And today, a new country - Poland

Internet access has been spotty at best, and I've spent my last 2 days in Berlin - not a place where I tend to spend much time sober. But here I am.

Since my last entry I've played five shows and three countries: Tilburg, NL; Duisburg, Haldern, and Berlin in Germany; and Copenhagen, Denmark.

Of Tilburg there isn't much to be said, except perhaps that the morning before driving there we walked around Gent, and it being All Saints Day, managed to witness part of an old-fashioned Catholic mass in Latin the Cathedral of St. Bavo, with a full choir and everything. What a privilege, to say the least. And of course, bought some Belgian chocolate. After that, we drove to Tilburg, where we were playing in the same venue as Joe Satriani (albeit in a MUCH smaller room). Needless to say, the place was busy, as he had brought two tour buses, but we certainly were not overlooked in the shuffle either (ie we had food and a room and such). Anyways, the sound wasn't great there and we had a small crowd, but still a good time. I mean, it WAS the Netherlands . . .

After Tilburg we drove to Duisburg, not more than 90 minutes away. Duisburg was one of my favorite venues from the last tour; they really treat you right, with good food, excellent beer (it IS a beer garden, afterall), friendly staff, and a top-notch sound guy. This time was no different. After the show, we went and stayed with the same person we had on the last trip, a real character named Christoph. I say he is a character because he can't go more than a week without having guests crashing at his place; apparently he has random people staying with him constantly, from bands to couch surfers. Never charges anyone a thing, just loves people I guess.

Our next show was in Haldern, and was billed to us by our booking agent as our most important show of the tour, despite the fact that it probably paid the least and was in the smallest town. This is because the owner of the venue where we played runs a music festival that is, apparently, one of the most important in Germany (or so we've heard from several sources). Not for its size, or for who it brings, but for the quality of music people have come to expect, and it's also apparently well attended by people from other festivals looking for new bands, as it tends to showcase excellent groups that no one has ever heard of. So apparently playing at his bar is an audition of sorts for his festival. Fortunately, we were up to the challenge, and gave the strongest set of the tour (having a real piano in house instead of our crappy electric keyboard really helped). Not sure if it will lead to anything, but he was clearly quite impressed. One just never knows in such situations.

The next day we made the long drive up the Danish peninsula and across an island to Copenhagen. What we found when we got there was a small club, an impossible parking situation on narrow and crowded streets, a sound system totally unsuited to our type of music, and an audience that seemed by and large not terribly interested in listening to us. It's also the night that our sampler, on its last legs already, was simply not working and finally put out of its misery in a violent fashion by our clearly frustrated drummer (it was his to begin with). RIP.

Copenhagen being a less than happy experience, we were glad to head to Berlin the following day. Then yesterday, after a night of drunken shenanigans, we played at the Deutches Theater, a place that hosts all kinds of different events. It was a good show, with excellent sound, and our hosts were very attentive to our every need, even asking us what drinks we'd like on stage (most opted for a double shot of whiskey on ice). We got to bed at around 5 AM, and here I am, writing before driving off to Poland. I've heard that the Vodka there is some of the best anywhere and cheap as hell. And hey, while I've been availing myself of the cultural vices of all the various countries I've been visiting, may as well tack on one more.

Gent (Ghent?)

So here I am writing from the beautiful Belgian city of Gent. Right out my window I can see the central tower of the Saint Bavo cathedral; I hope to get a closer look tomorrow (only an hour and a half to drive for our next show).

Last night we were in Hanover. It turned out to be a pretty good show. The crowd was smallish, but quite a few of them bought CDs. Plus, the venue hosts all-night parties on Saturdays, which myself and Emanuel, armed with a case of beer, decided to avail ourselves of. I finally stumbled back to the place we were staying at around 6 AM, quite thoroughly soused. And subsequently suffered my first hangover of the tour.

