Off To The Races

It's sad that it seems almost pointless to speak candidly, preach or pontificate about anything of significance these days, because no one is listening.  Initially, one of my concerns about the whole rap/hip-hop thing was, everybody is talking and everybody has something to say, but nobody is listening or looking beyond themselves. The only thing being listened to and looked at is the dollar. 
It's puzzling to me that courtesy the Zimmerman trial, everybody is talking about race problems, but not about the ingredients in the  complication.  Blacks and whites are screaming "injustice" and now everyone is talking about the Stand Your Ground Laws.  I'm not saying that these things are unimportant, but in my eyes, all of this is avoiding the real issue. Yes, racism as we know it, is going to be hanging around for too many years to come.  But today, triggered by this trial, we're dealing with something that's a little different.  Racism vs. "Hey, I'm not blind."  It's one thing to hate someone because of their color, it's another thing to be afraid, to be cautious of a 'people' because of the same reasons that that race is afraid, cautious and concerned of it's own. 

 No one should pull a trigger on anyone, but chaos breeds more chaos and fear. What are folks to do? Pretend they don't read and watch news reports? Yes, profiling is wrong, but black or white, would you feel comfortable walking in a black neighborhood at night? Why not? If you're approached by someone wearing a hoodie, would you say "hey nice color, where'd you get that?" You wouldn't be afraid, right? Not everyone wearing a hoodie is a thug. There are many exceptions, but not enough. The exceptions are not the problem. 
 So here we are. Post Zimmerman trial. How's life in the inner city, better? Is life back to normal? Has there been any murders? Has only one life been taken? How old? How young? Were whites involved? Drugs? Guns?  Will Jessie Jackson and Al Sharpton disappear until the next tragedy that makes the headlines?

I don't know what it will take for something or someone, what used to be called a leader, to speak out about what's really going on and the cause and effect of a our civil problems. 

On the subject of personal and or societal growth, some of the more profound questions one could be asked might be :
"What are you contributing to your inability to succeed?" 
"What are you contributing to your problems?"
 Listen...

The Gospel Truth

Music was all around me when I was growing up.  There were several bands on my block.  I learned a lot just by sitting outside of a house where a band was rehearsing, listening and trying to look through the window.  In my West Philly neighborhood, we heard a variety of sounds. 

At the "Cruise's" house there was an RnB band called "Projection 101."  They played the hits of the day (circa 1970's) -Frankie Beverly's Raw Soul, Kool and the Gang, Mandrill, Black Heat, etc.  Projection 101 played everything except the songs made popular by singing groups (Motown,The Delphonics, Blue Magic, etc.)  It wasn't considered cool by us young bloods to be in a back-up band for singers. We liked bands that were bold, brash and loud. These were the kind of bands we aspired to. Projection 101 also had cool equipment - big plush amplifiers and a PA system (Shure Vocal Master.)  We were impressed and, yes, the band was great.  When they played a tune, they would play all the changes in the song just like the record.  My own band, "Supernatural," would just play the hook/motif over and over again.   

On the other side of the street was Mr. Blake's band.  Mr Blake was from the Islands.  Trinidad?  Haiti?  We had no idea.  His music was strange to us, but it had a great groove.  Although we couldn't see a thing through the grated covered windows, it always sounded like they were having a good time. It was Calypso music for sure.

Then there was Sunday.  Gospel music was not a part of my own family life, but it was a part of life in the neighborhood.  Every Sunday morning, on into late afternoon, 

Ms. Scarbrough would blast Gospel music for the whole community to hear.  She would also cook a HUGE social breakfast. It was your lucky day if you were invited for any reason. Stacks of pancakes, scrambled eggs, sausage, scrapple, bacon, biscuits, rolls, grits, along with weird things such as tripe, were set out to share.  This was an event.  If I got invited, it was due to my buddy and band mate, John.  Ms. Scarbrough was his grandmother, and John lived with her.

