make out as though it were a romantic flick.

We drove around for a while that afternoon and wound up at a sports bar where the Packers and Cowboys were on TV. I'm not particularly fond of either team, but I love it when Tony Romo embarrasses himself. The game had a few great moments in that department, and the despicable Terrell Owens (I'm an Eagles fan) was pretty much worthless throughout the game, but the Cowgirls still somehow managed to pull through.

Layla helped me slam a full rack of ribs, but what was really fun was our second bout of people-watching for the weekend. We even watched a racewar break out right in front of our table, at the front entrance! Three cop cars were dispatched to the scene, but they were too late to apprehend either of the fighting parties.

I forgot my phone charger down in the Miami area, and by the time I realized it, it was too late to turn around and get it. So when I got back home Monday, I spent some time looking to purchase a new charger. Thanks to my friend Eddie, we got one, and I also picked up a copy of Rolling Stone at the same time. David Letterman was on the cover, and I had heard he gave a rare interview in the issue, so that copy was mine. His guest on his show that night was Bill Clinton, and that got things rolling for a good week of headline-grabbing appearances. The best moment on Letterman's show came Wednesday night due to a non-appearance by presidential candidate John McCain. I missed Thursday's episode, with Paris Hilton as a guest, but the first 45 minutes of Wednesday's were so riveting that it would be hard to top.

On Tuesday night, my duty was to go and welcome 11 new SigEps at American University. I was happy to take part given the quality of the men who have been recruited there before. And on a bittersweet note, it may have been my last such moment like that over there, at least for a little while, since I'll be down in Florida.

Wednesday was dominated by Letterman's skewering of the absent McCain (joined by Keith Olbermann, who was a great pick), and Thursday night was once again dominated by Led Zeppelin. The Sun was breaking another story again, this time positing that Robert Plant wanted back in if the other guys were so determined to go out with or without him next year. So far, there's no official response to this either to confirm or debunk the story. Theories abound as to what that really means. All I know is I want to report the truth. For the time being, I'm reporting this rumor and, as before, cautiously noting that it is just that.

That brings us to today. I'm currently at a yacht club where I'm wearing a long-sleeved black button-down shirt and black pants with a tasteful necktie. I'm here with the band Trademark as part of the evening's entertainment. Unfortunately, I'm doing this in lieu of the once-jeopardized first presidential debate between McCain and Barack Obama. I am doing the gig tonight under slight protest, but I was glad to receive a good-luck call from Layla on the way here.

This weekend, my rental car and I are going up to Pennsylvania to visit my family, unbeknownst to my dad, whose birthday is next week, but known to my mom, who's helping me keep the visit a surprise for the soon-to-be-76-year-old. The last I talked to him was when I broke the news that I'm moving to Florida. I could tell over the phone the guy will miss me.
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless handheld

Moving to Florida

Early last month, I was on my annual summer trip to Massachusetts, with my future up in the air. I was considering relocating from D.C. to that area, where a longstanding job offer had been extended my way by some down-to-earth people who would make excellent bosses. I intended to have some conversations up there to explore that career, but those conversations never developed.

Simultaneously, I devised a crazy idea about being a traveling bandleader at conventions that had nothing to do with music but, statistically speaking, probably had some amateur musicians in their ranks who could form a band around me to entertain the convention's attendees. Not knowing how such an idea could get off the ground, I shelved it.

But something very fortuitous came to me while I was in Florida: I fell in love with a woman named Layla. Her name symbolizes a great song. In fact, it is for that song her hippie mom named her in 1973. And while I consider myself well-versed in classic rock, Layla actually knew the story behind that song in more depth than I could yammer on about. It was easy to fall in love with Layla, and she wasn't expecting it at all when I planted my first kiss on her lips one night in Massachusetts. The kiss certainly wasn't unwelcome by any means, and it was the following day when we explored our romance further.

