Stories, Insomnia, and Mundanity... Pt. 1

Hooray. It's 6 A.M. and I'm still awake.

Those who know me have probably heard me bitch about my insomnia before. Actually, it's not so much insomnia... I actually sleep very well once I get there- 9 hours at a go. It's really more like a total inability to regulate my sleep schedule. Again (and I am really going to stop bothering with this disclaimer soon, so take heed), I'm not intending to bitch. I have plenty of other forums for that, significantly less demanding to my time and energy. But most stories, most insights, and most anything else worth the time begins with a problem... or more accurately a challenge, as the wise folks say. Thus, too, do all my blogs begin. Apparently.

So. The upside. The upside is, while I'm busy lying around, trying to clear my mind for sleep (or at least meditate... which has the added benefit of making me sleepy if I do it wrong), all manner of fascinating ideas pop into my head. Now typically, on the other side of my eventual 9 hours and in the fading afternoon light (oh, God why me), these fascinating moments of insight and creativity wind up regarded as a sort of temporary insanity. The aspect of myself I am used to waking up to, that which is most associated with the mundanity (hooray, another word autocorrect doesn't know!) and apparent sanity of what we call everyday life, is not amused. This is how countless blogs, poems, songs and what have you, have wound up in the scrap heap instead of reaching your doubtless anxiously awaiting ears. And eyes.

But I'm beginning to notice that said rationalist-and-hyper-critical fellow is primarily associated with everything about life I don't really like (you know... the mundanity and all- is "hate" too strong a word?)... and I'm really beginning to question his sanity.  He smacks of that slippery thing called ego...

Ultimately, insane or no, I haven't much better to do than spill my literary brain-babies across the virtual page and if you're here, odds are you have nothing better to do than read it. Them. You know what I mean...

So maybe it's time I stopped taking it all so seriously.


Oh gosh, look at that, I have begun to run on a bit again... with what was only supposed to be an introductory paragraph. I do believe I shall split this into two blogs, in the interest of brevity... which in turn is valued in the interest of maintaining my imaginary fan base.

Serialization, ho!

That unproduced sound

Why can't I seem to finish a blog? 
I've written several, or... several half blogs, anyway. Over the course of a year (less two weeks) since I last posted anything. But I seem to lose the thread about halfway through and they get relegated to the "things I'll maybe finish later if I feel like it" pile... and of course I never do (actually, this is the way most things, especially those of a creative bent, have gone this year... but let's stick to the issue at hand). So... why?

Well, the fact that all of half a dozen people seem to read this blog doesn't really do wonders for my motivation. But if you're curious, I think the primary thing is, this year has been pretty rough. Sort of a continuous and none-too-gentle humbling experience that's left me without a terrific wealth of faith in what I have to say, or my ability to say it. Please don't mistake- you have not been invited to a pity party. "Poor me", I am happy to report, is less and less a part of my life... and good riddance. But if there is one thing of which I still have no doubt, it's this; nothing that is not honest is worth saying. And very little that is impersonal is, either.

It seems as though my muse may be returning from her year long sojurn- maybe she finally got all the messages I left (or perhaps this is heralded by the end of the 13th baktun... hey, you can't discount it). Although my prejudices are lessened (again, good riddance... although I'm still inclined to think that very little of what I've written could or should be considered very prejudicial), so too has my attention to those of others... particularly as regards what I choose to say or do. So when I do have something to say, rest assured that, now more than ever, it will come from the heart. Without much gloss.

 I think that really is a nice principle to rest on. Sort of... warm and fuzzy, but not too safe- so not too boring. Like a sleeping tiger, maybe.

Anyway, I don't want to scare away my muse, so we're still gonna take it slow. For now, all I want to tell you about is my favorite sound in recording. The oldest sound. More often than not, the most soulful sound.

The unproduced sound.

Well... turns out there's not much to say about it. The title pretty much speaks for itself- a virtue my grandfather would appreciate (sorry, inside joke).


But one thing I do think is worth mentioning is, all this super-complicated stuff that goes on in recording studios these days... the tracks-upon-tracks-upon-tracks, miking everything up to the gills, multiple retakes and patches, all that good stuff and all the equipment that goes with it... it's pretty new. There was a time not too long ago when they'd cram you in a room with maybe a couple mics and you'd play the song through and that was it. It cut directly to vinyl, so really... that was it. Robert Johnson (and all those folks of the same era I'm so fond of) was recorded with just one or two mics in a hotel room. And he turned out all right...

