Posts Tagged With: The Doors

MORRISON’S MASK

 

That’s right, it’s that time again. Time for me to put on Morrison’s Mask and spend an evening conjuring up the spirit of decades gone by. I’ve written here on the blog before about performing, in fact last year at this time on a post called Re-inventing The Myth Of Morrison I wrote the following. Permit me to quote:

If you are a regular reader of this blog you will know that I have been performing in a Doors tribute band for many years now. That is always an interesting experience, if for no other reason than, having grown up with their music, I do enjoy performing it. But both I, as the singer, and the other three exceptionally talented musicians in the band, try to strike a balance in our interpretation of the Doors” music. Our main objective is to re-create not only their music accurately but to bring the atmosphere of their live performances back to life. But we make music, not theater, and theater is what all too many of the other Doors cover bands have to offer, and there are many good bands out there. Theater, sadly, is also what the audiences want to see. Since the original is no longer available, a clone will do.,  If you want an act, then don’t come to see us. I don’t ape Morrison. I don’t need to stumble around in a pseudo inebriated state with a tight leather pants hard on (as I’ve seen some Morrison interpreters do) to bring him back to life. Hell, I’m not 25 anymore and have no intention of making a fool of myself.

Now, people tell me all the time that I sound like Morrison, which is ridiculous. I don’t, not at all. What I do have down good though is his phrasing and the ability to weave the spirit of his performances into our renditions of the Doors’ music. When I walk out on stage I have to put on a mask, or perhaps better said, a cloak that I am able to wear in the style and the spirit of what his music and talent embodied. For me it is always an intense and interesting experience. And I would hope for the audience too. At the beginning he was a captivating, mesmerizing performer. As their former manager Bill Siddons put it, “For the first few years he was the ringmaster. Then all of a sudden he was fighting for his life.” Sadly after 1969 Jim became the circus. I can’t be the twenty something Adonis that Jim was when he first started performing, I certainly wouldn’t want to be, but when I perform I can try to become what he perhaps might have been had he lived to be my age and was still performing. Someone who can fill a concert venue with creative energy and spirit, That was the Jim I would rather remember and portray. And I would hope that he’d approve of my efforts just a wee bit…

That said, I’d like to talk a bit about how things have changed since I joined this band some ten years ago. Between 2005 and 2008 we played all over Germany, north, south, east, west, often traveling hundreds of kilometers for a concert. We were usually paid a good fee, given overnight accommodations and meals and drinks were included. Sometimes there was even extra money for our transportation costs (gas, vehicle rental). After the economic downturn in 2008, all that changed. Clubs could no longer afford to or just didn’t want to pay a guaranteed fee (hiring a DJ is cheaper than four guys in a band) and the audiences no longer wanted to pay for live music either. “You guys enjoy playing. So play for free.” Getting people to understand that performing might be fun, but that it is also hard work that one deserves to be compensated for, just wasn’t meeting with much understanding. Driving to a gig, paying for the gas, setting up the equipment, playing for a couple of hours, tearing the equipment back down and getting back home is a lot of work. Now, when we try to book a gig a couple of hours drive away, the venue owner will say, “Sure, no problem, but, we can only pay you 80% of the take at the door.” Great. For us that means renting a vehicle, filling it with gas, traveling hundreds of kilometers and if we have bad luck and something else is going on that weekend or there is an important Fußball (soccer) game on the telly, and just a handful of people show up, chances are that we’ll end up paying money to play. No thanks. We’re not a band of 14 year old teenies drooling to get up on stage and strut our stuff and willing to pay for the privilege or do it for free. Those days are gone forever. Now, with a very few exceptions, we only play within a radius of about 100 kilometers, and more often than not, much closer to home. The times have changed and have become a whole lot leaner for working musicians. And the future doesn’t look that promising either.

So, I’ll put on Morrison’s Mask again tonight, hopefully do him justice, perform a good show and give the audience their money’s worth. No canned music will ever match a live performance. And the pleasure I get from singing, from recreating that 1960’s live atmosphere, will most likely be the best possible compensation I can receive. After all, I’ve never really been in it for the money, not even when the money was good. The plain truth is that I just love to sing. So, show me the way to the next whiskey bar…

 

Morrison MaskPhoto taken at the Johannisfest in Mainz, Germany in June 2014. Photo courtesy of DePiero and Associates. © 2014.