Sometimes after the Sunday feast, John's uncle, Mr. Coboy, would rehearse at the house with his Gospel band.  We would try and hang out in the living room where they were playing. The band had our attention for a number of reasons.  First, the bass player had the biggest amp we'd ever seen.  I didn't have the ears to know if it sounded good or not, but you could FEEL it and you could hear it blocks away.  Big amps were things to dream about.  Our little band rehearsed in Ms. Scarbrough's basement. We used to tear apart trashed stereo systems to extract the speakers and then wire all the speakers together, thinking it would make us louder.  We had the speakers hanging all over the basement.  It looked cooler than it sounded, but we didn't care.  Another thing we noticed about the Gospel band was the weird "old dude" guitars they played.  For some reason, it seemed that most guitarists in Gospel groups preferred Fender Mustangs and Jaguars, and wearing sunglasses, even if they were rehearsing in a dark house.  As far as we were concerned, if we didn't see a Stratocaster or a Les Paul, it just wasn't cool.   

                                                          Jaguar                          Stratocaster                      

And there was one other thing that disturbed us about the Gospel band.  We didn't quite get the entertainment part of what this band was doing. They'd start a song with a rumble from the bass and drums, then Mr. Coboy (the singer) would start growling with a monologue: "I woke up this morning with a temperature of 105. I said 'help me Lawd, help me Jesus…"   We were stunned.  Mr. Coboy had just been sitting at the breakfast table eating a pound of scrapple. How could he stand there and lie like that?  We didn't get it.  But, then they'd have the whole house and neighborhood rocking. I had no idea what I was experiencing, but it all stayed with me.  I was very, very fortunate.

Recently I was asked to perform at a Unitarian Church. I found the church unusual because they play every kind of music, from the Jackson 5 to "They Might Be Giants". Of the seven songs I played, I had the opportunity to play a few Gospel tunes I liked. Here's one: "Just Closer Walk With Thee"

Sharing Knowledge Isn't Easy

When I started playing music, there weren't videos, tabs or the internet for that matter, just hard work and ears. Struggling to decipher a guitar part from an LP and thinking you had it right, until a more seasoned player came around.    Compared to today, the pros weren't willing to show you what they spent most of their life time learning, except MAYBE if they were paid, or if you were family. 

Now, practically everything you want to know is accessible and free. And most pros and seasoned players are all more than generous in sharing their knowledge. This is great. 
On the other hand,  there seems to be a reluctance to except the fact that it's still the students job to work and think things through.  If they don't understand what you're doing, it's always a good idea to ask questions and so forth, as opposed to not liking and criticizing something because they don't understand it.   

Private lessons is perhaps a whole different criteria because you're paying for something that hopefully you as a student have made clear to your teacher what your goals are. That aside, a teacher is just a guide to your own creativity. 
  
In my series, I've pointed out that I'm just sharing ideas and challenging the viewer with learning as I've learned. Thinking and listening.    It puzzles me that with the thousands of other videos out there, why someone would be … disgruntled with something shared at no cost to them. 

I thought I explained myself in the intro:
Here's the video - Lesson's from a Lefty 

On we go. 

5 Characters and Music

We musicians all have our war stories. Here are 5 tales into some of the characters I've encounters.  


The Honesty:

Twice I opened up for a major acoustic guitar veteran.  The first show was very humbling.  When I first started playing as a soloist, it was just a novel thing I did just for fun. Fun is good. I'd just get on stage and sweat through the things I was trying to do.  However, when you open up for someone who is clearly more devoted than just having some fun, you can look pretty silly up there.  I learned my lesson.  The second time I opened up for this icon it was a noted difference.  My attitude.  We got to be chatty acquaintances.  I mustered up the courage to ask him for any help he might be able to provide another striving artist.  He said flatly, "I can't offer any help to you. I'd be creating my own competition…".  Although this took me by surprise, I did appreciate his honesty.  

The Brotherly Love:

On the other hand, some artists are not so honest or forth coming.  Years ago, I reached out to a performer that I admired and was excited with the possibility that we might work together.  I wrote him several times about my enthusiasm.  Perhaps it was naive of me to think that because we were both African Americans in a field where there aren't too many, that he'd at least want to connect with me on some level.  I'm talking about acoustic song / songwriters btw.  Anyway, it never happened.  He never responded. I thought, maybe he never received my emails.  I ran into him at a conference in an elevator. He knew who I was, which surprised me.  So I guess he had received my messages. He wouldn't have known who I was otherwise.  Anyway, while in the elevator, he never mentioned anything about it. Neither did I.   Oh well.  I let it go.

