Somewhere between last night and this morning is the one year anniversary of the day the Terzo died for me.
I inadvertently celebrated the occasion by going out to il Motore to catch up with the old Balzac crew. I had some laughs with Berretta over some poignant remarks as we compared the shitty summer of last. Could it really be that we all had terrible summers last year? Then there was Sunman. Five years and he hadn't changed a bit. He said the same thing about me. I hugged a sweaty Espinosa twice during his crazy energetic set with Posing on Purpose and then chilled with a very sweet Chris Kasp outside the venue and just spoke about life, the way we always do. I talked crazy parties with Lentils and John Venditti - the same guy who gave me my first gig as a techno DJ back in the day. And I spoke to Johnny and Gianni about the blessing of musical compatibility. And maybe some future collaboration.
When you're down and out, it's easy to forget that there is life all around you. And that it's always better to live in the company of others - especially those that are always happy to see you.
I could put four walls around tonight and call it home.
Showing posts with label the boys. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the boys. Show all posts
Thursday
Tuesday
mayday, i can`t explain
I'm always going to have a soft spot for May Day.
Let's put the plight of the international workers and all the student protests and the death of Bin Laden aside for a second. Six years ago to the day, my brother Mark and I opened the first side of il Terzo Piano. It was our first jam space. Well, the first jam space we built ourselves - and a first of many hard lessons in construction, cost over-runs, sound leakage and nation building.
But when it opened, it became the coolest spot in my universe. All turquoise blue and sunburst orange. There was Vox Populi and D Open D in Room 1, Broken Palace in Room 2, odd couple Nick and Jonathan in a windowless Room 4 and Kamikaze in the deluxe suite. Humble beginnings, but with so much promise. Like Balzac had been at one time. And it didn't take much for the place to catch fire. In the next three years, it became the place to be. It was the place to spend your Tuesday mornings and your Sunday nights. It was the place I would run to from my parent's during the summer and the perfect place to have a snowball fight on a March night. It was always Franco's last stop after tour - and just a short drive to the quarry, if need be. We walked its stinky streets and admired the giant reservoirs from the roof in states few people would ever understand. We poured bending guitars into the hallways and shared our most intimate words on her cold, hard floors. The vibe was almost always positive, the pad parties were epic and those of us dedicated to the real cause all got to create some special music there. For me, the place peaked with Uptown VineRise, still months and months after our final pad party in the back section and before things went really sour with the landlords. And the band. But every musician will have their own story; their own beginning and ends.
And even in those last two years, when everything was broken and cold hard reality crept into those magical hallways; when the early wounds were torn open, the salt poured and the place left to slowly rot from the inside, I always found a good reason to go back. It wasn't always easy. But it was always necessary. Because that place was ours until the day it wasn't.
In my head, it'll always be all shiny and new.
Let's put the plight of the international workers and all the student protests and the death of Bin Laden aside for a second. Six years ago to the day, my brother Mark and I opened the first side of il Terzo Piano. It was our first jam space. Well, the first jam space we built ourselves - and a first of many hard lessons in construction, cost over-runs, sound leakage and nation building.
But when it opened, it became the coolest spot in my universe. All turquoise blue and sunburst orange. There was Vox Populi and D Open D in Room 1, Broken Palace in Room 2, odd couple Nick and Jonathan in a windowless Room 4 and Kamikaze in the deluxe suite. Humble beginnings, but with so much promise. Like Balzac had been at one time. And it didn't take much for the place to catch fire. In the next three years, it became the place to be. It was the place to spend your Tuesday mornings and your Sunday nights. It was the place I would run to from my parent's during the summer and the perfect place to have a snowball fight on a March night. It was always Franco's last stop after tour - and just a short drive to the quarry, if need be. We walked its stinky streets and admired the giant reservoirs from the roof in states few people would ever understand. We poured bending guitars into the hallways and shared our most intimate words on her cold, hard floors. The vibe was almost always positive, the pad parties were epic and those of us dedicated to the real cause all got to create some special music there. For me, the place peaked with Uptown VineRise, still months and months after our final pad party in the back section and before things went really sour with the landlords. And the band. But every musician will have their own story; their own beginning and ends.
And even in those last two years, when everything was broken and cold hard reality crept into those magical hallways; when the early wounds were torn open, the salt poured and the place left to slowly rot from the inside, I always found a good reason to go back. It wasn't always easy. But it was always necessary. Because that place was ours until the day it wasn't.
In my head, it'll always be all shiny and new.
Thursday
different shit, same old day
the best thing i`ve done to the room so far is to add the second clock. the tick of the second hands clashing in such a way that it almost feels nice to just waste time listening. if it wasn`t for the hum of my laptop, the running water upstairs and the cars on Clark, i could probably slip into some kind of hypnotic state just sitting here. and the George Nelson is slightly off so nothing about the rhythm is set in stone. we had some good laughs tonight, watching a game seven we really couldn`t care less about. we provided all the laughs; the play-by-play. too much time goes by between these amazing nights. time has started to pick up speed again. Costa Rica is miles away now. back to me and the ticking clocks. i`ll try to enjoy them while it`s still soothing.
Monday
i feel like physics tonight. like physics tonight.
Morgan Freeman wasn't even five minutes into discussing parallel universes and we were both already crashed out on the couch.
Hard to digest the mysteries of the cosmos after the Kush and all those Pabst Blue Ribbons. A fitting end to another Super Bowl Blackout. But when Jski and I finally decided to call it a night, I glanced at the stove and noticed it was only 1:15 or something like that. And we were the troopers of the bunch - always have been. My brother Mark was the first one out - tired - at 10. Trissy boy followed and hour later and Davey Cleinfeld was in and out on girlfriend duty.
I remember a time when Super Bowl Blackout crept well into Monday and sometimes Tuesday. I also remember never remembering a whole lot about the actual game. This morning I am uncomfortably clearheaded. There were some good laughs and some good moments. There always are. But I have also begun to notice the growing distance between these nights.
It's just like the physicist in the documentary was explaining.
The universe is expanding infinitely in all directions. So the further something gets from you, the faster it continues to get away and the harder it becomes to ever catch up to it.
Hard to digest the mysteries of the cosmos after the Kush and all those Pabst Blue Ribbons. A fitting end to another Super Bowl Blackout. But when Jski and I finally decided to call it a night, I glanced at the stove and noticed it was only 1:15 or something like that. And we were the troopers of the bunch - always have been. My brother Mark was the first one out - tired - at 10. Trissy boy followed and hour later and Davey Cleinfeld was in and out on girlfriend duty.
I remember a time when Super Bowl Blackout crept well into Monday and sometimes Tuesday. I also remember never remembering a whole lot about the actual game. This morning I am uncomfortably clearheaded. There were some good laughs and some good moments. There always are. But I have also begun to notice the growing distance between these nights.
It's just like the physicist in the documentary was explaining.
The universe is expanding infinitely in all directions. So the further something gets from you, the faster it continues to get away and the harder it becomes to ever catch up to it.
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