Table of Contents, No Appendix: Part Four

The Port Authority Bus Terminal, take one-thousand.

A 4PM arrival time, enough time to eat before hustling my way over to the Bowery Ballroom to see the Dirty Projectors.
I took the advice of a Rock School employee and ate at Piece of Chicken. Shocking? The vegetarian boy dining at such a place? It's okay, I just had split pea soup and a bowl of rice. Not only that, but my meal was only two dollars. After devouring it, I asked 4 different people how to get to the Bowery. It was simple as usual. I still give credit to the Manhattan Transit Authority. It's impossible to get lost, unless you're really not paying attention.

The Projectors put on a great show, and I enjoyed the opener Julianna Barwick. It was impressive to see what one person could do with a sampler and one microphone. I still can't get into White Williams, but perhaps it's because I can't hear the originality. It just sounds like a poorly executed Joy Division. Much respect to Sidetrack, who completely caught everyone off guard.
My sleeping arrangements this evening were provided by the amazing Robbie "Seahag" Mangano. The Mangano Estate is located in Brooklyn. Thanks to Robbie and Laura.

In the morning, I worked on updating eBay Record Inventory for about 2 hours. I went back into Midtown and hung out at the music school some more. Talking to the students is fascinating. Those NYC kids are hilarious, and brutally honest.
Dave Dreiwitz called me from Union Square. I was going to sleep at his place in Fort Lee, NJ, but first we were going to go to the annual Relix Christmas Party.

I was a drunken mess for this one, ladies and gentleman. I was taking cell phone pictures left and right.
Here's a secret picture I took of Danny Tamborelli (y'know, Pete and Pete?):

And here's a picture with me and the up and coming film director Bernardo Loyola:

Thanks to the lovely Monica Hampton for that one!

I was a little hungover the next morning. Oh well. We began the epic journey to Burlington, Vermont at noon. Crescent Moon was doing two shows with the Mathematicians (of Glens Falls, NY). Our first show was at Nectar's - one of my all time favorite venues. I have a sacred kinship with Nectar's. I played one of my all time best shows there, on January 13, 2007. It was one of those special Project/Object gigs. Before the show, we practiced "Echidna's Arf (Of You)" at half speed. We were also goofing on "You Can Call Me Al" by Paul Simon for the entirety of that tour and we whupped it out spontaneously for that gig.

Anyway, the Nectar's Crescent Moon/Mathematicians show was great. Mike Gordon of Phish was there, and he gave a nice and succinct greeting.

I woke up the next morning at the world famous Windjammer Hotel and as I was eating an unbuttered and untoasted English Muffin, Slick Rick walked into the breakfast area. Yes, at 10AM, even with the eye patch. He played at Higher Ground while we were playing, and he was staying at our hotel. I was slackjawed. I wanted to say something to him, so bad the urge was almost uncontrollable, but I maintained my composure. You see, people have been calling me Slick Rick for as long as I can remember. A photo of the two of us would've aligned the planets and world peace would've been inevitable.

Sadly, no photo was taken. Maybe we will meet again, in an alternate universe.

After our hotel breakfast, Dave took me to an icy river. He informed me that because the fish couldn't breed upstream during this time of year, they had to invent a fish elevator and deliver the fish by the truckload. He told me he used to go to this spot before gigs to relax. Here's a picture:

We left for Albany, NY sometime in the afternoon and showed up at Red Square two hours before we were supposed to be there. We decided to sit in the car for awhile and listen to an insane Elvin Jones record. We ate at some weird sports bar, and by the time we got back to the club we were able to load in. The opening band was Sugarproof and Mathematicians were going on after us.

Katy and her best friend Sarah showed up, so we chatted for some time. I felt bad, I kept interrupting. I was running around like a maniac. Sooner or later, Crescent Moon came on and we played a good gig...but my stomach was feeling strange. I shrugged it off.