This morning after going back to the venue for breakfast (I love it when venues give you dinner AND breakfast), we then struck out for Gent. Emanuel hadn't gotten to bed himself until about 7 AM, and so spent the drive sleeping. The venue itself was fairly small with quite a cramped stage; nevertheless, the sound was quite good, both on stage and out in the house. So far, the only lousy sound we've had was on the first night, which, judging by our last tour, is to be expected over here. The show was actually quite packed, although judging by the very small amount of merch we sold and the small number of folks who came and spoke with us, people were more there for the venue than for us in particular. Still, it's always nice to play for a full house, no matter why they are there. Also, the French couple whose home we stayed at in Lille a few days ago was there; it was nice to be able to give them a taste of our full volume sound, as when we play their house it will likely be mostly acoustic.

So far I've moved through excellent British lagers, Czech pilseners, German dunkelweiss, and tonight of course Belgian white beer. Love it.

Hanover

Hello from Hanover.

I'm drinking a nice German Pilsener in the green room of a club in yet another artist-commune-seeming place, with a velociraptor out front made of machine parts. I've only had sporadic internet over the past few days, thus the distance between entries.

After Manchester we drove down to London, stopping en route (well, slightly out of our way) to pick up a replacement guitar amp. The drive to the amp was gorgeous, taking us through the north England countryside. I HAVE to vacation up there someday, when I have the money and time. It's kind of like Pennsylvania, but just a touch different, especially with the old stone buildings dotting the landscape. After picking up the amp, we drove down to London. The traffic was pretty horrendous, as London traffic is wont to be, but we eventually made our way to the venue, an old place called the Brixton Windmill (Brixton being the neighborhood it's in). The crowd wasn't large, but our press agent in the UK was there, and apparently she was able to get several journalists to come as well. Which is, of course, why one plays a large city like London.

After London we crossed the channel and drove to the city of Lille. We were originally going to Antwerp, but a few days before had been informed that the person we were to stay with had to do some last-minute work on her house and was unable to host us. It turns out that a few weeks ago our drummer had put out a message that we were looking for some more gigs to fill some space at the end of the tour, and a couple in Lille offered to throw us a house concert since they love our CD. And so when our housing in Antwerp fell through they also offered to put us up at their place instead. They were amazingly generous: fed us, wined us, and gave us the run of their apartment for the night (they went to stay with the man's sister). Before that night we were virtually complete strangers (minus a few e-mails) and yet they still left us alone in their nice place. Generosity and trust on that level is a rare thing.

We then journeyed to Hamburg, to play at an art/dance/music festival. The venue was quite nice, and quite large - certainly far too large for the somewhat small crowd. That said, the sound was excellent, and those people who were there were very enthusiastic, dancing and some of them even singing along. As much fun as it is to have a big crowd, an active one is even better, because then you really know why it is you're playing. After the show, we went out for drinks with the opening act, and made quite a late night of it, since Hanover is a mere 90 minutes drive away.

And that brings me to today. We still haven't gone to a currency exchange place, although lord knows we tried this morning, and so my spending is to this point almost nil (I think i owe eman five euros). The sound at this place is quite nice, and I'm looking forward to taking the stage. Hopefully some people come out.

European Tour Number 2, First Show

So, we just had our first show in Europe, and basically everything that could go wrong did. We were missing cables. Our guitar amp didn't work. The show was scheduled last-minute and thus very under-promoted, so there were only 20 people there (although given other problems that was probably a blessing). And the sound guy had NO idea how to work the system. Literally. It was so bad that after three songs of none of us being able to hear anything, we all unplugged, went down on the floor, and played and entirely acoustic set. We really had no choice, with four of the six of us basically playing deaf.

The up side was the hospitality. We've had a decent place to stay for two nights, some decent Chinese food, and plenty of good British beer, so no complaints on that end. Tomorrow we're going to pick up a new amp, and then drive to London for what we hope is the first "real" (ie plugged in) show of the tour. We're hoping all of the bugs were worked out this first night, but I guess we'll see.