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PÈRE LACHAISE

 
Happy 72nd Birthday to Jim Morrison. Wherever he may be hiding…

 

 

000 père lachaisePhoto of Jim Morrison’s grave taken in the Cimetière du PèreLachaise in Paris in September 2015.


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THE LIZARD KING

 

…prelude to this evening’s concert…

“It may have been in pieces, but I gave you the best of me.”

~ Jim Morrison ~

 

You know, I’ve been doing this gig now on and off for some twenty-five years, and with the current band for ten years. It’s no easy job stepping into someone’s shoes and filling their space, especially someone like Jim Morrison. I try my best to slip into the spirit of his better performances, which due to the nature of the beast, were sometimes rather sporadic, and recreate that sense of danger and mystery and the ass kicking music that were the magic of Doors concerts in the late 1960’s.

 

When I first walk out on stage there is always the feeling that, along with my fellow musicians, there is another presence behind me on the stage, something watching in the shadows, and waiting. Waiting to throw a cloak of pent up energy over me. And when I open my mouth to sing, it’s almost as if another voice surges out, a voice that pulls me along on a wild roller coaster ride through a repertoire of sound and feeling that leaves me exhausted and drained by concert’s end. And as the applause after the last encore fades and the curtain falls I feel that I have shared a certain communion with whatever it is that recedes back into the shadows until conjured up again at the next venue. There’s not much money to be made in music these days, but the reward here is something so much more than monetary. It is a feeling of satisfaction, of having once again felt a bond that goes back something just shy of 50 years, when I first brought home the Doors’ debut album and let their music into my life. And I think to myself as I head to the dressing room, we pulled it off again Jim, thanks. Now, let’s see, I need another beer and where have all those teenage groupies gone…?

 

 

000 Doors 1Photo taken sometime in the early 1990’s at a concert in the Cafe Cicero in Wiesbaden, Germany.


000 GMZ 2.10.2015Tonight’s concert, a double bill: Henderson Plays Hendrix and The Changeling present The Doors Absolutely Live!

Hendrix and Morrison. Jimi and Jim. It doesn’t get better than that. If you’re in the area , drop on by…


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A PARIS JOURNAL – GHOST SONG

 

CHASING SHADOWS

 

On Friday July 24th 2015 once again I will walk out on the stage at the Feast Of Friends Doors Festival in the former East German city of Magdeburg and slip into the spirit of one James Douglas Morrison and, with the other three musicians, do my damnedest to recreate the soul and the essence of his music. I have been doing this for years, and though I’m not prone to believing in matters spiritual, I’ll know that I’ll feel Jim looking over my shoulder. I always do.

We humans are a funny lot. We seem to find it necessary from time to time to visit places where people have met their timely or untimely ends. People pilgrimage to Dallas Texas and stand around Dealey Plaza as if being there will give the events of JFK’s death more substance. They stand in awed silence at Ground Zero in Manhattan, trying to fathom the horror of that fateful day in September 2001. Fans journey to Graceland and attempt to feel the last vestiges of Elvis’ life before he exited the building forever. And me, I turn up every now and then at number 17 Rue Beautreillis and wonder what really happened on the night of the 3rd of July 1971.

But standing around on the street isn’t going to solve an unsolvable mystery. The best I can do is my annual early morning visit, before the crowds get too large, to Morrison’s gravesite in the Cimetière du Père-Lachaise, where I quickly climb over the barriers and place a rose on his grave. I then make a hasty exit because I really dislike the perpetual three-ring circus that goes on at his gravesite. Jim originally went to Paris to find peace and poetry. For the poetry there was too little time left and even death has denied him the peace he sought.

Today I walked over to the Marais district and wandered down the Rue Beautreillis. I did spot an interesting street art portrait that might be Morrison’s face that I hadn’t noticed before above the street sign on the corner. In the next few days I will take the bus out to the Cimetière du Père-Lachaise and once again pay my respects. Having bought the first Doors album in December 1966 when I was 16, and having performed his music over the last twenty-five years, it’s almost like I’m remembering a friend. And I know that when I look out over the audience of Doors’ fans at the Feast Of Friends Festival and begin to sing When The Music’s Over, he’ll be there in the back of my mind, watching…

Two earlier posts about Morrison and the Rue Beautreillis can be found here:

https://nitepoetry.wordpress.com/2014/07/21/the-paris-journal-xiii/

https://nitepoetry.wordpress.com/2014/04/17/door-handles-of-paris-jim-morrison/

 

 

000 Rue Beautreillis 1Yours truly standing in front of 17 Rue Beautreillis, the apartment building where Jim Morrison lived and supposedly died in Paris. Photo taken in May 2015.