I helped pack up the gear. Much thanks to the drummer of Sugarproof for letting me bash on the nice drumset! I stood in the crowd and watched the Mathematicians, but I couldn't ignore the terrible pain in my right side. I couldn't move. This was the worst pain I've ever felt in my life. I went into the bathroom and I looked in the mirror. My stomach was bloated and pulsating. After an hour of trying to decide whether it was a kidney stone or gastritis, Dave rushed me to the ER.

Table of Contents, No Appendix: Part Three

I slept for quite some time after I arrived at the Budget Inn. I woke up in the late morning. The aforementioned yellow-brown room was only more haunting in the daylight, and I had to convince myself regularly that I wasn't caught in some bizarre 70's sitcom like "Maude". Of course, all of this didn't matter in the end. I was just happy to have some time with my girlfriend. She's wonderful.
We decided that our original European breakfast concept of jam and bagels wasn't good, due to the absurdly chewy nature of the bagels. A second trip to the Price Chopper was needed.

We drove into the bustling little town, which begs the question: What is there to do in Saratoga Springs, NY? Not too much, but that doesn't take away from it's charm. It reminded me of what Philadelphia felt like when I was a kid, or perhaps what Vermont is like now. The mom and pop stores stand tall with history and integrity, so much so that the shiny fast food chains get tucked away in between used bookstores and clothing shops. It was cold there, but not cold enough to feel discomfort. It was that perfect brisk cold that added to the starkness of a place mainly known for it's horse racing and Don McLean.

At the Price Chopper I brainstormed on the breakfast/snack dilemma with Katy and we came to the agreement of purchasing hard sourdough rolls and fresh mozzarella cheese. It was far more European than the jam idea anyway. We were hungry, and we rushed back to the Budget Inn for our feast.

Our neighbors were loud and feuding. My inner Jeffrey Beaumont loves this. I mean, it's not voyeurism or "schadenfreude", but I suppose witnessing chaos in public is exciting - it's a deviation from the norm. On my first date with Katy we saw a crack bust go down near Union Square, and maybe things like that just give you a healthy (or is it unhealthy?) jolt of reality.

We relaxed inside for the majority of the afternoon, with the winds occasionally blowing the door open. To not do much of anything for a day was calming. We all need an empty day sometimes. In the nighttime we got Chinese food and went on another promenade of the main streets. We became sleepy and went to bed watching two horrifying episodes of "Intervention".
I was becoming so queasy that I had to dig my head into the pillow. We didn't have the television on all day, and I remembered why I dislike it so much.

It was an early night, so that called for an early rise. We finished as much of the leftover breakfast as we could, and we left all of our remnants in the refrigerator. We checked out of the hotel. Funny side note: I forgot to mention that the proprietor was convinced that I was foreign. I have a slight lisp and a nasal voice, so I really don't know where she came up with that. If I ever stay there again, I'm going to put on a full made-up accent.

Katy informed me that there was a diner attached to the bus station. I'm happy to take up any diner offer, anywhere in the world. I love diners because they resolve group indecision. Rarely do you find something you don't want to eat at a diner, unless you or your friends are vegan. The food was exceptional, and Katy offered to pay for my meal. How nice!

We left and waited in the parking lot. My bus was going to New York City because I was about to go on a mini-tour with Crescent Moon. About ten minutes before my bus was supposed to leave, I walked up to the stop and a friendly older woman approached us.

"You guys know that the Saratoga Springs bus station has been moved, right?"

"Uhhhhhhhh, no?"

Luckily my bus required a stop at the Albany Greyhound Station so we got on the road and floored it. We made it, and while we were waiting in the terminal I wrote an idiotic song about Schenectady, NY. I got in line and gave my goodbyes to Katy. It was a lonely ride to the city, but I had a lot to look forward to. It was going to be a busy week.

Table of Contents, No Appendix: Part Two

I had a lot of time to kill at South Station.

My lesson was cancelled and I was depressed. It was snowing outside and I began the slow thawing process. South Station's Greyhound section leaves a lot to be desired. There's an imitation Dunkin' Donuts, an imitation Quiznos, and a newsstand/convenience store that has about 3 feet of walking space. I laughed to myself about the tight squeeze and a nice young man overheard my chuckling and said, "Yep, that's capitalism for you."
I bought one of those PowerBar Harvest Energy Bars that taste like cardboard with dark chocolate chips and a Vitamin Water for the road.