Football

A lot of people I know give me surprised looks when they find out that I'm a football fan. I guess that's because classical musicians (well, at least classical string players at any rate - brass players are a different breed) don't tend to watch much in the way of sports, let alone American football. And yet, I've been a football fan most of my life.

The first football game I can remember watching was the Redskins/Bills Super Bowl in 1992. I actually had to go look up what year that was, but I guess that meant that I was eight years old at the time. For some reason I was cheering for the Bills. I think it's because I liked their bright blue and orange uniforms. Also, it may be that, through some coincidence, they were the team I ended up watching through the playoffs, as opposed to their counterpart.

I definitely have to credit my father with sparking my interest in football. He always had the games on on Sundays, although until that specific year I don't recall if I ever noticed. He always had a lot to say about the games that I didn't understand; he'd call "holding" on plays where no flags were thrown by the refs, or talk about "poor coverage" (he still never seems to notice "good coverage"). To this day, we always watch football together when I come home, of course provided that it's football season.

Further cementing my interest was the fact that a few years later, two Wisconsin teams ascended to the top of the sport, the Badgers making the 1994 Rose Bowl and the Packers making the Super Bowl twice, in 1997 and 1998. Kids who had never talked about football before were suddenly obsessing over the sport, and for the first time I actually knew the names and positions of various players who weren't the quarterback.

I always relish the start of football season, even during years (like last year) where I haven't had consistent access to a television. Even without seeing the games, one can follow them through various sports writers, and read about all the on- and off-field drama. I know it doesn't really mean anything, and I know it's just a bunch of overpaid mammoth prima donnas trying to maul one another for the chance to carry an oddly-shaped ball over a white line, or perhaps kick it through an over-sized tuning fork. I get that. And I still love it.

On standards vs realities

So recently, a couple things happened that made me think a while on the issue of having high standards in everything one does vs the realities of music-making for a living. To a freelancer, tis is a very important issue. I long ago resolved never to accept a take on a recording that doesn't meet at least some base quality level, that base level being quite high. The problem is, often when doing gigs/recording sessions, a fee is agreed upon beforehand, and then the session takes however long it takes. Obviously, a gig that operated by the standards laid down by the musicians union does not work this way, but most of the gigs I end up doing don't follow those guidelines.

The simple reality is that in most sessions, there is little to no rehearsal; sometimes, you are asked to find other musicians to play with, and sometimes they are chosen ahead of time by someone else. What this all adds up to is that sometimes your ability to get a solid take can be severely hampered by an incompetent musician; or, sometimes, the music is quite difficult, and even with a strong group of musicians a really excellent take may simply be out of reach.

What this can add up to is the idea that to reach the standard I set for myself, I would need to do a LOT more work than I'm getting paid for. Some artists understand this concept and behave accordingly. Others abuse it, most likely not due to any maliciousness, but just because it hasn't crossed their mind. A few examples:

I have worked with the band Emanuel and the Fear for quite some time now (will be three years as of this November). Emanuel is very careful to never schedule unnecessary rehearsals. Sure, the band could be tighter and more in tune if we rehearsed once a week, but the reality is we aren't getting paid enough for that, and so we settle for what we get by rehearsing only very occasionally. Because everyone in the band is a pro, the result is still at a very high level, but it certainly could be better. But it's a necessary compromise.

About a week ago, I played a Cuban music session with a string quartet. The music was exceedingly difficult, and we only had one rehearsal to put together three songs. We were paid quite well for the job, and the level of all the musicians involved was quite high, and so of course no one objected to spending all day in the studio. That being said, if the engineer and artists who we were recording for had insisted on perfection, we would have been there all night as well, and to be honest probably wouldn't have had a better end-result. I'd say the end result was quite good, but I know everyone left some blips in the takes that we'd like back.