000 Rue Beautreillis 2Is that Jim Morrison’s face above the street sign? A subtle memorial to a poet long gone…


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THE TREE AT JIM MORRISON’S GRAVE

 

THE ETERNAL CELEBRATION IN LE CIMETIÈRE DU PÈRE LACHAISE

 

When I first visited Morrison’s gravesite in 1991 there was graffiti all over the surrounding graves and even on the monuments on the paths leading to the grave. That has, over the years, been cleaned up, and it seems that people are being more respectful of the neighbouring graves. But the tree that stands almost in front of his grave has not fared as well…

000 Morrison Tree 1The graffiti covered tree at Jim Morrison’s grave in Le cimetière du Père Lachaise.


000 Morrison Tree 2A detailed close up of the graffiti on the tree.


000 Morrison Tree 3A detailed close up of the graffiti on the tree.


000 Morrison Tree 4A detailed close up of the graffiti on the tree.


000 Morrison Tree 5A detailed close up of the graffiti on the tree.


000 Morrison Tree 6A detailed close up of the graffiti on the tree.


All photos taken in Paris in May 2011


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YOU’RE NEVER TOO OLD…

 

…TO ROCK AND ROLL

 

Or too young. Heading out to our concert this evening. The average age of our audience in the club where we’ll be playing is around 21. Must be something good about that classic Doors music for it to still be drawing the young kids some 45 years on…

Erik June 2014Photo taken in June 2014. Courtesy DePiero and Associates.


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RE-INVENTING THE MYTH OF MORRISON

THE GOOSE THAT LAID GOLDEN EGGS

 

In the December issue of the British music magazine Classic Rock there is a twenty page spread about The Doors featuring, among other things, an interview conducted with the two surviving members, Robby Krieger and John Densmore. It’s the first time they’ve sat down across from each other in quite a while. Krieger is pretty straightforward throughout the interview while Densmore is, more often than not, very sarcastic towards Robby. The bad feelings of long litigation obviously haven’t been swept out the doors yet. Too bad. The antagonism and their dislike of each other will probably follow Robby and John to their graves.

Ray Manzarek, who died in May 2013, was always Jim Morrison’s eager defender, even until the end. But in those rare moments when he reflected truthfully about the singer, Manzarek admitted that Jim had lost any creative drive as the self inflicted events and disasters began to overwhelm his life. Manzarek nursed the myth of Morrison for decades. Of course, it was his bread and butter. When you’ve got a goose that lays golden eggs, you don’t go out behind the barn, lop its head off and then roast it for dinner. Starting out as a talented creative force in 1965, Morrison evolved into a sexually attractive Adonis in 1967-68 but by 1969 had turned himself into a mumbling, bloated and unpredictable Dionysius whose creativity was washed away in a never ending high tide of alcohol excess. That was a shame too, because once his creativity withered all of his potential promise as a poet became little more than the dregs in the bottom of a bottle. Morrison’s poetry had its moments but most of what he left behind after his early lyrics leaves a lot to be desired. Even the publication of his book of poetry in 1970, compiled from two earlier privately printed volumes, only aroused a meager reaction from Rolling Stone magazine in a review. His book was completely ignored by the literary world. Not a good omen for someone who decided to flee to Paris to shed the rock star image and become a poet. By the time Morrison overdosed on the john in a sleazy Parisian club, and not in his apartment’s bathtub as everyone would like to have you believe, he possessed little more than a shadow of his earlier promise. Overweight and unhealthy from living in the fast lane for far too long, his short sojourn in Paris was the final metamorphic phase in becoming the cadaver that now is the source of an endless circus in Père Lachaise cemetery. Had he lived another 50 years perhaps he would have developed into a poet worthy of serious literary recognition. But his legacy has become a morbid myth and will never be more than that of a talented rock star who along with his fellow bandmates created innovative dark music that was very different and yet at the same time appealed to a wide audience. Unfortunately Morrison never gave himself the chance to fulfill his promise. He will always be 27.

