Sing

Coinciding with Sony's latest over-hyped PS4 press release, I had planned to come in today and spend a few minutes ranting about the lousy state of the video game world, and how desperately it needs me to help fix some major problems that continue to be "unsolvable", after decades of promoting the same myopic vision, continually falling short of anything discernibly meaningful. Instead, I'm just going to leave it to that one long sentence for now…I need to process and connect with some real-life gratitude. I need to talk about singing. More specifically, Karaoke.

I've always loved to sing. My "big break" came in 3rd grade when I was singled out by my chorus teacher and asked if I would take the lead vocalist role in our school's upcoming Christmas play, "The Candy Cane Kid" (see above photo, with my brother Bryan). I did it, and despite my natural shyness (Meyers- Briggs pegs me as an Introvert, with Extroverted tendencies) my young soul was honored and moved by the experience. In fact, from that point on, I had a legit desire to keep singing close to my heart, as means to both creatively express and, perhaps more importantly, a way to decompress.

Grade school chorus gave way to high school rock bands, then college punk bands, experimental studio projects, and finally, the apex of my path to musical sophistication: Karaoke. Yep, this is were my throat chakra expansions landed, self-respect be damned. Like writing or dancing, I certainly don't kid myself that I have raw talent as a singer, but boy do I have fun, and having easy access to a little fun in life is kind of a big deal.

Ten years ago I would have called myself a full-on Karaoke junkie, and for good reason. Less than two miles from my home there were several great venues to choose from, and a show every night if I would travel a just bit farther. On weekends I would literally spend the whole day signing at the local flea market, and then later in the evening meet up with the same crew of amazing talent that I got to know like family. A few of them were better than just good singers, they were great. Watching a very young James Durbin belt out classic metal songs like a seasoned pro was a sight/sound to behold, even back then. Lisa Leuschner (who would later sing at Karen's and my wedding) became another American Idol alumni, and to this day is probably the most underrated performer in that show's history. But even the less-inclined vocalists, and those who only showed up to watch and offer support, all came to know each other in this clean, fun and safe space where everyone was loved as an equal. We were all there for a common purpose after all, to leave our troubles behind for a moment, and to celebrate life with our little three minute offerings of a heart's best musical rendition. This was a meaningful time in my personal history, as never before or since have I been around a social group whose complete lack of judgement supported such a wide continuum of skill and talent, the opportunity to be safely vulnerable, and in that moment, to be completely real. I could compare it to dancing, which I also love dearly, but there is something strangely healing about being on stage as the center of everyone's attention, just long enough to feel the fire, but short enough not to care. Those were good times.

Inevitably though, times change, people move on, get married, get divorced etc. The flea market closed down, and even though I worked hard with a small group of local activists to get it reopened, karaoke did not return. And when my favorite evening venue shuttered it's doors (the best gay-friendly restaurant/bar this town has ever seen), it really felt like the end of an era. I don't go out singing anymore, or very rarely at best. And today, only one of my original karaoke pals remains in my very small but mighty inner circle. But it's because of him, all these years later, I am still getting a regular dose of karaoke's goofy magic. Today I am expressing some gratitude to Spirit for keeping Max-A-Million in my life for more than a decade now.

By the way, that's not his real name. But as all veterans of the karaoke scene know quite well, every "serious" practitioner must adopt a stage name to achieve the full faux-star effect. Mine was actually given to me, not chosen. Before you ask, the origins of "Mikey High-Note" shall never be disclosed, save for your required physical attendance to be arranged at a karaoke bar nearest you, where I will happily demonstrate the how/what/why this name came to see the light of day.

Max-A-Million has been my most trusted long-term friend since I moved to Santa Cruz. He's a zen master, cultural philosopher, brilliant cook, and damn good singer. Back in the day, he and I would send shock waves through the karaoke community with our ground-breaking duets, singing many songs people didn't realize could be performed as a duet, redefining the possibilities while having the time of our lives. Max is actually an extremely talented performer, and made his living singing the Rat-Pack standards in restaurants, cruise ships and casinos for many years, until he finally decided that singing is more fun when you do it just for fun. About three years ago, he set up a permanent karaoke bar in his living room. While this is not even a remote possibility for most of us, Max, a lover of all things karaoke, is not married and has no kids, so…why not?

It just so happens that the only break I get all week, a two hour "layover" between work and gamelan practice, lands me downtown, right on Max's doorstep. We have been singing, almost every week now for a good long time. I dig 80's new wave and punk tunes, he loves Sinatra and vintage country. Occasionally, it even turns into a little party where other singers show up to do the same. We dim the lights, fire up the disco ball and never have to wait very long before we get our own turn. It's not nearly the same thing as being in a public place, but it doesn't matter. Like giving it all you got in the car, or the shower, are wherever you are most yourself, what's important about singing is becoming the voice for a story you already know and love. It helps us take care of ourselves, and each other.