It has been growing ever since those early days of August. She has become a big part of my life, and I hers. We now talk on the phone for long periods each day, usually starting and ending each day together as if we were in each other's arms, just as was true when we both were visiting Massachusetts and when I spent the following week at her house in Florida. My desire to be with Layla, and possibly to spend my life with her, helped me to decide where I will be moving once I leave D.C.

I have found it is surprisingly much cheaper to live in Layla's neck of the woods. She will be picking me up at the Fort Lauderdale airport tomorrow early in the evening, and we will be spending our first weekend together at a house her grandparents own in the Miami area. It will be a great opportunity for Layla and me to share some one-on-one time and for me to give the green light to my plan of relocating to be near her and sort of start over.

The plan is to find an apartment in or near Boca Raton with a fraternity brother of mine from college who wants to relocate down there from Pennsylvania and then making the move around my birthday, Nov. 12.

In the meantime, the expiration date on my D.C. driver's license has long been Nov. 12, 2008, and it doesn't make sense to shell out the money required to renew it only if I would be forfeiting it in a matter of days or weeks in favor of a Florida driver's license.

Also, I became cognizant of the Oct. 4 registration deadline for Florida voters to participate in the 2008 general election. Given my inclination to vote for one major party ticket over the other, and also given the contentious nature of Florida votes, I am going to obtain my Florida driver's license and voter registration this Saturday afternoon in Broward County, ensuring I can vote in the Florida election either in person on Nov. 4 or by absentee ballot, thereby lending my support to my candidate in a jurisdiction where the vote would be much more meaningful to him than in the overwhelmingly one-sided D.C.

And if life down in Florida doesn't work out for the long term, that's OK because I will have just spent the winter near the tropics and a short drive from the Atlantic Ocean! I don't see what could be wrong with that.

Note that my plan does not involve moving in with Layla straight away. This is for a number of reasons. I have learned from past experiences of hastily signing leases to share confined living quarters with the girl to whom I was engaged and, a few years before that, with my one and only college girlfriend -- although I kept that living arrangement over my senior year of college secret from much of my family at the time.

I have learned much about relationships over 10 years of dating, and I do not believe I am currently repeating any mistakes from my past, such as ignoring red flags. Sure, Layla is responsible for four children of her own and still has to deal with their two fathers. That's all the more reason for me to play it cool and not become heavily involved in their lives overnight. The kids are all at impressionable ages and must be approached cautiously. The three youngest still don't know Mommy has a boyfriend, and they won't know that until they first get to know me as a person. I have met only the oldest kid, who's somewhat of an emotionally withdrawn 16-year-old boy, but not the three youngest. It is a delicate situation, and imposing myself on them by suddenly showing up as a stranger moving in and sharing a bed with Mommy is certainly not an appropriately delicate response. So, when I get into town, Layla and I will drastically alter our long-distance relationship and then start "dating like normal people." She has a great head on her shoulders and, from what I can tell, is a reasonable mother. All of this was easily agreed on mutually, rationally and naturally.

So, I move to Florida. No, I don't have a career or even a local job lined up to begin as soon as I get there, but the part-time and freelance work I am doing now are things I could do from anywhere by telecommuting. I am scanning the job circuit in the region too, in case something absolutely perfect for me pops up as either a full-time career or additional freelance or part-time work. I do intend to make a living and have more income than expenses, which is something I have not been doing all summer long in D.C. The cheaper rent in Florida is sure to help me out in that regard.

So, there you have it: my long journey that took me to where I am today and is leading me to an exciting future that's sure to be different from everything I have known. I am moving first and foremost for myself. But I am also moving for Layla, for her four kids, and for our next president, Barack Obama. God bless America!

The career musician who wasn't

For six years, I have been living comfortably in the D.C. area -- first in Silver Spring, Md., and then on Capitol Hill. In my writing jobs, I had stability, which is what I had in mind back in the college days in Pennsylvania when I selected communication studies and journalism as my fields of study.