If you are a regular reader of this blog you will know that I have been performing in a Doors tribute band for many years now. That is always an interesting experience, if for no other reason than, having grown up with their music, I do enjoy performing it. But both I, as the singer, and the other three exceptionally talented musicians in the band, try to strike a balance in our interpretation of the Doors” music. Our main objective is to re-create not only their music accurately but to bring the atmosphere of their live performances back to life. But we make music, not theater, and theater is what all too many of the other Doors cover bands have to offer, and there are many good bands out there. Theater, sadly, is also what the audiences want to see. Since the original is no longer available, a clone will do.,  If you want an act, then don’t come to see us. I don’t ape Morrison. I don’t need to stumble around in a pseudo inebriated state with a tight leather pants hard on (as I’ve seen some Morrison interpreters do) to bring him back to life. Hell, I’m not 25 anymore and have no intention of making a fool of myself.

Now, people tell me all the time that I sound like Morrison, which is ridiculous. I don’t, not at all. What I do have down good though is his phrasing and the ability to weave the spirit of his performances into our renditions of the Doors’ music. When I walk out on stage I have to put on a mask, or perhaps better said, a cloak that I am able to wear in the style and the spirit of what his music and talent embodied. For me it is always an intense and interesting experience. And I would hope for the audience too. At the beginning he was a captivating, mesmerizing performer. As their former manager Bill Siddons put it, “For the first few years he was the ringmaster. Then all of a sudden he was fighting for his life.” Sadly after 1969 Jim became the circus. I can’t be the twenty something Adonis that Jim was when he first started performing, I certainly wouldn’t want to be, but when I perform I can try to become what he perhaps might have been had he lived to be my age and was still performing. Someone who can fill a concert venue with creative energy and spirit, That was the Jim I would rather remember and portray. And I would hope that he’d approve of my efforts just a wee bit…

Our next concert is on January 24 2015 at E-Werk in Nierstein, Germany.

000 Changeling June 2014Photo taken in June 2014 in Mainz, Germany. Courtesy of DePiero and Associates.


000 Erik June 2014Photo taken in June 2014 in Mainz, Germany. Courtesy of DePiero and Associates.


I would like to thank Thiemo, Sebastian and Matthias for their great musicianship and friendship over the years. You can experience the band live at the following links:

https://www.facebook.com/video.php?v=836854579670433

https://www.facebook.com/video.php?v=837939706228587


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© 2014 nightpoet all rights reserved


Categories: Music, Perspective, Photography | Tags: , , , | Leave a comment

THE PARIS JOURNAL – XIII

 

WHEN THE MUSIC’S OVER

 

A beautiful blue sky with puffy pink clouds in Paris this evening. Earlier today, wandering between Bastille and Marais I passed by the apartment house at 17 Rue Beautreillis, where Jim Morrison spent his last days and supposedly died in the bathtub of a third floor apartment. As I was passing an elderly couple was opening the double doors and getting ready to drive their car into the court yard. I wondered if perhaps they now lived in the apartment and what it must be like to take a bath in that tub. Since by most accounts it is very debatable that he really died in that tub, my musings would seem to be a moot point. Current speculation centers around him having overdosed in a nightclub called the Rock And Roll Circus and, to avoid a scandal, he was brought discreetly to the apartment and placed in the tub. Since most of the key players are all long dead and gone, the true story of what really happened on that fateful July night will never be known.

And it probably doesn’t really matter. Jim spends his time these days hosting a perpetual circus in the Cimetière du Père Lachaise, where old fans, new fans and kids that weren’t even a sparkle in their father’s eyes when he died come and stare and supposedly pay their respects. Hell, some of their parents probably weren’t even born yet when he died. Along with his mortal remains and of course the timeless music, Jim’s legacy still remains alive today forty three years after he embraced his own truth that, “no one here gets out alive.” Like so many other musicians, artists, writers and poets throughout history, Jim did it short and sweet. And that was perhaps the only way he could have done it. The sky has turned grey and overcast, night is falling and it’s time for me to saunter on back to my apartment through the crooked cobbled streets of Paris.  