Lastly, I recently did a session for a Brooklyn indie band who are friends with a colleague of mine. This was an unpaid session, which I agreed to do partly because it was my friend who asked me, and partly because I'd heard a lot of good things about the project. Also, it was just supposed to be background string tracks for a three songs, so I figured it would take at most two hours. I was dead wrong. We were at the studio for about six hours (including a dinner break), mainly because the band and the recording engineer were nitpicking every little thing. So the end result was at a very high standard, the sort of standard I'd normally like to shoot for in any session. Except, again, it was unpaid.

This bothered me quite a bit. I sort of feel it common sense that if you have a group in for free, you don't insist that they nail everything perfectly. I can honestly say that I sympathize with and admire the mindset, but there SHOULD be a law in music as immutable as, say, the law of thermodynamics. And that is that you can either have top notch strings on your album, or you can have free strings on your album, but not both. And the next time I'm asked to do something like this, I'm going to set a hard time limit ahead of time so they know what my expectations are. It's just bad for business to give your very best work and not get paid.

And then, to end on a happy note, sometimes you go into a session and find nice, well-written, not-too difficult charts, top-notch music to play over, excellent musicians to work with, and a decent paycheck. I've had two sessions like that this summer, both with the same group of people at the same studio. Hopefully, they hire me again.

3 years in NYC

It has been just over 3 years since I first came to this city; of those, two were spent in the relative safety of "being a student", and the third has been spent in the "real world". So here are a few observations and lessons I've learned in that time.

1. New Yorkers are not NEARLY as rude/obnoxious/annoying as they have been portrayed on TV and in film. Obviously, with so many people crammed together in such a small space, you inevitably will run into plenty of assholes, but no more than anywhere else.

2. It's not so bad being one of the only white people on a given block. I mean, I didn't think it would be, or else I wouldn't have spent 2 years in neighborhoods where I was distinctly a minority, but it was nice to see it confirmed. Heck, I didn't even speak the same language (Spanish) as most of the folks living nearby, but it didn't seem to ever bother anyone.

3. If a subway pulls up to the station, and the cars that pass by you are full but the one that stops in front of you is empty or nearly so, something is wrong with that car. Either the air conditioner isn't working, in which case it will be well above 90 degrees, or it smells terrible, for one reason or another. I learned this one the hard way several times.

4. Versatility and openness to trying new things are two of the most valuable traits a musician can possess. If I didn't know how to improvise, or hadn't had the guts to try busking, I definitely would have had to get a real job by now.

5. An AC is a necessary component to surviving a typical New York summer. Last summer was far cooler than normal, and I was not in New York the previous summer, so this one caught me quite unprepared.

6. Speaking of community, finding one is another necessary component to survival in a place where neighbors never say hello.

7. Provided you're not one of the wealthy types who has a nice midtown apartment with a doorman and can afford to take a cab everywhere, NYC will teach you how to tolerate pretty much anything. Everything one ever has to learn about survival (well, obviously not moose-skinning, but I think you get my meaning) can be learned here. I think the Onion summed it up best.

8. My perceptions of myself as an artist changed radically when there was suddenly this imperative to pay for basic things like rent and food. It's not that I no longer love my job. It's just that as the motivation changes, certain realities become apparent. For instance, I'm now far less tolerant of extra rehearsals being scheduled, or people asking for unpaid work, or people whom I'm getting paid to work with being less than fully professional. Or people not understanding that I am only doing such and such a gig because I'm getting paid, not necessarily because I care even a bit about the project itself (sometimes yes, sometimes no). I'm not so good at pretending to care.

9. I still am not sure how I feel about New York. It is a place where I have been able to get the sorts of musical experiences I never knew I needed, and to study with a brilliant teacher while I did it. It's also a place where it's hard to feel like one is making any progress, at least financially, and sometimes professionally as well. It's a place where people go to find their dreams, and where many have those dreams dashed. Can't live with it, can't live without it, as the saying goes.