Yesterday I needed to sing a few specific songs. Some happy, some sad. Max has about 100k to choose from, so I figure whatever mood I'm in, I'll always get to the place I need to be. God bless him, and God bless karaoke.

Shake your Booty

I finally shook that incredible (and incredibly sad) song by Ray Lamontange this weekend, but it took two Disco Parties to pry the thing out of my head. In it's place came an amazing instrumental piece from 2005 that landed on the first "mix tape" I ever gave my wife, STS9's "Tokyo". In a span of less than 6 months now, I've personally met and thanked two of the artists on that tape, one of whom was in line behind me while I ordered coffee at Burning Man, and then this weekend at a local skating rink Disco/Birthday party attended by the entirety of STS9, and their children.

While I love it when life reveals sweet tidbits of synchronicity that might somehow support "being on the right path", this weekend was bittersweet as we also said bon voyage to some good friends who have dared to take a road less traveled. Years ago I helped them move in to the house they cleared out Saturday night for one last hurrah, a Disco Party for all to dance and celebrate as they move on to the next big adventure. As I write this, they are boarding a plane to New Zealand where they will live in an RV for at least a year, traveling, living and being together as a family of five.  They are an inspiration, and I have nothing but Love and Respect for them both. I'll miss you guys.

As we shook some booty with good friends, and raised our glasses to courageous adventures, I was once again reminded of how short this trip is. It is a universal truth, I think, that remaining curious keeps us in a state of personal growth. While some might say that taking life-changing risks is irresponsible, the places that fill our hearts with wonder are endless, should we just make the effort to find them.

And still, it's one thing to simply acknowledge, and another thing entirely to actually live it. Hats off to those, like my friends Mahabisa and Zack, who walk the talk. May we all be so wise.

The Saddest Song

There is an archetypal beauty I find when connecting with another person's poetic expression of heartbreak. And when wrapped in the building tension and release of a soul-driven musical composition, sad stories become miniaturized, but no-less-than-epic visceral experiences. A well crafted Sad Song draws me in, and for a moment, I can live the intended expressions as if they are running through my own blood. I accept these brief but powerful openings of the heart as gifts.

Perhaps it's therapeutic to anonymously share the grief of an artist, and safely experience their brokenness in the convenience of my own precious time. And in this space, what is shared flows in and through all the ridiculous social boundaries that separate us, leading straight to the core of our collective good, our Empathy.  Loss of a friend. Loss of a Loved one. The ache of Knowing. The despair of not. Sad Songs can honor those things that we cannot bear to speak of, delivering Light to a situation, when that may seem to be an impossibility.

Although I've never been a depressed person (quite the opposite, in fact), Real Life demands a full range of emotions, else we fade into something tragically inauthentic. And while we set our life goals to somehow circumvent heartbreak, it is in these moments that we are asked to become something better than we have been, allowing the heart to feel exactly what it needs to. The heart, after all, has memory cells much like the brain does, and it never forgets, even when forced to temporarily do so. I respond music that reflects the complexity of this experience, the story of being Alive.

But I wonder, can there be such a thing as the "saddest song"? In the same way that we may experience the greatest sorrow of a lifetime, perhaps one could indeed identify a song that sums it all up. Some singer-songwriters get right to the core of the experience, Elizabeth Frasier, Beck, Rob Dickinson, Beth Gibbons, Ken Andrews....all of whom have taken me on their journey with a powerful familiarity.

Right now, the song that hits me the hardest is this one.

"Empty" by Ray Lamontagne

She lifts her skirt up to her knees
Walks through the garden rows with her bare feet, laughing
And I never learned to count my blessings
I choose instead to dwell in my disasters

Walk on down the hill
Through grass grown tall and brown
And still it's hard somehow to let go of my pain
On past the busted back
of that old and rusted Cadillac
That sinks into this field collecting rain

Will I always feel this way ‒
So empty, so estranged?

And of these cut-throat busted sunsets,
these cold and damp white mornings
I have grown weary
If through my cracked and dusted dime-store lips
I spoke these words out loud would no one hear me?
Lay your blouse across the chair,
Let fall the flowers from your hair
And kiss me with that country mouth so plain.
Outside the rain is tapping on the leaves
To me it sounds like they're applauding us,
The quiet love we've made.

Will I always feel this way
So empty, so estranged?