000 Morrison AptPhoto of 17 Rue Beautreillis taken in Paris in May 2012.


000 Morrison Grave 2Photo of Jim Morrison’s grave in the Cimetière du Père Lachaise taken in Paris in May 2014.


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BREAKFAST ON THE BLOG

Welcome once again to Breakfast On The Blog, a bit tardy this time around. Today a tale of

A QUIET ACCEPTANCE AND APPRECIATION

 

No one had told me that our gig was going to be at a biker’s bar. First of all we had difficulty finding the place because the address given on their Internet page didn’t exist in the navigation software we were using. Secondly there was absolutely nothing that said anything about bikers on their web site. We had driven for about an hour and ten minutes and were way out in the countryside in a small village expecting to find a small pub. When we finally stopped and asked someone for directions, and then found the street, as we drove up to the pub and I saw about twenty Harley’s parked in a row in front of the building I thought, this should be interesting. After we had parked our cars and got out to unload our gear, six or eight burly looking bikers came out, smiling and handshaking, and offered to help carry in our equipment. Yes, I thought to myself, this was going to be interesting.

So we proceed to set up in a corner of this small pub. They’ve got a P.A. set up, a mixing console and a frazzle headed bloke to do the mixing. The pub has three connected rooms and scattered all around sitting, standing and leaning on the bar are all these rather large leather vested, leather trousered bikers, some with long hair, some with shaved heads, some with long beards or no beards, all middle aged and all with a beer bottle in one hand. There are also a few of their girlfriends or wives scattered about too. As we get our equipment and instruments set up and running I’m sort of wondering what we are doing here and how this is going to go down. And I also had a sort of déjà vu feeling; but couldn’t quite nail it down.

Before we start playing we get fed, a choice between Buffalo Burgers, salad and French fries or a thick pea soup with two sausages along with whatever we want to drink. I choose the pea soup and the sausages. Since two of us are driving, our alcohol consumption is limited to the two who are not driving, one of which is me. But until we start playing I stick to having a cola. Once we’ve had our repast we get ready to do the concert. Now maybe I should explain that we’re a Doors Tribute band, recreating the energy and the atmosphere of a live Doors concert. We’re not bad at what we do either; we’ve been called the best Doors Tribute band in the country. Our concerts are usually filled with younger and older Doors fans that sing along with and dance to the songs. We know we’ve done a good concert when everyone is doing just that, having a good time. The original Doors concerts in the 60’s and 70’s were always very audience orientated. They were always more of a combination of concert and happening, and it is that atmosphere that we try to recreate, which is all the more reason to wonder why these bikers want to hear a flower power era Doors Tribute band rather than say, a Black Sabbath or a Metallica cover band.

We start off with the medley Alabama Song, Backdoor Man and 5 to 1. That ends and there is a light smattering of applause. And after the next number too, just a faint reaction, not disapproval, just nothing enthusiastic. Hmmm, I think. What is happening here? Now, I’m the singer and I’m pouring everything I’ve got into my performance, as I do at any gig. It’s not always easy to try and channel someone else’s spirit and energy into your own and come out with a reasonable combination and interpretation of that person’s stage performance, but I try to do my best. Interaction with the audience and their participation is a large part of what our concerts are about. It’s a mutual give and take; I feed off them feeding off me. But on this night nothing is feeding off anything. After each successive number there is little reaction. It’s not disapproval, just what seems like a distanced acceptance of what we’re bringing down. And so it goes on, from number to number; even our normally rousing rendition of Roadhouse Blues (“When I woke up this morning, I got myself a beer”) fails to change the response. And I think to myself, that I’m just glad no one’s throwing beer bottles at us.

But I have the whole situation sussed out wrong. I should know better. I had a few bikers I considered as good friends back in the 60’s and 70’s and thought that I possessed a fair understanding of their culture and their lifestyle. People often think of bikers negatively, but that is really a false judgment. As with any group of people there are always the good and the bad. But the majority of bikers are good people, living their lifestyle because it is who they feel they are, because they choose to. They emphasize community, loyalty, brotherhood and their dedication to their machines. I had biker friends in the late 1960’s where I lived in the States who had a communal house and would roast a whole pig in a pit in the backyard on weekends and have everyone over for pork and beer. They were involved in community projects and for the most part just wanted to live their lifestyle unhindered. A lot of people didn’t understand that, especially the police. I can only say that I always thought that they were good people.