I was preparing to go to Albany, NY. My girlfriend Katy lives there and I figured I'd swing by after the Boston trip and hang out there for 2 days. I hopped on the bus and the driver looked a lot like David Sitek from TV On The Radio. A true doppelganger. I wanted to bug him, but being a Greyhound bus driver is probably a terrible job and I didn't want to start his trip with a potentially awkward conversation.
This was easily the darkest bus ride I've ever been on in my life. I thought the 2005 Memorial Day trip to Levon Helm's house in Woodstock, NY was the darkest, but this one takes the cake. I've never seen a sky so black and purple. Then there was unsettling silence on the bus, the snow turning into sleet, the 10 minute McDonald's pit stop when everyone on the bus seemed to leave except for me - it was too creepy.

I think I got to Albany at 1 AM. Katy and Koren were there and they prepared a "Welcome to Upstate New York" paper plane for me. We drove around in the snow/sleet for about 2 hours and we dropped off Koren at her house. We went to the Price Chopper at 3:30 AM and purchased coffee, strawberry jam, and wheat bagels for the room. There were plows circling the parking lot but they weren't getting rid of any snow. I think they were just joyriding.
I needed a place to stay so I got a last minute room at the Budget Inn (also known as the Post Road Lodge) of Malta, NY. I can guarantee that out of all the hotels I've ever been to, this one is the most memorable. The lodge consists of about 6 hotel rooms, all side by side. We pulled up at around 4AM and there were a gaggle of geese honking outside of one of the rooms. I prayed it wasn't our room, and luckily it wasn't. Still, it looked like the goose mafia was ready to make a hit on whoever was sleeping in Room Number 1. The hotel lobby looks like Agent Dale Cooper's office from Twin Peaks. I had a pleasant exchange with the proprietor of the Budget Inn and I got the room key (yes, a key, not one of those wonky key cards).

I opened the door and laughed once again. Our room had not been changed since 1978. Above the bed was a poor painting of what looked like a frowning European Ambassador. We had a complete kitchen with no utensils or plates, a refrigerator, and a functioning old school timer microwave. The heavy winds from the outside kept blowing our door open, regardless of whether or not the door was locked. Our room was yellow and brown colored, and that's how I will remember it.

Table of Contents, No Appendix: Part One

It's obvious that I haven't blogged since post-Thanksgiving. All 3 of my readers, raise your hands and start asking the questions.

Where have I been, you ask? Well, let me tell you!

In my previous entry I was talking about the birthday boy and my hungry aching brain. I suppose my journey begins on December 1st. I taught lessons all day at the Wilmington School of Rock and probably made some kids unhappy. I've been doing this thing where I just throw on the metronome if the kid hasn't practiced. My time playing isn't even spectacular yet, so I figure I'll get my students to have good time when they're my age. The day flew by because I was basically en route to New York City to see Ween. I decided to get them Christmas presents so I went to Book Haven and picked out a fairly unique selection. I got a book on Frank Lloyd Wright for Claude, a book called Jazz Matters for Dave, a book on Jazz Piano for Glenn, and a book on The Aesthetics of Rock for Mickey. I got Aaron a book too, but he left before I could give it to him.
There was an after party at the lovely Monica Hampton's apartment and I attempted to make people laugh by posing as the current Vice Magazine cover boy. I don't have the before and after pictures from the party, but I rolled up my sleeves to look like this:

Our hair similarities are uncanny, non?