Well, I looked my demons in the eyes
laid bare my chest, said "Do your best, destroy me.
You see, I've been to hell and back so many times,
I must admit you kind of bore me."
There's a lot of things that can kill a man
There's a lot of ways to die
Yes, and some already dead that walk beside me
There's a lot of things I don't understand
Why so many people lie
Well, it's the hurt I hide that fuels the fires inside me

Will I always feel this way
So empty, so estranged

Balinese Gamelan, the "Interlock Flow" and resolving the dualistic mind: Pt 1

I am a musician in the Balinese gamelan orchestra, Anak Swarasanti. Though I am nowhere near qualified, I'm extremely fortunate to play alongside one of the best musicians/dancers in the genre, my dear friend Gede Oka Artha Negara. I love the music, and the clarity of mind that comes from performing it.

I can trace my fascination with Balinese culture back to the time I was first allowed to solo-explore a particularly arty book/retail shop, here in my hometown of Santa Cruz. This was waaay back in the 70's, so I'd guess I was about 7 or 8 years old at the time, already relentlessly inquisitive about things no grown-up would dare explain. Bookshops tended to be one of the few places my parents would let me run around unsupervised, as I'm sure they were thinking I couldn't get in too much trouble in such a benign environment….*cough cough*, fully illustrated "Joy of Sex", anyone?

Anyway, wandering around one of the biggest "hippie" bookstores in the country at that time, I eventually discovered, and was mesmerized by, a poster rack full of absolutely dazzling art prints. Given the somewhat psychedelic nature of the business, these images were of course bursting with an energy highly uncommon (and perhaps a bit over the top) to the average western eye. But it was in this collection, which I thoughtfully turned like pages from giant magical tome of enchantments, that I saw my first Alex Grey artwork, my first Buddhist thangkas, and had my first photographic exposure to the incredible artistic works of the Balinese people. I was moved. It was a moment of self-realized art appreciation, a discovery of what was possible for human beings to accomplish, and perhaps my first acknowledgment of what we really are capable of creating when engaged in The Flow.

I paraphrase the wiki entry on Flow as this: Complete absorption in what one does, characterized by feelings of energized focus, full involvement, and enjoyment in the process.

Beautiful.

In the Balinese language, there is no word for Art. Art is simply life, existence, something like the moment to moment experience of simply Being Alive. That said, to visit Bali is one of the most saturating art immersion experiences one could possibly have on this planet. Every citizen is an artist, a sculptor, a painter, a musician, a dancer…and so on. And as a result, art just pours from these beautiful people, as if every exhale produced some priceless treasure of the heart. It is everywhere you look and listen, both magnificent in scale and ubiquitous in presence. Bali Flows with Creation.

While it took 30 years from that point in the book store to physically get to the island, and another 10 to learn how to play traditional Angklung Gamelan, it's taken ALL of this time to reveal why Balinese culture resonates so profoundly within me. It's not just the deep embrace of the Flow. Or, the phenomenal Art that results. There is more. Much more.

I can say it in a word, but ultimately I'll need lifetime's worth of clarification (blogging, yay!) to explain: Interlock. My simplified  version of the meaning of Interlock goes like this: To connect together, so that the individual parts affect each other in motion or operation, creating something beyond the sum of the components.

Beautiful Magic.

Balinese gamelan instruments come in pairs. They are played individually by two different people, but in essence, they are "married" to each other from the very beginning when the metal keys are forged. They appear to be identical, and have the same notes for each key, but one (male) is tuned slightly sharp, and the other (female) is tuned slightly flat. When played correctly, the male and female note struck at the same time create an oscillating waveform, a third "transcendent" presence in the music. At the same time, equal parts of the composition are divided into Polos (up beats) and Sangsi (down beats), again, creating the perceivable effect of a third presence. Imagine your favorite solo piano work broken into two interlocking compositions, meant to be played by two people simultaneously to create the experience of the entire piece, but somehow it sounds distinctly different from the original. It is the Interlock, the intention of connection in deep purpose of creating something beyond its parts, that creates the Magic.


I like to think of the metal keys as the soul of the gamelan instrument. The carved wood/bamboo case that holds the keys, regardless of how ornate or sacred it may be, will deteriorate over time. But the keys will remain. An individual key will keep its tone forever, and alone it may be useful in some way, but never complete in its intended purpose. Paired with its mate, which for various reasons can not be recreated if lost of destroyed, both keys will always contain their individual tones, as well as the third oscillating waveform. And if kept together with all the other married pairs in the group, infinite beauty will patiently reveal itself in layers, throughout the Flow of Time.


Note: I was talking to my friend and fellow co-parent Jeffery Lerner from STS9 about this topic the other day, and learned how he composes his own music from this perspective. Not that I know much at all about music theory, but I suspect this may be the reason why STS9 is one of my favorite bands, and never fails to get me dancing. More of that later, in Pt 2. For now, enjoy some beautiful gamelan!