Greetings boys and girls…or hello to all three of you who’ve
stumbled upon this here dispatch from your humble scrivener. Full of yardbird I
sit, and my hungry ears are getting some nourishment tonight, too. Townes is
what I’m listening to, and I’m hoping it’ll light a bit of a fire underneath me
to work a bit on a pair o’ tunes that need to be wrapped-up.
Then again,
is any kind of work ever truly done? There’s always some improvements that
could be made somewhere. No less than Guy Clark said that once in an interview
I read. Even Leonard Cohen went back and re-wrote several of his classic songs
from forty or so years before as a test of his changed perspective and maturity.
As much as
I love having completed (or near-to-complete as I’ll get ‘em) songs to play for
people and to record, I’ve come to realize over the years that the process is
as much fun (and sometimes even moreso) than having an end result. I can’t
recall a time when I’ve ever been solely focused on results and finishing a
journey than the journey itself. I’m a bit of a gambler by nature, and taking some
risks (usually ones within reason, mind you) and the inherent adventure always yields
the most memories.
I don’t
care much for listening to my records. I’ve spent far too much time listening
to them as I’ve made them, but last night I put on my Winter Garden album and listened to it the whole way through. I
quite enjoyed it, but then I thought back to the sessions it took to end up
with what I was listening to. Great times! It’s the same thing with the
projects I’ve got going at the moment. I don’t want to jinx anything, but I’m
feeling quite a creative high as of late and although I don’t do New Year’s
resolutions, my resolve has held pretty steady to write day-to-day.
In other
processes that are evolving, I’m getting back into playing out and getting
musicians together to play with. It’s exciting. I’ve never disliked being
onstage sharing my songs and corny jokes, but it’s felt like a coon’s age has
passed since I’ve been active in that regard. The last gig was in early
December in Jefferson, and though it was a whale of a
time, it was booked months in advance and the only gig I’d played in weeks at
that time.
At that
show, I noticed a lady who seemed to hang on every word I sang and watched
intently as I picked my guitar. It was a packed house for the small venue, and
people were digging what I played, but none seemed more into it than this
woman. After my first set, I got up to mingle and introduced myself. Come to
find out that she was the widow of Bugs Henderson. Folks, I try not to carry
regrets. They really don’t look appealing on me, but one of the biggest regrets
I have as a music fan is not going to see Bugs Henderson play in Ben Wheeler
back in January of 2012. I was playing out there at the Forge on a Friday. I
noticed on the schedule that Bugs was playing there the next night. I thought,
“Holy shit! I gotta see that!” Of course, I, too, was booked somewhere else
that next night. Looking back, it would’ve been worth it to cancel said gig to
hear ol’ Bugs. The next thing I remember hearing about him, a couple of months
later, was that he’d died. That gig was his last.
I never got to see Bugs perform,
but I listened to lots of his six-string heroics over the years. I first heard
him when I sought out his music after reading a letter he’d gotten printed in Guitar Player magazine, back when I was
in high school. At the time, I was definitely into Stevie Ray Vaughan, and all
Texas Blues is good blues, but there was just something about Bugs, something
that made him different. He was definitely one of the greatest guitar players
who ever lived, and aside from Lightnin’, THE best Texas
blues player. Nobody could lay down a shuffle like Bugs. Talking to his wife that night in
Jefferson, I felt a little bit of a connection to Bugs.
I could’ve listened to her tell stories about Bugs and his good friends (which
included, among others, Billy Joe Shaver, Ted Nugent and Townes) all night, but
I had another set to play.
If there’s
any kind of point I can convey here, it’s this: Bugs Henderson was a hero to a
lot of people, me included. He was a musician’s musician who didn’t seem to
care much about money or status, but had friends and admirers everywhere and
lived a life getting to do what he was meant to do; what he enjoyed doing.
Playing music is what I love doing. It keeps me feeling alive and well. This
coming Saturday, I’m playing a solo gig for an event my amiga Sarah is putting
on in Nacogdoches, the “Wine
Swirl.” I was booked to play at the first one she did last year, but the injury
I was recovering from prevented that, so I made a hell or high water promise to
play it this year. To say I’m jazzed about it would be like saying James Joyce
enjoyed a drink now and again. The Wine Swirl will be a lot of fun, then after
that there are gigs lined-up for here and there, some solo and some with a
couple of other players I’m working with at the moment. If I were a crackhead
pop culture basket-case, this would be my “#winning” pronouncement. I’m always
more of a spring person, anyway. Transitional seasons are my thing, and dammit,
this spring will rock.
So, yeah.
Rest in peace, Mr. Bugs Henderson…and, creative processes rule!
Aside from
all that, there’s another inspiring musical force I feel I should commit a few
words to after all these years. I finally got around to watching the Jason
Becker documentary Not Dead Yet a
week ago, and my word, what a story it is.
My old
buddy Chad and
I got heavily into a lot of old-school hard rock/heavy metal bands from the
70s-80s while we were in high school in the 90s. Kind of funny when I think about what other kiddos were rockin' to back then in our little town. Still don't have much love for Ace of Base, Oasis or TLC. The 90s nostalgia revivalist in me is more suited to the thuggish guitar aggressors, and of course, Roxette, but yeah. Welcome to Digression City. One of the phases we went
through together was a revival of late-80s speed metal/neo-classical metal
music. Not much of that stuff has aged very well, if at all, but Jason Becker’s
work is one of the few exceptions (his band Cacophony notwithstanding, but even
those records are pretty cool compared to most of what was out in a similar
vein at the time). Becker’s music was cool to me back then because it was loud,
distorted and the man played guitar faster than anything I’d ever heard. Of
course, there was SO much more to Becker’s musical acumen than those traits,
the overall point and feel I "get" now, but yeah, the dude could fuckin’ shred.