I spent the majority of the party hanging out with the Seahag (Sound of Urchin, Project/Object). He has an obsession with a face I make sometimes when I play drums. He calls it the "nerd face". I make sure to do the "nerd face" as much as possible in his presence.
After the party I went back to midtown and slept on the couch of a sort-of-famous music school. You may have heard of it.
It was convenient, it's only a few blocks from the Port Authority Bus Terminal. I needed to hop on a 12:00 bus to Boston because I was going to have a lesson with my teacher Kenwood Dennard (Sting, Jaco Pastorious, everybody in the world, etc.) the next day at 6:00 PM. I got to Boston at around 4:20 in the afternoon and I began walk from South Station to the Berklee complex. My luck has been wonderful lately, and it started snowing as soon as I left the station.
I should've estimated the time to walk there more approximately. I walk way too fast, and I ended up there an hour early. I decided to explore Boston and I walked several blocks south to the cheapest pizza place I could find. I had two slices of vegetarian pizza that were so ungodly that I considered eating meat again, albeit only for two seconds. Not only that, but my heinous meal was grease-laden and filling, providing me with an uneasy stomach right before an intense lesson. I walked back to Berklee and I was still too early. I started calling Kenwood on his cell phone so he could let me into the building.

No answer.

I figured he must've been deep into a hyper-complex drumbeat with one of his more accomplished students. But the fact is, my ears were just about ready to snap right off from the sub-zero temperature. I called again.

No answer.

I was starting to get suspicious but I continued to give him the benefit of the doubt. I then called a whole bunch of random people from my phonebook. I had to fend off the bitter cold that immersed my entire body by sober dialing and pretending like I had no nerve endings.

The cold wasn't funny anymore and luckily an older guitar student graciously let me into the building. I called Kenwood one last time and I finally got an answer. It turns out he was hanging at the Pastorious estate in Florida celebrating the life of Jaco. He forgot to call. It's okay, I still love him. We can't remember everything, and this kind of stuff happens.

I will share my favorite line from the call:

"Wait, don't you come all the way from Philadelphia?"

"Yeah."

"That's incredible. I'm giving you a free lesson."

And then I started walking back to South Station, to catch my 8:30 bus to upstate New York.

Happy Birthday Dad/Brain Hunger

Today is my dad's birthday. All I really need to say is that my dad rules, but I'll elaborate. Not only does he do everything for us (driving, cooking, etc.), but he is also the reason I play music. I am forever in his debt just for that.

Thanks Dad, Happy Birthday.

I decided to make two cards today, one for him and one for my mom's un-birthday. I'm sure that she will post pictures in her blog, but basically I just drew Neil Gaiman. This is all I've learned after 20 years of knowing my mother - you just have to draw Neil Gaiman. Or make a song about him for Christmas.

I'm still continuing with this 8AM on the dot wake-up call. It backfired on me the first day, but I'm starting to get used to it. I spent most of the morning traveling to the Sound of Market to pick up some gifts of the aural persuasion. Sound of Market is one of the last good record stores in Philadelphia, besides AKA Music. As long as those two places don't go out of business, I'll be a happy man. My duct-tape wallet will continue to be unhappy though.

I'll finish this post with a rant of sorts.
On the way home I was ruminating on the future of musical composition. This topic seems to preoccupy my walks into town, regardless of whether or not I am actually listening to music. Perhaps I'm not worried about the future of composition as much as I'm worried about our voices and our instruments becoming obsolete. As for the musician playing the instrument, the muscles can only develop so much for the purpose of excessive speed and accuracy.

Quite useful, but mostly unnecessary.

Our musical vocabulary is vast but more limited than the vocabulary we use on a daily basis. For example, we have twenty six letters, but we only have twelve tones. Of course, there are many rhythms that have been untouched. But what is the purpose of creating the most unimaginable and complex rhythm? Having a definitive and clear musical statement is of utmost importance, and I'm not sure that complexity is the key to clarity.
This leads me to the big mystery. I'm trying to figure out what the next evolutionary step is, but it always begs the question: What hasn't been done yet? The only way to know is by absorbing as much music as possible. I was able to satiate my starving brain with that conclusion when suddenly...

I thought about all of the articles which discuss the "best new music of (insert year here)".