And what was happening here was not a dislike for our performance. These guys actually really liked our music. As it turns out, many years ago we had played for these same bikers when they had their club in another place. That is why they invited us to play again. That was my déjà vu feeling. We’d forgotten all about that. And things went down then in the same way. They liked us then, and they liked us on this Friday night. But I think that their lack of an enthusiastic response to our songs lies in an ingrained reluctance to respond emotionally to something like our performance. They sat and listened and absorbed. It was their, so to speak, quiet acceptance and appreciation of our performance that baffled us at first. We were expecting the kind of response that our regular fans would have displayed, a lot of dancing and singing along. Only after the concert was over did we begin to fathom that the bikers had responded in their own subdued, appreciative way. They did that, as they do most things, with their own unique style. And now that I comprehend what was really going on, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. As we left for the long drive back home I got to thinking, I wonder how they managed to keep their street address out of the GPS navigational system, especially convenient when the police turn their navigation devices on and want to go looking for them. I think there’s a bit of that same subdued biker savvy going on there…

BREAKFAST ON THE BLOG


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ON THE ROAD AGAIN

ROCKING UNTIL YOU DROP

A small village in north central Hessen, Dietzhölztal. A clear, chilly, starry night in the Westerwald (Western Forest), a geologically old and quite heavily eroded low mountainous region. In a beautiful old brick building restored by Oliver Müller, that was once a brewery which went out of business and stood abandoned for 40 years, there is now a music pub called the Alte Braueri Ewersbach (Old Brewery Ewersbach). A small stream with crystal clear water flows past an area that is used as a “Bier Garten” during the warmer months. I’m sure that it must be nice to sit there during the summer and enjoy a drink. It is here we arrive after an hour and twenty minute drive from the Rhine-Main area, our home base.

We are not expecting a large crowd tonight, it’s Fasching (Carnival) weekend and there are large celebrations in Köln, Mainz and in other cities and towns that most people will be attending. And so it is, the place isn’t overflowing. The stage area is small but not too cramped and the sound, once we set up and run through the sound check, is good. When we get all that taken care of, a delivery service brings a huge square pizza with different sections of toppings and we enjoy that along with some of the pub’s own brewed beer. Then we play a first set, opening with the Medley (Alabama Song/Backdoor Man/5 to 1) and proceed do some of the lesser known songs like Take It As It Comes and Hyacinth House.

After a fifteen minute break we continue with what we call the Best Of set, all the better known Doors numbers, like Riders On The Storm, Roadhouse Blues, L.A. Woman, Break On Though and of course Light My Fire, among others. We close the evening with When The Music’s Over. The enthusiastic audience has had a good time and I think I can say that we played a technically excellent concert, with Matthias the keyboard and bass keys player and Sebastian the guitarist weaving well timed intricate improvisations into the longer songs and with Thiemo our drummer laying down a solid, steady and wisely accented beat. He is an expressive drummer and is a joy to watch as he preforms. I only really get to see him though during the longer instrumental sections because most of the time when I am singing he is behind me.

We’re not a big outfit. We don’t have roadies and technicians and all that. We pack up our equipment and get paid. There isn’t much money, which is usual. Unless it’s a really big concert these days, the fees are never very much. Times have changed and they are harder and leaner for musicians. We’re happy if and when we can cover our costs. But then, we’re not in it for the money. You do something like this because you really enjoy doing it. Certainly not because you want to get rich.

So, the concert is over, we’ve settled up and now there’s the hour and twenty minute ride back to our area. We had luck with the weather, it wasn’t snowing or raining, wasn’t icy or too foggy. The keyboard player gets dropped off first and then I get driven home. By the time I walk in the door to my apartment it’s 3:30 AM. It’s been a long day. I’ve been up since 6:00 AM. There was the grocery shopping and usual running about that I had to do on a Saturday. And now at 3:30 AM I am feeling tired, but still too energized to fall into bed right away. I’d be less than truthful if I said that I wasn’t feeling my age. But then, when you’re over 60 you don’t have the same energy you had when you were 21. It’s hard work but I wouldn’t stop doing it for anything. It’s too much fun. And of course, there is that unwritten rule observed by so many of the musicians of my generation, for better or worse. You rock until you drop. I wouldn’t have it any other way…

ON THE ROAD AGAIN

Not wanting to hog the spotlight, but this is the only photo to turn up so far from last night’s concert, taken by Matthias during the break between sets as I sit behind the drum kit, lighted by my i-Pad.

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