Incidentally, if you're into the documentary thing and you want to know more about Robert, this one's ok.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q0hke-cRSCg
The bit about recording is around the 28:00 mark if you're impatient.

Also, remember Louie Louie? The original?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Vae_AkLb4Q
That was recorded with just one microphone, suspended from the ceiling. The whole band just stood around it in a circle.


Those videos aren't what I was planning to show you when I started this... but I do think it's cool to see how much simpler recording used to be. Production ain't everything. Soul is. In fact, it's not uncommon for production to get in the way of soul... and frequently the lack of production does converse.

But my favorite, and what I really wanted to draw your attention to is the blatantly unproduced stuff- both in sound quality and in arrangement- that sounds, not in spite of but because of it, totally excellent.

Let me show you what I mean.

Let's start with some Black Keys. Now, if you're a faithful reader, you've heard this before... but maybe you're not. And if you are... They're worth another listen.

Flash Of Silver
and
Summertime Blues

are two of my most favoritest unknown TBK tracks, and a perfect example of that raw sound I'm talking about. But let's try a couple bands I haven't beaten you over the head with before.

How about Tom Waits? One mic, Tom and his guitar and a trumpet in an empty room, I'm guessing. You can even hear his chair creaking. I, for one, wouldn't have it any other way. Have a listen to
Jayne's Blue Wish

And here's one of my favorite Iron & Wine songs. I think it's from his first album- the one that was recorded, all by him, on a 4-track. Personally I find this to be one of the most comforting songs I've ever heard. It's lulled me to sleep on many a plane or car ride...
Waiting For A Superman

Now, next to the last ones, the sound quality on this one is positively polished. But I think it still carries the spirit of what I'm talking about. Also, it's the only Bon Iver song I really, really like.
Skinny Love

Well, this one really sounds about as clean as one could ever hope a live performance to be... but I'll allow it, because it's still just a man and a guitar. Also the only Brother & Bones song I've found that I really dig. Beautiful lyrics, man.
Gold And Silver

Ooo, and have some Lumineers. My cousin turned me onto these guys. The same cousin that showed me The Black Keys (which was one of the most important moments of my life). Thanks Heather! Here's
The Dead Sea

OH! And this one... I heard it on the nicest place on the internet. Kinda cute. 'S called
I Have Never Loved Someone

Alright, well, maybe that's about enough for now. Hopefully we'll meet again soon. I'll leave you with one more very unproduced tune. An old field holler, sung live by a fella I've never heard of. And if you're a fan of the old-timey music, you should check out the Alan Lomax Archive channel that posted this... there's lot's of stuff on there you'll never see anywhere else. Enjoy some
Dangerous Blues

Merry belated Christmas, and a very happy new year to you!

               -JC

P.S. I'm still a musician, and I urge you to go buy some music instead of just listening on youtube for free. Musicians (and creative people in general) deserve your support... not so much for the work they put into their profession (they do, but so does everyone), but for the love they put in too. I guarantee if they're good enough for you to listen to, they've put a lot of love into it.
And that's important. It really is. More than you know.

Stagolee

             One of the most interesting things about folk music, to me, is the way it changes over time. Not just in terms of general style, but specifically. By which I mean to say, you have a primarily oral tradition going there, unlike classical music where you're given a more or less concrete piece and told how to play it. Because of this,  you can track a specific song back hundreds of years (lyrically, anyway... a hundred and change for actual recordings), and hear how that singular piece has changed with the times.

I find this fascinating (in fact, the same core concept applied to languages is the primary reason I tried to minor in linguistics for awhile). If music is expressive of the human mind and heart, then when we have a song that's been played for a long time, we basically have a map of human growth and diversity over however many years we can track it back. Like analyzing the rings of a tree- a skilled student can learn many fascinating things if they listen close enough. Although to be clear, this is significantly less scientific and more interpretive, as are all things that work on a nonphysical level. I like that better anyway.
     Of course, this would be a very boring blog if I didn't give you an example. My favorite example (one that has glazed the eyes of more than one hapless girlfriend) is