I've been adept at performing music my whole life, earning me several first-place plaques in piano and organ competitions before I could drive, and also landing me paying gigs at countless weddings, funerals and other religious services. I was still in high school when a family in my church community asked me to play their daughter's wedding; she was marrying the bass player from Radiohead. This milestone event brought the groom's brother, the group's keyboardist, up to the choir loft for his first-ever jam session on a pipe organ. He asked me to pull out the stops while he was playing so as to vary the sound.

For all my efforts, the biggest recognition I ever received for my music, aside from the weekly praise I would enjoy weekly from churchgoers who were impressed with my abilities, was a one-time write-up in my local Sunday newspaper back in Pennsylvania. It was an honor to be written up like that toward the end of my stint in high school, but it was not the pinnacle I was hoping for. I was a rock musician, but I was playing a church organ on weekends. It wasn't helping me earn real success, as defined by the rock musicians I admired. I was a fan of Eric Clapton and of Led Zeppelin. I valued the musical integrity of those musicians and their achievements in going on tours that pack stadiums and playing on records that sell. That's what I wanted.

Enter college. Majoring in music performance seemed to earn me little more than a piece of paper that essentially tells the reader little more than "this dude can play." I didn't see how a degree would earn me a record deal or a steady paying gig. Majoring in music education seemed beyond my grasp, so I didn't study music in college.

I did, however, keep on playing at that time. And maybe that's when I was the most creative of my whole life. I was able to contribute to the composition of an album's worth of original material with a band of some longtime friends who had picked up their instruments in their teen years. Heavily influenced by Pink Floyd and Radiohead, we dubbed ourselves The Interface and recorded a 40-minute self-titled debut that I believe would hold up to critical scrutiny if it were ever heard outside our immediate circle of friends. But what stunted our growth was the lack of urgency with which we transformed our recordings into CDs that could be used to promote us or purchased directly by fans. By the time our CD manufacturing occurred, the bandmates were splitting. An error on the CD, namely a gap between tracks that should have been seamless, made me furious. The band was a waste, I said, with a taste of sour grapes.

In school, I went for the degree that seemed to hold more promise of professional stability. I graduated cum laude and relocated, on a whim, and found work. I was busy, and I was no longer playing music. My then-roommate, a non-musician who had been my best friend since high school, recently told me it was killing him to see me going so long without doing anything musically at all. I eventually involved myself in a classic rock cover band, which it took three years for me to realize was a dead end. All the while, I was supporting myself on my comfortable existence in which a full-time writing job ranked first in my life.

This June 10, when I suddenly found myself without a job, all that talk of stability disappeared. With few ties holding me in the D.C. area, I realized this could be a unique opportunity for me to skip town and try something completely different that I have been longing to do. I spent a few months devising a plan, using a savings account I had earned over time to fund some trips to Nashville and elsewhere so I could find myself and discover my next move. I was rather determined Nashville was it. I wanted to pursue the career of a professional Nashville musician. I visited twice to watch and communicate with some of the musicians whom I would be emulating and, ultimately, against whom I would be competing for work. After doing so, I realized some of my shortcomings that I must work to alleviate. If I spend a year improving in the areas of owning and operating better musical equipment, memorizing and performing the words to songs, and marketing myself and my abilities, then perhaps I will be in a better position to succeed in the highly competitive Nashville scene in late 2009 or early 2010. Hence, I decided against immediately pursuing that dream in Nashville.

But I have to do something, and I cannot continue to linger aimlessly in D.C., while I deplete my savings account. Earlier this month, I began working some freelance writing jobs and a part-time administrative job. And all throughout this year, I have been playing some paying rock music gigs, mostly on the weekends. But my expenses are exceeding my income, and that savings account will soon go dry. The rent here is too much for me to afford, so I have to move somewhere more affordable, and the sooner I do, the more likely I'll be able to escape going into debt.

This is why Florida is coming into play. That, and my new love down there.

How did the hotel not kick us out?

These four video clips my friend Eric made are representative of the noise a wedding party was helping me make in the front lobby of a hotel this Saturday night for several hours. How we did not get kicked out or told to hush is beyond me.

