The Last Town Chorus' Travelogue

 

Thus God Appeared in a Vision, and Spoke: “Complete Thy Year With The Beatles’ ‘Love’ Album and a Large Quantity of Ovaltine. Use Half and Half For The Latter.”

And So It Was Done.

Amen.

(Sent from mobile phone.)

It’s the last dusk hour of the year. I’m still exiled in the Pittsburgh suburbs, by my own design. My soul’s kind of stirred up. The absence of sidewalks in this neighborhood has pushed me to take my walks in the Mount Royal Cemetery a few blocks away. Cold air in my lungs, and a Green Lady walking past. I can tell that I’m going to listen to a lot of music this evening.

(Sent from mobile phone.)

I’m reading a book by Carl Zimmer about how the discovery of the brain (really only 350 years ago!) violently shook up peoples’ prevailing understandings of the soul and the self — still does, of course. I’ve had a head-spinning, heart-spinning day. On days like this, I find neuroscience to be both comforting and chilling — I actually caught myself wondering whether a frontal lobotomy might make my mind more peaceful! Instead, I made a milkshake and did nice things for people.

(Sent from mobile phone.)

We’re watching a home video I made yesterday…in it, my one-year-old niece/godchild learned how to use my iPod. She kept skipping back to the beginning of The Pointer Sisters song “Neutron Dance,” then gleefully dancing. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat.

(Sent from mobile phone.)

My mom’s husband brought me a set of jingle bells from his trek to Drum World.

(Sent from mobile phone.)

My brother and I watched the Kiss DVD I gave him for Christmas, and we had major flashbacks to being creeped out and intrigued by their fire-and-blood-spitting theatrics in the late 70s. Now I fully understand why my mom wouldn’t let us watch their TV movies at the time (though she did buy is ‘Alive II’ on vinyl). On a purely musical note, I was surprised to see that their early performances (’74-’75) had a straight up dirty blues vibe.

(Sent from mobile phone.)

A jazz band is playing my mom’s living room during a holiday fete. Mom’s husband is a drummer. Brenda is singing through my Fender Delta Blues amp.

(Sent from mobile phone.)

 

It’s Christmas. During an intermission from Heartwarming Family Hearth Time, I set up a modest studio workspace in mom’s basement. In the coming days I hope to write and demo a lot of music down here, with the washing machine and furnace humming along.

(Sent from mobile phone.)

 

Christmas Eve. Pittsburgh is serving up one of those bleak days that is almost comforting in its predictability. They got under my skin when I lived here. Now, they’re almost whimsical. Almost.

(Sent from mobile phone.)

 

In a pile of sheet music sitting at the foot of my mom’s piano, I found a copy of the instructional book I used 20 years ago: “Mel Bay’s Electric Bass Method – 1.” I’m sitting here contentedly doing the exercises therein. When I’m at my apartment in New York, I find it almost impossible to focus on these sorts of musical excursions and exercises.  

(Sent from mobile phone.)