Stagolee

     Stagolee is a (really) well known murder blues. There are several traditional murder blues songs that've been covered a lot. Frankie and johnny is a good example- I'm guessing that one actually goes back further- but one of the things I like about Stagolee is that the song can be tied concretely to the actual event that spawned it. There's a newspaper report from a 1895 copy of the St. Louis Globe-Democrat that details the events in the song. Basically, according to the paper (I'll paraphrase), the story goes like this:

     "Stacker" Lee Shelton (the nickname has a bunch of variations, the most common one being "stagolee")- a pimp and a carriage driver (apparently you could be both)- and his friend William Lyons were gambling in a St. Louis Saloon on Christmas eve.  Both were drunk. At some point the conversation devolved into a political argument, at the end of which Billy grabbed Lee's hat off his head. Lee told Billy to return it, and when he refused, Lee pulled a gun, shot Billy in the stomach, and walked away. Lee was arrested and Billy went to the hospital. Billy died of his wound a couple days later. Lee was convicted and died, in prison, of tuberculosis, 17 years later.

   No biggie, right? I mean, it sucks, but in the grand scheme of things that shit happens every day. People really really seem to love killing each other (I'll share a couple other choice selections on the subject a bit later), and they'll jump at the opportunity. But that leads us to the other thing I think is cool about this- this is one of the most related stories in music... ever. Hundreds of people have covered it over the past hundred years. So, knowing what the event at the root is, I find it pretty fascinating to look at all the different variations that've sprung up so far.  

Time for some examples.
 ...Is 10 enough?

Trust me, I promise this is the only time I will ever give you so many versions of the same song.... but I think this is so cool, I just can't help it this time.  It's worth noting, however, that while I might be inclined to share notes with you about stylistic variations, that's not quite what I'm talking about with the tree rings thing. You can talk about music all day long, and regardless of how eloquent you are, you may still be missing the point. I feel like I've hammered this in so many ways from so many angles in the past, but in the artistic world (most of the world, really) it's the key point. So I'll italicize it this time, just to make it extra clear.  It's not about facts, figures, thoughts or analysis- IT'S ALL ABOUT SOUL! So if you really want to understand what I'm talking about, close your eyes, sit back, and just listen.

Mississippi John Hurt
...covered the tune at one point. Although it's unlikely that he wrote it (he was 2 years old when the deed actually went down), his version is generally considered to be the quintessential one.

Herb Wiedoft's Orchestra
...is one of the earliest recordings (1924), although the only thing to link the song, really, is the title.

Furry Lewis
...did a version around 1927, As you can hear, the lyrics, melody, and story all started changing pretty drastically, pretty fast. 15 years after Stagolee was in his grave, his story was already pretty varied. Cool, huh?

Ma Rainey
was an "urban blues" singer (Furry and John are "country blues"- you'll hear the difference) contemporary with the rest of these guys. She did a version called Stack O' Lee that was, in fact, Frankie and Johnny with slightly tweaked lyrics. A lot of the urban blues performers were... not very original.


Moving along, they (predictably) schlocked it up pretty considerable in the '50s.

Lloyd Price
...managed to make a No. 1 hit out of it, though.

As you no doubt noticed, the same basic elements usually remain (the names, the shooting, and usually the hat)... but everything else is fair game for...modification. By the '70s, Stag's legend had grown to truly epic proportions.

Pacific Gas And Electric
...released a pretty embellished rendition, in which Stagolee goes to hell and dethrones the devil. Really... we're getting pretty out there, man.

Renditions of Stagolee have also been featured in two movies of late.

Keb Mo
...plays it in the 2007 movie Honeydripper.

and

Samuel L. Jackson
Plays a heavily modified version in Black Snake Moan (2006). I really like the first person narrative in this one. The version he's playing is actually a spinoff of R.L. Burnside's version -not the only nod to Burnside in that movie. If you haven't seen it, I recommend you go watch it and find out what I mean!

That's probably enough about Stack and Billy for one day. Hopefully you're getting a little bit of what I'm saying about the sheer breadth and depth of variation on this story. If you're really interested, I encourage you to look up some more tunes. I guarantee you won't run out anytime soon. I'm going to leave you with one of my favorite versions (for obvious reasons).


The Black Keys 
...did their own Stagolee on the album they released around the time I found them (you know... before they were cool). Awesome!


  I'll be back soon with some more examples of good old fashioned murder blues.