Nonetheless, here's me taking requests -- quite literally. You know when someone says "Free Bird!" It's not a serious request. But I just thought it would be good to confound the people when I actually started playing the thing -- in nearly its entirety.

As you can see, I went straight from "Free Bird" into another request, which was Bon Jovi's "Livin' on a Prayer." And yeah, that's my version of the chorus: "It doesn't make a difference if it's boogies or snot."

Somewhere along the line, somebody requested "Light My Fire" by the Doors. This picks up toward the end of the song. I was having a conversation with someone while I was performing separate-style solos to replicate the sounds of Robbie Krieger (guitar) and Ray Manzarek (organ).

I really thought the hotel was going to put the lockdown on us and have us go on our way -- with or without force. So I played "Bohemian Rhapsody" thinking it might be the last song before that happened. It's here in two clips:

Part 1:

Part 2:

The hotel, surprisingly, never did show us the door. We kept on rocking out for hours. I'm not sure exactly when it all ended. As you can see, I was having several drinks throughout it all. Don't you worry: My body reminded me of my substantial intake the next day.

Sarah Palin = Tina Fey + Principal Victoria

It's uncanny.

Tina Fey will have to work on her Principal Victoria imitation and drop by the SNL set for a few guest star appearances in opening sketches and vice presidential debate parodies.

My compliments to Elton John

Sometimes I rag on Elton John because I am sick of his status as one of the two most popular piano players of our time, with Billy Joel. Nobody else is comparable, and it frustrates me that strangers want to lump me in as a devout worshipper of not just either but both.

But today, I'm gonna give Elton an adulation: Side Four of Goodbye Yellow Brick Road is one of the strongest album sides of all time.

• "Your Sister Can't Twist (But She Can Rock 'n' Roll)": Funny stuff.
• "Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting": The musical focus on this major radio hit is not the piano but a monstrous distorted guitar riff that has survived many rough 'n' tumble Saturdays.
• "Roy Rogers": I thought I was listening to a Nashville chart-topper for a few minutes.
• "Social Disease": Bernie Taupin's comical lyrics glide off of Elton's tongue in this perfect example of how the musical arrangement of a song should vary from verse to verse. It also makes me want to sit down at a piano and write such inventive chord progressions.
• "Harmony": This stunning album closer makes you think the Beatles reunited for a moment.

Big props, Elton. Nice album. Side One is just about as compelling.

Any requests?

My two regular bands, the Usual Suspects and Trademark, are expanding our playlists. And I'm in the planning stages of two other musical acts simultaneously, so of course we're looking for suggestions.

Trademark wants to do more crowd pleasers from rock of the '80s and '90s.

The Usual Suspects is up for anything in the rock world that is crowd-pleasing, and particularly danceable.

My new project with this guy Henry is so far focusing mostly on classic rock, including some things we've never heard bands play.

My new project with Karlin is open to anything and everything -- obviously, we want people to enjoy it and shake their asses.

Requests, please?

Why Abe Lincoln was staring me in the face

Lately, I've had some great musical experiences onstage. I'm proud to announce that I haven't played a bum gig in August. However, as I'm sure to complain, the availability of gigs and my satisfaction with them never guarantee I'm going to make money doing this. But, just as Weezer intoned in "Buddy Holly," I don't care about that.

On a great note, I started out the month up in Massachusetts, where the Building Science Boogie Band really took Summer Camp by storm, performing lengthy sets of some really complicated music. The five core members hail from Colorado, Washington, Wisconsin, Maryland and the District of Columbia, but we don't let the distance separate us musically when we play together once a year. And we don't hold back when it comes to musicianship or challenging ourselves to proceed to the next level. We have some audio recordings I hope to be sharing soon as I'm sure they will attest to the quality of the music and the enjoyment of our captive audience as we performed.

