Music is so much fun, it's ridiculous

I have a few things I want to write about, like the gig I played Thursday night, the ongoing search for a drummer for my newest band project, and the awful music I saw bands playing live last night. But my most recent thoughts about music are eclipsing my desire to chronicle those events in full detail.

In full disclosure, I'm also a little sidetracked by a Jeff Buckley DVD right now. I illegally downloaded his EP Grace off the Internet about eight years ago and never bothered to purchase a legitimate copy of the CD I ranked among my all-time favorites, until this week. Since Thursday morning, Buckley is all I have been listening to at work. I'm definitely in a Buckley obsession mode at this precise moment. And this DVD, my first time watching it, isn't helping me kick the habit at home today (a Saturday). This is the bonus DVD that comes in the Legacy Edition of Grace, issued in 2004, 10 years after the original EP.

Buckley is one of those guys who makes music look so effortless. In the footage of him recording his vocal or guitar parts, or performing onstage, there isn't very much he's doing. Yet he's playing very complex chords on his guitar and producing some of the most imaginative music I have ever heard in my life.

Joe Bonamassa is another one of those performers, in my opinion, who can do so much skilled work without making it look like he's doing a lot. Karlin and I were sitting around watching some music programming on Comcast On-Demand -- Radiohead's "Paranoid Android" video, Karlin's first time seeing it; plus live performances of "The Ocean" and "Immigrant Song" by Led Zeppelin from 1973 and 1972, respectively -- and I said we should watch the Bonamassa piece. There wasn't much music in it. He was just talking about his album, Sloe Gin. It wasn't mentioned that Jason Bonham plays drums on it. But the only music in it is when Bonamassa started playing some slide guitar riffs just to illustrate a point he was making. And man, he played some vigorous riffs in a few different players' styles, and looked absolutely relaxed when doing so.

Relaxed. At home. Natural. Comfortable. That's what I want to be with music.

"Home, home again. I like to be here when I can. When I come home cold and tired, it's good to warm my bones beside the fire." (Those, my friends, are the words of Pink Floyd, from an album that has sold Iike a gazillion copies.)

I do feel at home when I'm playing music. Last night, I walked up to a large upright piano in the front upstairs room at the Rock and Roll Hotel and proceeded to own it for about an hour. I was playing along with the DJ's disco music permeating the entire second floor. There weren't any songs I know, but they were chords I know, which is why I'm able to play along. It's no different from the girls dancing to it. They don't have to learn the song before they can dance to it. They just hear the rhythm and let their bodies sway. They know how to do that. I don't. I do know how to play it though, so that was my form of expression. And I did so absolutely freely and relaxed. The only thing the music was intruding on was my Pabst Blue Ribbon consumption, but I can obviously play a few bars one-handed while I pour a can into my mouth.

Downstairs at the Rock and Roll Hotel were a few bands. The Points was one, Adam West was another, and there had to be at least one other but I didn't catch any names other than those (see clarification in my comment). It wasn't the bands that were horrible, just their music. Their music was simple. Too simple. Music can be simple and enjoyable, like that disco stuff blaring upstairs. But this stuff the bands were playing was deafeningly amplified riffs made up of -- I'm not kidding -- two notes in one song, four notes in another. Laughably simple. So simple I could never enjoy it. Obviously, it's some folks' cup of tea, like the person who was seated with the band merchandise. That guy was singing along to every song one of those bands played. So evidently the music is good enough to that guy that he has bothered memorizing the lyrics, which often requires repeated listenings. You're entitled to your opinion, and if you like that music, good for you. But I see absolutely nothing in that music, apart from maybe the drums, that is worth my time -- or the $20 cover I paid for Karlin and me to go in and hear it (The rest of the establishment is free admission).

Good music, to me, is something entirely apart from anything those bands had to offer. I have been fortunate to meet many musicians who are capable of making good music, and I'm also fortunate to have made numerous friends out of people who recognize many of the same traits I believe make music good. And I'm making more of these friends all the time, especially since drummers have been contacting me based on an ad I placed on Craigslist seeking a drummer to complete a classic rock fivepiece. Of the nine folks now in the running for the gig, I have connected with nearly every one in a few sparse communications by phone or e-mail. Good signs, I believe, that we're networking even if they aren't all going to be drummers in this precise outing. There's some kinship among likeminded folks.

"Somebody asked me what I wanted to do, and I just said I wanted to, just to give back to it [music] what it's given me, and to meet all the other people that are doing it, and just to be in the world really."

—Jeff Buckley's closing words in The Making of Grace documentary, included on the DVD

When I owned that piano for an hour last night, I had been playing along with the disco music for only a few minutes when I suddenly looked around me and became aware that about six people were watching me, just to see what musical idea I would come up with next or to check out how percussively I was playing (ever see a guy play piano like Pete Townshend's windmill guitar?). Or maybe they thought I was just making music look effortless. Maybe they got from it what I get from Bonamassa and Buckley. After all, these folks weren't downstairs with the Points and Adam West, were they?

And the one thing I haven't mentioned is how Thursday's solo gig at Okra's Louisiana Bistro went. Well, there was a poster on the door of the men's restroom with my name on it, promoting the date and time of the performance. So already I felt appreciated. The manager, who booked me only because he'd seen me play with Alowishious Farhatt, said I could do whatever I wanted. Whatever songs. I could sing or not sing. I could play originals or covers or make up stuff. I could entertain everybody, or just myself, or even nobody. Well, he didn't say all of that. But he did give me musical freedom. And as a result, I felt like I was at home. About a dozen people were there to see it. I liked the gig. The next one is in a couple of Thursdays, on Jan. 17. The admission price, like the music, is free.