           Later
               -JC

Badass Weirdos

So the topic of today is musical weirdos. People who operate outside of normal standards, be it for race, nationality, sex, or just style... and are all the more badass for it. And I don't mean the affected mainstream "rock & roll" or "punk" I-don't-give-a-fuck attitude... these people just are what they are. But they have or will go down in history for raising their voices and not allowing the what or how to dictate the who. That's what I think, anyway.

So. What if you're an old toothless black dude with no instrument, sitting on an empty stage, with only your own off-time clapping to keep you company? Can you still be a badass? Maybe you should ask Son House...

How about if your guitar has knotted together strings, hasn't been tuned in about a year, and your singing  sounds like one of the crazy winos outside Walgreens? Maybe you can... if your name is Joseph Spence.

Speaking of weird voices, what if your midrange voice sounds smooth and croony, but your lower register can only be described as "demonically gravelly"? It only made Blind Willie Johnson go from stud, to super-stud (you'll see what I mean about gravelly at 1:30 or so).

Ok, so old blues guys were cool even if they sounded weird. But what if you're a contemporary white kid who looks like the Pillsbury Doughboy sans hat, with an acoustic guitar for accompaniment, trying to belt out soul like James Brown? Eli "Paperboy" Reed has my vote for BAMF membership.

Here's a chick with hair like a bottlebrush, who usually records with stuff like this for backing. I wonder if she can take the same song, and make it awesome using only her own voice and a multitrack. Listen to Martina go...

OK, what about a transsexual lead singer (who incidentally pronounces his 'r's like 'w's... I thought I was the only one that did that)?
The Cliks (combination of Clits and Cocks, if you're curious) are all the cooler for it.

How about weird style-crossover? Can you sing metal in a sinatra-esque lounge singer voice?
Richard Cheese can.

OK, nationality mismatches? How about a Swedish Delta Bluesman? (He does a lot of lessons on youtube if you ever take a notion to learn...)

What about an Argentinian Delta bluesman?

Gabriel Gratzer- Canned Heat

Gabriel Gratzer- Highway 49
No problem there I guess... turns out blues is pretty big over in Argentina. Who knew?

So then maybe if you're Russian you can still play some surfer guitar. In fact, you can even
do it to a polka beat while wearing zoot suits and bowties!

One more... while I'm on the topic, I just wanted to show you a rareish live video of a man who lost half the fingers on his left (fretting) hand to a fire... and went on to become one of the greatest jazz guitarists in the world. His name, of course, was Django Reinhardt.

So, now you see. Regardless of what shit you might have to deal with in life-be it physical capability, social standing, or just all around oddity... it can only enhance you in the world of music. Music is the language of the soul- and when the soul speaks, mere appearance is unimportant.

                    -Mojoe

My lazy ass finally wrote another blog...

It's not an elegant title, but it's accurate. It's been awhile since I've been able to think of something to write about. Since returning from my trip to the reality of my unstable living situation, I've sort of taken a break from trying to solve the world's problems and instead tried to bear down and find a way out of the general life-related suckage that has been hanging over my head lately. Consequently, I've had little to write about besides that, and the  blog I wrote on that subject never saw the light of day due to excessive complainy-ness. So I'll try to do the personal update in a paragraph or two...

Long story short, I have no job (the old one sucked anyway), my financial support's running out at the end of the year, my "music career" has been stalled on the runway for quite some time now, my romantic life has been more of a whimsical concept than an actuality (probably a blessing...  I don't realistically have time or resources for that shit right now anyway) for about as long, and I'm mostly just trying to establish a means of living that doesn't feel like selling my soul. I suspect only other skilled artists know what I mean by that last, as the general population doesn't seem to understand exactly how much time and energy are required to maintain an art form (menial 9-5s are not conducive).

This isn't to say I haven't been enjoying myself at all. My last gig was wicked fun, I just invested some of my savings in a couple pair of sexy new pants to replace the ones that sprung knee-leaks (all part of my plan to attract a sexy sugarmama to fix my financial and romantical woes), and I also made a minor and well considered investment in a new condenser mic. This last has proven quite useful in the 6 hours I've had it, and you should actually be hearing some new recordings before long.

Anyway, I recently received a request for another music blog. So, being the kind hearted and obliging young man that I am, I have decided to make good on that. Get ready for some more delicious soulful music, in no particular order.