When I came back from Massachusetts, I was immediately back in the groove performing with Trademark one night and a newly revamped lineup of the Usual Suspects the following afternoon. The Trademark show at McGinty's Public, an upstairs bar tucked away in Silver Spring, was the group's best with me around. Two of the guys in the Usual Suspects came to check out the gig and smooth-talked the manager into getting their group, also with me, a date on the calendar. Then we were playing together at an autism research benefit in a few hours, this being my first meeting with our new drummer. It was his second gig with the band, however, as they had played a show with somebody filling in on keyboards for me while I was up in Massachusetts. I was impressed with the new drummer, and we entertained a bunch of bikers who were helping the cause. It was great to see all those tattooed people dancing while we rocked out tunes by Tom Petty, Cracker and Stevie Wonder.

From there, I hurried out so I could hop a flight to Florida for a week that included some heavy romance and a successful job interview. It seemed like a five-day glimpse into a crystal ball. Much more on all of that later. I'm just writing about music for now ...

Oh, I guess I could mention I wished I could have sat in with some musicians I was enjoying in Florida. All on that Thursday night, I saw four bands playing down there in four different locations, and the last group was having members of one of the groups I'd seen earlier sit in. No keyboard was available on their stage, or else I would have asked to sit in. I would have fit in perfectly with the arrangements of some rather obscure tunes I recognized.

Also in Florida, I caught up with a friend in the Led Zeppelin fan community online I have known for several years (and whom I also booked one time to write an article on plants at the professional dayjob I held between 2002 and 2007). It was this friend who suggested the places I could go to catch some good live music while I was around, and his advice proved fruitful. He also told me about this little-known recording studio I found some time to visit; one of the guys there is Keith Rose, who was an assistant engineer on the album Jimmy Page and David Coverdale made together.

When I left Florida, I hustled back home because I had a gig in some town in Maryland called Eldersburg. It's one town whose name I had never heard before, but one thing I now know about that place is it is definitely in Ravens territory. Baltimore's football team was losing a preseason game to the Minnesota Vikings on the big screen, although a bunch of men and women in Todd Heap jerseys forgot those troubles when area wonderboy Michael Phelps racked up his eighth medal.

The DangerTones helped keep the celebration alive when our second set started as we picked up mid-song on "Love Shack" by the B-52s, which was playing on the house sound system while we were resuming the stage. The bass player, assumedly because he considers himself a truly serious musician (my perception anyway), did not participate in the impromptu jam. I, however, was the cause of it all. The drummer, guitarist and singer all helped keep it going.

When we were finally done with "Love Shack," the bassist returned to his spot, where all night long he would cue me in on precise song arrangements, accents, dynamics, endings and the like. That's what I love about live music: when the performers are able to follow each other. Whether I'm participating or sitting in the audience, knowing this is happening among musicians is what gives me the greatest enjoyment.

This certainly happened with the DangerTones, a group whose singer was the only one who knew me. I'd never seen or heard the group before, but I was familiar with everything on their set list and confident I could pull off this gig filling in for their unavailable keyboardist. I provided backup vocals whenever needed -- and maybe once or twice when it wasn't needed but helped anyway.

But now here's the one problem with that gig, which paid me $100. I had to rent a car to get myself there and back, which made me mindful of how much transportation was costing me. For the use of my neighborhood Zipcar for 7.5 hours at $9.50 an hour, I paid about $75. I also spent $20 at the bar, which brings my net gross for an evening's work to a whopping $5.

And that is why Abe Lincoln was glaring at me on the long trip back home to D.C. that night. He was on the five-dollar bill I earned, mocking me and taunting me as I guided the white Scion xA south on the Baltimore-Washington Parkway.

Honest Abe says I'll never make it in performing live music. Well, screw him. To hell with what he thinks.

Let Teddy win!