The Elitist or Eccentric:

I did a show with a famous concert pianist.  I was struggling to find an accompanist.  Getting desperate, I called him.  
I never expected that he'd say yes.  It was getting close to show time.  I was sweating bullets thinking that maybe I had given him the wrong date.

Finally he showed up. What a relief. I asked if he needed help to bring his gear in.  "There's no piano? You didn't mention that I needed to bring a piano".  Of course he hadn't asked either, and he didn't have a 'portable' one at home.   

Most musicians I've ever played with, have always brought their own gear. What if he hated the piano?

I did the first set with just bass and voice, while we waited for a piano delivery (thanks to one of my friends).   I guess when you're working with the elite you have to be mindful of their requirements. :)

I should point out that this pianist was absolutely worth the wait.

The Ego or Tired Artist:

At a conference I ran into one of the events featured artist.  He and I, along with a few other artists were sitting together and someone said,  "You should let Miche sit in with you".  YES!  He was up for it.  I had to perform earlier that evening at a different location.  I busted my butt to get back to the conference in time just so I could play with this amazing musician.   As his set was coming to a close, I was a little disappointed that he had forgotten about me. These things happen. He was about to play an encore, when someone from the audience shouted "You should bring up Miche…!"  How cool was that?  Too Cool?

This turned out to be one of the most unfun things I've ever done. He never connected with me on stage. No looking at me. No smiling. This was more like work.  After we got through one jam, the audience wanted another song.   Again he never connected, it was stiff and cold.   Afterwards he never said a word to me. The next day at the conference he ignored me.  I fumed about this for hours.  As far as I was concerned there was no reason to be that rude.  Even if he thought I sucked, he could still at least be polite. I have no idea what that was all about.  Maybe he was just tired.

The Good Musicians:

I was in DC for a few days. I reconnected with a woman I used to date in high school (another embarrassing story).

We were walking around Georgetown and came upon a club that was having entertainment that night.  We decided to hang around. When the band showed up, I asked the drummer if they let people sit in.   "Ask Tony."  "Sure man you can sit in."  They brought me up for a song.  What a fun night.  I eventually played most of the evening with them.  At the end of the night, Tony came up to me and handed me some cash.  I was floored.  To pay someone who walked in off the street was beyond the call.  Most musicians who play for a living would never care to be so generous.   To this day, the thought warms me up every time I think of it. These were some very "good" musicians.

http: www.michefambro.com
https://www.facebook.com/miche.musician

Looking Up From The Bottom

They say "You have to hit the bottom before you can rise up…  ".   I've been living with depression all of my life.  I never called it that. In fact, I never thought much about it.  I just excepted an existential perspective on life and events.  Besides, I was much too consumed with playing music to pay attention to such things as the state of my soul, or if I had one, among other things.  

My life as I lived it had exhausted me.  Having distanced myself from music in the last few years, I felt I had no place to go and no place I wanted to go.  I finally broke.  I was in a dark and empty place.   "You have major depression."  I was very uncomfortable, annoyed actually at the suggestion that this was a medical issue.   "Look, it's not like I don't have a ton of reasons to feel the way I do. It's all overly depressing wouldn't you say?!!!".  There's silence and there's silence.   However, it was clear that I needed help… 

Interestingly, it's amazing the things you can see in a dark place.   So I'm now looking up from the bottom.

And as always, I'll do my best to climb out of here. 

Dire Limbo

I've died so many times, but I've always escaped.  I always found my way back. 

Mason got frustrated with me, He knew he would get me, he just didn't think it would be so hard or take so long.  He cursed every opportunity for my baring fruit in a life long struggle and I would not give up.  How can someone, not ever in their lifetime, come on top or ahead of anything? Anything. 

I'd only fall and standup to fall again and again and again.

I've been relentless. In my defiance, I'd better myself, improve my skills and assets, in vain.  A curse? Indeed. 

The curse extended to my personal life as well as my professional. I was not able to feel wholly, love wholly.  The good things I did have, I was unable to thrive in it's joy. 

Now, when I think of it, it makes so much sense.  Benevolent Torture.  Mason was toying around with me.