Playing for Change
...is a pun. And a really cool concept. Basically, some socially conscious individuals with music equipment went around and got street musicians (playing for change... get it?) from all over the world to overdub on various songs. I don't know much more than that 'cause I haven't really looked it up (lazy). I'm sure you can, though. Frankly, this is one of the coolest social/media related concepts I've seen... ever. I was reminded of it  'cus I just found a way to play Stand By Me on my guitar while I was fuckin' around today. Cool, huh? Here's some Bob for ya...

Some Black Keys you probably never heard

...Cause I hadn't before today. Apparently now that they're popular, people have been hunting down obscure B-sides and stuff from the earlier days. And there's a live show at Abbey Rd. that I somehow missed...  I love all the Black Keys' stuff, but damn I miss classic 'Keys. Safe to say finding this stuff made my day.

...Which reminds me

OK, so you know that channel full of awesome TBK i gave you back there? Well... I can nail down at least two awesome people you've probably never heard out of those covers.  First, Something On Your Mind is by Karen Dalton. She was not a recording artist (I doubt she really had any input into her final product frankly), so all her records sound kinda weird and hard to get used to. Here is the most accessible track of hers I've found (see? not a studio recording...). I also play a pretty decent rendition of this tune... if you come see me play sometime, you just might hear it.

Second, Goin' Down South is by a badass old bluesman by the name of R.L. Burnside. Burnside was by all accounts kind of an asshole, but a brilliant delta bluesman. The story about him that stands out most for me is about him going to jail for killing a guy (I think the dude banged his wife or something). Burnside's famous commentary on the situation was "I didn't mean to kill him. I just meant to shoot the motherfucker in the head... him dying was between him and God". Incidentally, Burnside spent less than a year in jail. The local plantation owner got him pardoned because he needed Burnside to help with the next harvest.

Sugarmama!

Remember when I told you about my plan to find a sexy sugar mama? Well learning this song is part of my plan...

All that R.L. and John Lee has me wanting to do some electrical type stuff (I'm thinking if I could pull together a sweet rhythmic electrical set it might broaden my gigging horizons too...). Too bad my electric guitar is a piece and my amp is roughly the size of a breadbox, huh? My artistic life could use a goodly infusion of cash, fo' sho'. And sex. Come ooooon, SUGAR MAMA!

Soul!

... is a genre I'm enjoying more and more. I bet most of you didn't look him up last time I linked you (shame!), so here is your booster shot of Aloe Blacc. 

And I realized I never showed you any Eli 'Paperboy' Reed. Can't imagine why... white boy's got soul!

Frenchy!

Nouvelle Vague is a french band. This is my favorite song of theirs (an original). It's a little bit of a diversion from their normal schtick. You know how a lot of punk bands do mainstream songs, but sped up and rougher? Well... Nouvelle Vague does it backwards! (Guns Of Brixton is originally a Clash song, I believe). 

Here's another cute french chick band- April March. You may know this tune in it's english version as the end credit song for Death Proof. I think it's more fun in french though.

Speaking of Death Proof

...here's another sweet oldie handpicked by Quentin Tarantino.  It's in the lap dance scene that's was cut from the theatrical version. Quentin picks some pretty sweet jams for his movies. hadn't listened to that last one in a long time.

As my blog goes on, I start to forget what music I put up already, and sometimes I miss it when I look back over my posts. My apologies (I think I already mentioned Burnside and Dalton after all...). But for the life of me, I can't find any Martina Topley Bird. Since she's one of my favorites I have a hard time believing I didn't put her up already, but... oh well. If you heard it before, listen again!  Here's my two favorites:

1.

2.

...and a bonus- the track that introduced me to her. I found it on a video game called Indigo Prophecy several years back, if you're interested.

Well, it's late (early), and Martina's making me snoozy, so there's your music selection for the night. Check back soon... hopefully there will be some of MY recordings 'fore long! 

                    Keep on keepin' on, people.

                            -Mojoe

P.S. Shout out! Hi, Miela. Hope this keeps you busy over there in the land of 'roos and koalas for awhile...

Lost and found

Well, this should officially wrap up the travel section of my blog for awhile. I arrived home, safe and sound, on the 15th. I've been chilling out and trying to readapt to stationary life since. I've noticed that anytime I travel for awhile and come home, things maintain a sort of fuzzy sense of unreality for awhile.
    