It is without remorse

It is without remorse that I placed this bet
It is without hesitation that I boarded this jet
It is without second guess that I headed your way
It is without question that we'll share this day

I've longed to be near you, to be by your side
In our moments together, no fears we hide
We'll calm each other as waves abound
We'll marvel at length at the peace we've found

It is without remorse that I've come to this place
With the same excitement as when I first saw your face
It is without alarm that I call you my own
With your hand clutching mine, we've no reason to moan

Just trust in me, Dessie, and we'll never fail
We'll weather each storm, be it rain, sand or gale
But battle these odds, we will in due course
And conquer we will: It is without remorse

Update: Music and video added to this text as of Oct. 25

A modern-day Harold Hill, but with legitimate credentials

This year's Summer Camp was so beneficial for me. Not only were the anticipated amounts of delectable food and amazing fun exceeded, but this week away was also accompanied by plenty of opportunities for self-reflection.

One conclusion I have reached is that my original plan of packing everything up for a one-way trip to Nashville to stay and afford a living with the expectation of landing spectacular gigs was probably not quite on track. It takes more than just the one skill of playing mean keyboard solos to accomplish what I was thinking, and only after I develop the full package can I pursue it. That's not happening in October 2008. I'd rather take that chance at a later date, if following that dream is even applicable or necessary to me in the future. The new line of work I'm now planning may help me to hone those skills while I'm instilling them in others.

At Summer Camp, I inadvertently developed a template for a conference bandleader. In advance, the first task was to identify the members of the ragtag band we were forming. Playing at the conference one year inspires new performers to wipe the 30 years of dust off the guitars they've kept stored in their garages and cellars.

Next, those musicians and I participated in nominating an arsenal of songs for the musicians to rehearse individually. I offered some of my own suggestions but did not hijack the list to bear an undue amount of my personal influence. It was primarily the product of group consensus.

On site, I coordinated rehearsals (including a full day of rehearsal before other attendees arrived in town), picking and arranging set lists, splitting up parts, and directing the musicians on the fly. There's no doubt I made myself the bandleader while we were there. First of all, somebody had to. Absent of the expert intuitive skills musicians develop only through the live music experience, the band had to have a crash course in improvising onstage in a cohesive unit. Essentially, the lesson can be boiled down to say only that a good band member is always cognizant of cues that spell out the progression of the song.

I'm satisfied and impressed with the performance of this band not only in tackling an array of typical bar-band cover material but also two pieces of unlikely choices: the two rock albums I recreate in their entirety when I'm playing by myself. These two pieces, Pink Floyd's The Dark Side of the Moon and the Beatles' Abbey Road, are complicated overtures for any skill level. Their inclusion was not something I dictated to the group. On the contrary, the band members who'd witnessed me playing those two 45-minute sets in their entirety by myself were the ones to challenge themselves and strive for perfection.

This year, I even questioned the band members as to whether Abbey Road could really be performed from start to finish or if they wanted only to play the medley on the album's flip side. Their inclination was to stick to their guns and play everything. It turned out to be a wise decision. Those guys really put in a lot of work. They were just that determined to put on a great show for an audience of their peers, and it really showed in their performance. And I was there to direct and inspire.



Taking full advantage of the testimonies and recorded footage that exist of our performances this year, I will begin proposing the Summer Camp band template to the organizers of other conferences, based on the statistical assumption that every large crowd must have enough willing and able musicians to form a pickup band for the purposes of entertaining their peers.

The meeting planners would ping their members for the closet musicians. They would contact me directly, and I would assess their skill level, their strengths and weaknesses, and their current and desired music catalog. Remaining in contact with those musicians and continuing to monitor success in individual rehearsals throughout the advance time is crucial to the project's success.

As a band member myself, I would fill in whatever gaps exist on bass, drums or my longtime specialty, keyboard. (Finding guitarists and singers is never much of an expedition.) Finally, I would conduct rehearsals and direct performances just like I did at Summer Camp this week. In return, I would be paid a talent fee and reimbursed for my expenses. The number of conferences I can book determines the viability of this template to make a sufficient living for me.

Between conferences, I would of course promote my services using the Internet, including with YouTube clips as well as through feedback from participants and, yes, fans. In addition, I would have stretches of time for other projects such as side gigs either at home or on the road, professional freelance writing and proofreading, composing books, online newsletters, etc. -- all the other things I am confident and comfortable doing.

This is my new plan, and I like it.