He made things tangible to touch, then it would disappear. He did that a lot.  He laughed at my efforts in thinking I was a good person.  My willingness to help and give to others would only weaken me instead of lifting me.  I was tricked.   I was never a good person. I thought I was, it was a just deception.

I never had a heart. I never had a soul or should I say,  it was his soul all long. The heart was mine, that was the aid for treachery. I had to believe what I thought I was. 

I was stuborn and defiant, I thought I could beat him, ignore him.  He wore me down.  Of course he would win.  HE? Who the Devil?  I don't know for sure.  A bored angel perhaps? I call him Mason. I don't know why.   All I know is, something has to make sense of my life. Nothing else does.

Mason got tired of playing me. It was time to put me in my place. It was time to let me know what "I" was messing with.  Unfortunately in my being humbled, Mason would not only take me, he would hurt everything and everyone close to me. Simply because, why would he care?  I'm in fatal limbo.  

So to make things really fun, what's life without a little sordid drama?  Enter Mason and his chick with serpent eyes, to finished the job. Believe me, there is nothing more humiliating than watching these two look and laugh at you. 

I have to admit, Mason is to marvel at. He designed the perfect torture, almost pretty to look at.  Your reservation drops. Your mind goes, so does you reasoning.   There's no point in trying not to make a fool of yourself. You're helpless.  You're tired and no one can help you.   All you can do is pity yourself and watch them laugh.  

The least I can say for me,  I didn't make it easy.  

The big question is, why am I writing this?  If I didn't know any better, I'd blame Mason for giving lonely, sick people a cheap thrill into thinking that a life in the narrative means anything more than the 3mins someone 'might' give it.  It's all part of the curse. All part of making me a bigger fool.   Obviously I've conceded.  

The Hair Cut

I've always been a little uncomfortable in barbershops. Probably because as a kid, it was the first place where my shyness was publicly displayed.   For some reason, every Saturday my mom would give me a quarter and send me to "Nate's Barbershop" to get a haircut.  That's right.  Every Saturday.  What the heck can you grow in a week? 

Nate's Barbershop was on the corner of 42nd and Mantua Avenue, facing the "Mantua Bar" directly across from the shop.   Now that I think of it, this explains why Nate was always drunk.   The weekly routine was to give Nate a quarter and ask for the "hustler" (the hair style of the day).   

The barbershop was an interesting place for a kid to be hanging around in.  Listening in on adult conversation, I'd wonder what some of the laughter was about.  I recall hearing them talk about "Maggie red drawers".  It could have been a military term, something or someone else.  Whatever the case, I laughed along with them because the name was funny.   

It was very frustrating to me that in the Barbershop there didn't seem to be a system.  If there were three people in the room, after the second person got his haircut, I would clearly be the next in line, but someone would walk through the door and jump in the chair.  Now there's seven people in the room and everybody's getting their haircut but me.  It was every man for himself.  I'd be in the barbershop for several hours before Nate would say, "Let the boy get in the chair.  Get up here Mickey."  

That was indeed frustrating.  On a positive note, I loved listening to the music Nate had playing on the radio.  Jazz.  Adult music.  I'd get lost in the sounds while staring at the comb sterilizer with the blue water.  When I finally got to sit in the chair, Nate was pretty drunk. He'd carve my head and send me home.  When I got home, my mom would start shouting at me because Nate had messed up my 'head'. 

"You go back to Nate and give him this note."  "He ain't have

ing my boy walking around looking like a pumpkin. Look at you!"  I would have rather been a pumpkin…

After waiting another 2 hours or so , Nate would acknowledge me.  He took a look at the note and calmly threw it in the trash.  He then gave me a quarter and a hat and shooed me back home.     To this day barbershops unnerve me. 

The song "The Hair Cut" was a piece I wrote, reminding me of the sounds I'd hear in Nate's Barbershop.  

Listen to : The Hair Cut



www.michefambro.com

Virtual Shows?