The drive to CO was relatively uneventful. We did the "hell ride" as my uncle calls it, 33 hours only stopping for gas and a sandwich. We split the driving (I drove a bit less than half), the alternate crashing out in the back seat when off the clock. I have to say, I was rather impressed at my own endurance, considering I hadn't so much as driven around the block in almost a month and a half. The train ride was boring... but mercifully short (12 hours).

Summary


  Well... I guess this would be the point where I tell you what I learned, and all that.  Unfortunately, that would be easier if the trip had been more defined. But that's not really where my whole life has been lately. I'd have to say that most of the important things that happened to me while I was gone are the kind of things we don't talk about. Not because they're secret, exactly, but because nobody else would understand. Based on a lifetime of accumulated personal observation, these are the subtle truths that sound stupid, crazy, or both, if spoken aloud. Maybe someday when my internal life is less chaotic I will have better stories to share... but for now, my adventures exist mostly in my own mind.

  As you probably know, this trip was undertaken partly (primarily even) in search of some answers. Initially, I would have said that I didn't get the answers I was looking for. But, really, I think the deeper issue here is trust. I think I had those answers before I left, and still haven't learned to trust them in the face of the crosswise nature of my reality right now.  I mostly know where I'm headed, but everything seems backwards right now, and something's gotta break before I can move. I'm starting to think that something may be the element of self-trust itself. Where I want to go from here will require a great deal of personal security, probably more than most people lay claim to, and it seems I will have to give myself that before the tipping point is reached. Contrary to popular belief, the only way to find trust is to create it yourself. See? I'm already starting to sound crazy...

So, no big overview to share. I ate a lot of tasty food, hung out with many friends and loved ones, and traveled many many miles. I am still as much at a loss as when I left, but I'm starting to think that's my own fault. But today I wrote a song. I like it... catchy melody, cool break, nice words. I'd maybe even share it on youtube, but you know... the camera thing. But I'll do the next best thing and give you the lyrics. It's kind of a traveling song, I guess. I've had the title for about a year (it's slated to be the title track on my first album), but I just haven't been able to find the song 'til now. Funny, how that works. Anyway, here you go...

Lost and Found

Passing trains
And awkward waiting lines
And the lights of this city, so much like the others, with its
Distant passing smiles
Gone in such a hurry, sheltered high
On every side, by buildings tall
So loved by the gods, for a laugh
All scattered round
Lost and found

Forgotten names
Spaces shared awhile
By these handshake strangers
Waiting for a chance to be known
Again, united in
A common cause of motion, and the
Sway, blacktop or the rails or the
Swelling sea, like the motion of the lovers we have found
Picked up, let down
Lost and found

If I had the time
I'd go back, and dig
These seeds from my mind
Bright flowers, scattered round
Choking the ground
But for now
My fingers love the sound
Of "lost and found"

If I had the time
I'd go back and find
A place to call mine
And I'd find these eyes
Never turned from mine
But my heart
Still swells to the sound
Of "lost and found"

Going home
White station lights
Or the singing of the blacktop
Hoping that the next stop brings us rest
Sleep, companions for the road ahead
"ladies and gentlemen, stand back, the doors are opening..."
The sway, the swell
The loving road beneath
Riding that line between the times
And the sound
Of "lost and found"

Those who have never attempted it may not believe this, but songwriting is not a process of contrivance. That is to say, I don't "think up" the things I write. The experience is much less like planning a building than like tuning in a static- filled radio. Consequently, you never really know what you've got 'til you hear it for yourself. When it was finished, I noticed it shares a certain musical attitude with this song, which I will leave you with.

             Later!
                 -Mojoe

Trains and whales and witches... oh my!

Greetings from Gloucester, MA.
      Well, my trip to New England went fine, if somewhat slowly. I spent a half hour sitting in a car in downtown Crystal Falls with my mom at 1 a.m. to catch the Indian Trails (local bus line in lieu of Greyhound) bus. Crystal is a small enough (or backwards enough- take your pick) town to lack a bus stop. To catch the bus, you wait eagerly at the busiest Main St. intersection, and flag the Greyhound down when you see it. Quaint, no?