The "best new music" seems to mend many adventurous, sometimes absurd, and previously unwanted musical ideas (read: the acknowledgement of free jazz in popular music). The once outlandish ideas are then regurgitated into a pop song format, which in turn makes it accessible to a wide commercial audience. There are interesting results, but how is the art progressing? Especially when we are using the same elements that have been available for hundreds of years? Some say we are at the end of the creative rope. I say we search for a reasonable compromise!
Calling myself a postmodernist is a cop out, so I'll just have to keep thinking about it until I'm satisfied. That'll happen. Hah!
I should get some sleep, and then wake up at 8AM. Maybe my thoughts will be clear when I'm not thinking about how delicious the birthday pound cake was.

Sincerely,
Eric Slick

The Boring and Somewhat Productive Monday

I suppose it's time to turn this into a real functioning blog now, instead of just a Project/Object tour diary.

Let's talk about today.

Last night I decided that I want to start waking up at 8:00 every day no matter what. I feel like there's never enough time to do the things I truly want to do in the 24 hours I am allotted. My brain moves very quickly in the morning, so reading is a good match for that. When it's the afternoon my brain starts to slow down and I want to do is practice my drum technique. But I also need to work towards the inevitable, which is acquiring my driver's license. I have never been able to the gather the motivation to even look inside the Driver's Manual. I just know that once I get a car, I'm going to be paranoid about killing squirrels. Now is the time to do it though. It's necessary to continue my dream as a working musician.
I'm going to get my physical soon. That shall put the figurative wheels in motion! Pun intended.

I didn't ignore the cell phone alarm and I woke up at 8:00 today expecting to help sell records on eBay. However, I am rather naive so this never happened. It got moved to tomorrow afternoon instead.

Instead, I spent the morning reading "Point Counterpoint" by Aldous Huxley. I remember when I bought that book. It was almost exactly a year ago, December 3, 2006. I was on a weekend tour with Chris Harford and the Band of Changes. We were about play a show at a small bar in Washington, DC called Iota. Scott Metzger and I decided it would be a good idea if we went to the local shopping center. It reminded me a lot of the big shopping complex in West Palm Beach, Florida. It seemed like the entire neighborhood was built around it, a hypnotizing Mecca for wannabe hipster suburban teenagers and the retired golfing type. You know, the two age demographics with the least amount of gross income (groan with me everyone).

The centerpiece of the complex was a gigantic Barnes and Noble. I have no problem with a giant bookstore, even if it is a national chain. At the time, I was inspired by a book that Chris lent me called The War of Art by Steven Pressfield. It was a self-help book without all of the bullshit, and it's the reason I started practicing and reading again. At the time I was being overzealous, and I wanted to purchase the most challenging book I could get my crooked fingers on. So I got "Point Counterpoint". I have 32 pages left, but the vocabulary is so outrageously difficult that I have to go to dictionary.com every 5 minutes. It's no wonder that I'm still reading it to this very day.

This story then presents a series of fun but stressful flashbacks.

(cue the Debussy whole tone arpeggio)
That weekend we also played the North Star Bar in Philadelphia and the Recher Theater in Towson, MD, opening up for the Benevento/Russo Duo. I get nervous before every show, but I was feeling particularly bad before that one. We got through the show and it was good. Afterwards it was a laid back affair. Joe Russo (the fabulous drummer) and I had our first unofficial dance competition, which led to furious finger snapping and leg shaking. If I remember correctly, it got really heated and passionate during Whitney Houston's "How Will I Know?".

I still torture Joe about having a real dance off. We were supposed to have one at the Bonnaroo Centeroo Fountain, but my 3 show a day schedule forced me to be relegated to the Ice Cream Man truck backstage. He is an incredible drummer, but little know he is an even better dancer. I may have to pull a Tonya Harding on him.
(cue Wayne and Garth going "Doodledeedoo")

After reading this morning, I spent some time heating up ratatouille and brown rice. I then practiced on and off for a couple hours. My hands hate me right now. I'll stop typing.

Sincerely,
Eric Slick

We Interrupt this Blog for a Special Announcement

Yeah, that's about right.