I'm looking forward to the idea of doing virtual concerts and shows.  I like the notion that if no one shows up, at least you're right in your home.  My last few shows have been well attended, but generally there's a major decline in live show attendance.    I also like the idea that I can connect with people all around the globe.  Most of my proactive fans live outside of my home area in Upstate NY.  True, there is a time zone issue but no problems with parking. :)   A 7 PM EST show is at 1AM in London.  Two London-ers have already purchased tickets so apparently they're night owls.   When I was doing my variety show (which I thoroughly enjoyed) renting a venue and paying a band made the venture too expensive for me to continue.   A virtual show may be a great alternative.   I have no idea how I'm going to format the show. I just need to jump in and get a feel for it.  

 I'll kick off the idea this Wednesday Oct 17. 7:00PM.  It will be a House Concert and the first half hour will be viewable online.   My guests will be two fabulous musicians from Argentina (currently living in NYC).  Andres Rotmistrovsky (Bass) and Marcelo Woloski (Percussion).   I played with Andres when I spent a summer working in Rockaway Beach (near NYC).   I'm hoping to do a virtual show every two weeks, perhaps at different locations.  I'm sure it's going to take a few shows to get a flow, but I'm excited to give it a try.

I hope can join me live or virtually.  :)

If you live in or near Rochester NY you'll find info on FACEBOOK:

https://www.facebook.com/events/481365378551543/

(or contact me)

If you're out of state or the US

you can see the show on STAGEIT: 

http://www.stageit.com/miche_fambro_with_andres_rotmistrovsky_and_marcelo_woloski/the_miche_fambro_show/14757

Serendipitous Jerk

When I lived in Maryland, I played an open mic near the U of M, about 40 minutes from my home (not counting the traffic).   Aside from watching people stare at their computers or listening to their ipods with ear buds while people were playing, I managed to check out a few impressive performers before I went on.  After I played I was anxious to get out of there.  The whole vibe of the place was confusing to me.  And there's the trip home. DC traffic is always a pain, even in the evening. 

Weeks later I ended up in a songwriters competition.  Why? I don't know, just to get out and play I guess.  In the lobby I ran into one of the performers I saw perform at that open-mic. I'll call him Willie.  Willie took the time to tell me that I was full of myself, and a jerk for leaving the open mic and not listening to the artists after me.   I was so ticked at his audacity and arrogance, that I couldn't stop all the crap the came out of my mouth.  
Earlier that evening,  a nice woman shared a few kind words to me and approached us as I was chewing this creep out. It was his mother.   Of all the luck. I tried apologizing to his mother for my being forward.   This was awkward to say the least.   Then to make matters grand, Willie turned out to be one of the judges in the event.   Of course I didn't win, but apparently I was a jerk.

Jazz Guitar

As a vocalist, jazz came very easily to me. I was very comfortable with singing melodies and scatting.   It was never something I had to work at.  I do recall in the 80's I was criticized for having lousy diction.  I realized that to fix the problem, I simply had to learn to 'speak' more clearly.  When I moved to Maryland I found myself being asked to do jazz gigs as a vocalist. I was learning a lot of material and how different the jazz world was compared to the pop/folk world I was used to. 

As a guitarist, I dreaded the subject of jazz, I never felt I could do it.  I knew enough to sound jazzy but not enough to want to accompany myself or anyone else for that matter.  Besides, I always preferred singing with pianists. I love the harmonic colors jazz pianists tend to have, compared to most of the guitarists I was familiar with.  

After being consistently frustrated with finding piano accompanists who were usually too busy or too expensive, I decided it was time to take on the challenge of trying to play jazz guitar.  At first I wanted to take some lessons, but then things just started to come to me and I started to understand things that had never connected before.   Being self-taught has created certain habits for me. For example, I respond more to concepts rather than somebody saying "put your hand here".  And of course did I  mention that I was left-handed?    Recently I  spent some time with a friend who had some rare workshop videos of a legendary guitarist. He would zip past the dialogue to a song saying, "listen to this." I was more interested in hearing what the legend had to say.  I want to know how a genius thinks. 

I've spent many years practicing and practicing , but I was never organized or structured in any way.  Now I'm pretty thought out with what I'm trying to do before I start my routine. I even keep a practicing diary, it helps me to stay focused. I still need a lot of work, but I'm having a lot of fun.  That's what it's all about, right? :)

Here's a piece I'm working on.

Nice Work If You Can Get It