      It probably goes without mentioning that I forgot something else important. This time I left my rail pass (the one that reads "must be presented to obtain tickets" or some such) on the desk in my mom's cabin. I remembered this approximately 2 minutes after boarding the bus. Since I had to pick up my tix in Milwaukee, and judging from the previously "pretty German" (as my uncle puts it) attitude of the amtrak establishment, this could have been a big problem. I could quite reasonably freaked out about it, since Milwaukee would be a shitty place to get stranded. But, rapidly improving at my zen traveler mindset, I took the "nothing I can do now" mindset, and went to sleep instead. I'm really starting to rock socks at this traveling thing, people.

       I spent the next 8 hours, as bus passengers do, drifting in and out of consciousness. We stopped for an hour in Escanaba to switch buses, so I got to sit in the bus station for an hour and observe the mundane goings on through a film of semi-waking consciousness. This brought a singular revelation; all bus drivers in the U.P. look identical. No shit. Same height, same weight (male yoopers in general are of that particular beer-induced body type that makes them look, for all the world, like they're pregnant) Same voice, same haircut, same fungible Flanders-esque mustache. Of the 3 or 4 bus drivers I saw in Escanaba, the only differences were, one had brown hair, and one lacked the mandatory surly demeanor. Swear to God.

       So, I made it to Milwaukee. Exhausted, I stumbled to the ticket counter where I was actually treated kindly. Either taking pity on my wearied countenance and dehydrated voice, or just because she was nice, the ticket lady used a couple quick keystrokes to circumvent my need for a rail pass, and handed off my tickets, noting that I was free to use my ticket to travel on any Chicago-bound train throughout the day. No problemo. This reinforces my belief that obnoxious corporations are mostly built on the backs of generally decent people.

          So, I spent that day killing time. As my train out of Chicago didn't leave 'til 9:30 p.m., I had some time on my hands. I got good and sweaty hiking around Milwaukee for awhile. My final judgement on Milwaukee was, aside from a couple cool old buildings... boring. So I took off to Chicago, grabbed a too-short nap on the train, and got good and sweaty wandering around there instead. My assessment of chicago... also boring. I'm getting pretty used to carrying a backpack and a guitar around, but I suspect my pack is not a good fit. Either that, or I'm using it wrong. Either way, I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to be experiencing sharp nerve pains through my upper shoulder when I wear it for more than 5 minutes. Oh, well.

      I ended up in the Chicago train station with a book for about 3 hours. I must say, the Chicago train station is about as bleak and shitty as they get. Utilitarian, dirty, busy, disorganized... you name it. Fuck Chicago... I kinda knew we wouldn't get along. The conductor lady was also a piece of work. One of those "sassy black women". Effectively, she gets by on an attitude that's alternately charming and offensive, depending on whether or nor she's getting what she wants. She sat me in the wrong car (they only open the applicable car doors when they stop, so that's actually important to the conductor), and when she realized her mistake, sat me in the only one she had left- one with a wall instead of a window. Somehow she seemed to feel this was my own fault. Whatever. At least I got to sit next to a pretty (if not too chatty) Bulgarian girl, instead of a fat Texan or something.

           She was a nice enough travel companion, but really hammered in a disturbing trend I've been noticing. Girls my age (esp. ones I find attractive) are always apologizing to me. For no reason. ALWAYS. As in "sorry... my blanket's all over the place" "sorry, I know my job's cliché" or inexplicably apologizing every time she moved her legs so I could get up. Are girls in my generation really this insecure? Do I only find insecure girls attractive? Is there something in my demeanor that compels girls to apologize to me? Is it perhaps even some bizarre expression of attraction? If the last is so, I do not find that flirtatious, Sam I Am. Seriously, what the fuck is it?? If you have a theory, spit it out...

      Blah blah, train, blah blah, sink bath (they're even harder with the "push up to activate" sinks- I'd love to hang the bastard who invented those). Blah blah Boston, blah blah funny accents, blah blah swearing. Blah blah "Good Will Hunting". Blah blah commuter train to Gloucester, blah blah pickup at midnight, blah blah safe and sound.