Taking into
consideration that nothing is fair in this life, Mr. Becker’s hands were
stilled right after he became the lead guitarist (and de facto musical
director) in David Lee Roth’s band (THE biggest gig for a rock guitar god,
circa 1990, the pre-Nirvana days) to the devil that is ALS, or Lou Gehrig’s
Disease. Politely lay down and die Jason Becker did not. Like another inspiring
figure afflicted with the same ailment, Dr. Stephen Hawking, Becker said “fuck
you” to ALS and 24 years later, is composing some very cool music that really
shows his growth as a musician/composer and how his musical interests have
grown over the years.*
Not Dead Yet follows the trajectory of a
traditional, linear biography. It isn’t as artsy cool as the Townes one (Be Here to Love Me) but it is something
everyone should see. There’s so many theories as to why someone like Becker (or
Hawking) could live for so long with something that is traditionally a death
sentence, with a couple of years maximum to stay in the land of the living
after the diagnosis. I guess when it comes down to it, the idea that a disease
is always terminal is utter bullshit. The medical establishment doesn’t do well
to explain someone’s will to live or how having a passion for something can add
years to someone’s life. I knew about Jason's struggle, but hadn't really kept up with him. I'd read a story here and there in a music magazine about a benefit concert or something, but the last thing I'd read about him was a hilarious "Dear Guitar Hero" column in Guitar World where he responded to readers' questions. That was in '08 or so, but he'd written in there that his health was good and that he'd even regained the use of a few muscles. I had no idea he was still composing music until I saw the film.
Jason
Becker’s bodily movement is pretty limited now, true, but to see him onscreen
or to listen to his more recent musical works, which he writes, arranges and
produces, but has other musicians perform, is a testament to a fire burning
that won’t be snuffed. Although Jason lost his voice years ago when he
underwent a tracheotomy (which actually saved his life and restored a large
measure of his then-dissipating health) he “talks” through a series of eye
movements that are translated by an interpreter. The eye movements are also how
he operates his computer and works in the studio, too, apparently. There are
several recent interviews out there with Becker, and in the film, as well. Not
only is the man brilliant and determined, but he’s hilarious, too (albeit a bit
sophomoric at times for a man who is nearing the big 5-0, but that’s alright.
Someone as cool as JB can make all the lame dick jokes he wants).
Naturally,
since Jason Becker is a musician, I would identify with his story, but I think
there’s a lesson for anyone to glean. None of us are guaranteed tomorrow, or
even the next five minutes, but for someone like Mr. Becker to ignore the
constant scary talk of doctors telling him he only has such and such amount of
time because he’s got music to make and football games to watch, ALS be damned,
is impressive. Whoever sees the film (or reads of his story) should try to put
themselves in his shoes. What would you do if it were you? How would you react
to such a grim diagnosis? My guess would be that a high majority of us wouldn’t
be quite as nonchalant about it as Jason Becker was. Most of us would probably
resign ourselves to an early fate. When it comes right down to it, though,
we’re all “terminal”. There are no guarantees on anything, save for death (and,
maybe, the fact that annoying solicitors will call you numerous times each
day).
I hate to
keep drawing a parallel between Jason’s story and that of the other noted
ALS-stricken genius, Stephen Hawking, but the parallels are certainly there to
muse upon. In one of Hawking’s essays, he traces his impetus for moving on with
his pioneering work in cosmology, his taking on a teaching position while
working on his PhD and his desire to start a family in the face of his diagnosis (in his early 20s) to the fact that he was a young
man who grew up in Europe during the post-WWII years, and in an era when
weapons of mass destruction were possible (and had been used) and felt that everyone
felt resigned to certain doom, so life should go on regardless. That might also help to explain why so many courtships of the
time resulted in marriage soon after each partner had time to catch their
respective breaths after the first big night on the town, or why the
tried-and-true, mapped-out path to “adulthood” became such a tenable, “can’t
get here quick enough” goal to American youngsters.
Needless to
write, that “early death” hysteria died-down at some point, and today, despite
our ever-shortening attention spans, we generally take our time, making our
paths to those touchstones, by and large. Jason Becker’s sheer will to keep on
keepin’ on isn’t as eloquent (or framed by historical events) as Dr. Hawking’s,
but there is a great amount of hope and a simple philosophy to ascertain from
the way he lives his life: find a way to put passion and beauty into your
existence and watch where it takes you day-to-day, and also, don’t put off the
things you can (and want) to do today.
I’ve found
that having a passion to create things and a fondness for observing and taking in
art that I enjoy, as well as the fellowship of good friends, has pulled me from
many a valley over the years. Strong drink has also helped a great deal, too. Bouts
of depression, the cement shoed-feeling of anxieties and the blown-out feeling
following moments of panic can all seem as crippling as something like ALS, but
at the end of the day, most of us are still lucky enough to be able to move on
our own and touch our feet to the ground. Jason Becker can’t and the guy still
works through it all to do what he was meant to do. I hope I haven’t come
across sounding like some half-assed motivational speaker during our time
together today, though I have come close at times to winding up living in a van
down by the river. I guess to conclude this ‘ere ramble, there’s two mantras to
leave you with:
1. Jason
Becker fucking rules.
2. Find that passion and do it, no
matter how those who can’t wake to see the beauty in your dreams would put you
and it down.
That’s all, folks!
-c.
*Having not heard any of his music for years (since buying
the Perpetual Burn album in high
school) I listened to some stuff from a collection he composed and produced new
material for after watching the film. He got some of his guitar god buddies to
play his complex tunes, but they’re really nifty. From what I read now, he also
wrote some music for Marty Friedman’s forthcoming solo record, which is kind of
a Cacophony reunion.
No comments:
Post a Comment