Whaleses!
      So, I did the quintessential Gloucester tourist thing, and went on a whale watch. Basically, you climb on a big boat, they tote you out about 30 miles to sea (2 hours or so) and you look for any big sea creatures that might happen to swing by. It's kinda like a photo safari, but on the ocean. One of the attractions is, there's no walls, no fish-finder action (all they do is take you to likely spots), and certainly no goofy animal trainers. You're going to see them in uncontrolled conditions. This has the dual attraction of "untamed nature", and of the unknown (particularly whether you will actually see any friggin' whales). I've been informed by my aunt that more than one visitor has been burned on this latter account.

     Luckily, this wasn't a problem for me. I saw a veritable fuckton of humpbacks, and a shark for good measure. We came upon a very active feeding ground. We watched over a dozen whales (possibly more than 20) within a relatively tiny patch of ocean (they were basically right next to the boat) scare up a fishy meal, both by slapping the water with their tails, and corralling schools of fish with circles of bubbles. This went on for about half an hour before we had to motorize on home, taking extra special care not to run over any whales on our way out of the feeding ground. It was pretty cool.
     I couldn't take pictures. But I asked a nice young woman with a telephoto-lensed camera who stood next to me if she would e-mail me some pics. So if she gets around to it, I will share them then. Also, I was informed later that the shark we saw on the way home was toothless. Apparently the sharks around here are plankton feeders. That was kind of a boner-killer. What kind of self-respecting shark eats fucking PLANKTON?


      I will also note how cool it was being on the sea. This was my first time on a legit boat ride, like... where you can't see land anymore. I found the motion of the sea, far from the nauseating experience some people seem to get, quite wonderful. To me, it felt like love. From the rocking of a cradle, throughout the arts (especially musical, like singing and dancing), and of course in the love-making of adulthood, that ever present swell and fall feels like the undercurrent of everything heart-based I've done in my life. I can only surmise that those who find it nauseating must have some serious troubles navigating the seas of emotion as well. Anyway, I'm thinking maybe I should move a little closer to the water.
      

Witches!
       Also, today, I did the other touristey thing and went to Salem. You know... with the witches and all? That was pretty cool. I was amused that the town that's best known for prosecuting witches back in the day, is now a veritable shrine to witchcraft. Albeit a pretty touristey one. I must have passed a solid dozen "witch museums", along with countless witch-related storefronts.
       I, however, eschewed the sensational, and instead spent the day at the Peabody-Essex museum. I'm not much of a museum guy, but it was pretty friggin' cool. It's a 3 floor museum, and it's pretty jam-packed. They have a lot of old sian art (I guess Salem was a big stop on the asian import route)-everything from sculptures to paintings to furniture. They also have a lot of old colonial type stuff, including a well-chosen selection of maritime artifacts, and a crapload of old china and silver. On the top floor I saw an exhibit on Man Ray and Lee Miller, a surrealist dream team who had a rocky romantic relationship for a couple years, but remained good friends for life. It was pretty cool, but a little sad, since they had a lot of art and some really (overly) personal letters on display relating to their break up. That theme always tugs my heartstrings a little, I guess.
    
This Amtrak deal is the most regularly I've been fucked in some time...
    ...and that's sad on multiple levels. New Orleans, sadly, is out. Booked up. After this discovery, I decided to cough up another 66 bucks extra and go see my aunt in Omaha on the way home (esp. since the first available ticket back to alb. from Boston leaves on the 16th). But, as it  turns out, she's too busy for guests right now. So, I've opted to eschew the entire fucking rail system clusterfuck, and drive back to CO with my uncle Paul, who just happens to be up here on family business. I will then leave Denver by bus at the ungodly hour of 5:35 a.m., and be home in time for dinner (and probably a 24-hour sleep marathon in my own fucking bed!). Plans are finalized, I'll enjoy my last couple days in MA (hopefully I can get some more loblob in my tummy before I go) and hopefully everything goes smoothly from here. I will likely not find an excuse to blog again before I get home, so this may well be the penultimate travel entry (!!!!). It's been fun, y'all, every step of the way ...even all the bitching was mostly just to enhance the dramatic value... but I'm ready to be home.
                        Wish me luck.
                               -Mojoe


P.S. did you think I forgot to leave you a song? Silly rabbit... here's some Billie:

I will probably learn to play this one. I especially like the "some like me" verse at the end... I really wanna sing that verse.


And here's a sad, sad song my brother turned me onto when we were hangin out ( I gotta say, he got a pretty good line on my musical preferences just from listening to me for a couple hours).