5.19.2016

ROADLOG: RHINESACK NUTSTONE


ROADLOG: RHINESACK NUTSTONE
In England, 
The official designation 
For state parks & nature preserves 
Is "AONB's" or 
"Area's of outstanding natural beauty." 
Oddly long winded,
But the English 
Have such a beautiful command 
Of the language,
You can't fault them for it. 
Fuck, they invented it. 
All the the street names 
And districts have an effortless 
poetic lilt. 
Stokes Croft
Ladbroke Grove 
Archway
I love that. 
It's as if poets named 
All the streets. 
In other news,
Van Morrison must be
An unpleasant human. 
Every time I mention his name
In conversation,
The locals immediately reply
With something along the lines of 
"Oh, what a miserable sod."
These observations seems 
To come first hand. 
In other news,
My new country name
Is Rhinesack Nutstone. 
No one can take this away. 

LONDON>PARIS
Traveled by taxi,
Train, van, & foot
From London to Paris today
To rendezvous with Greg (drums) in Belgium 
Who picked up the gear & van
In Holland. 
For 14 hr travel day,
With a multitude of stops
And pickups 
And other necessities 
Things surprisingly 
Did not go wrong.  
From Belgium 
We made the drive 
To Paris. 
Played an incredibly exhausting  
Barnburner show. 
This was the first time 
In Paris 
With the band. 
Paris did not disappoint. 
Every show I've played there
Has been a blast. 
This was the fourth. 
Sometimes big cities 
Are too cool for school. 
Not Paris in my experience. 
They just get it. 
Woke next day
And drove to Sterrbeck, Belgium
To play another completely exhausting insane show.
And stayed out too late afterward
With the locals. 
Woke with scratchy voice. 
That's always a sign 
I talked, drank, & smoked too much. 
So for the rest of the
Day I have to shut 
And be quiet,
Which is hard for me. 
We drive to Amsterdam 
And play another crazy show 
In a venue outside of a festival,
Which made the load-in 
Approx 4x as difficult. 
Inside the venue,
The festival crowd danced 
To euro dance music
And other stuff. 
And were very oblivious to us,
Except for one 
55 year old, shaved head 
aging soccer-looking hooligan guy. 
He yelled at us 
In drunken euro speak 
that we were too loud 
as we sound checked.
We'll call him Bronco. 
Bronco bitched and moaned 
As we line checked,
Interrupting the club music,
Agonizing with his hands on his head
As if we we're defiling 
The baby Jesus. 
I played a minute of the 
Jimi's Star Spangled Banner 
And told him to buzz off. 
Oh, he loved THAT. 
Actually not. 
He threw his hands up
And walked away. 
30 min later we play 
And bang out 
An unhinged set 
Full of fuck ups 
And all the rest 
But it translates. 
It's not always about 
The notes and the perfect execution,
But about the ENERGY
You translate 
When you replicate 
Your songs live.  
It's never perfect. 
At least it's never perfect 
In my world. 
It's just energy.
Maybe good. 
Maybe bad. 
Maybe boring. 
Maybe transcendent. 
Next show. 
Raalte, Netherlands. 
Ribs & Blues Festival. 
We drive there 
Get lost 
Jump on our phones 
Circle back 
Turnaround 
And finally 
We stop 
And ask a lesbian biker
For directions. 
She obliges in broken English,
For which we are very thankful. 
Sometimes 
You have to ditch the fucking 
Informational Matrix 
And go face to face 
With the people 
Like Humans
Have done for the last 
9 billion years. 
We make it to the festival. 
Unload. 
Park Van (always a pain in the ass). 
We hurriedly line check 
And then bang out a 60 min set
With encore. 
Surprisingly,
The crowd liked & understood it,
I think. 
It was a "Blues festival"
Which comes with its own baggage. 
I don't claim to be a "blues musician."
I really don't know 
What it is. 
What I do has elements of blues
With the slide 
And the darker hued content,
But otherwise 
I feel as if I have nothing 
In common with most 
Modern blues musicians,
Including whatever array 
Of "garage rock" inspired blues music
Is out there. 
I really don't pay attention to it. 
I just like music with soul. 
Whatever genre. 
That's it. 
I don't give a shit about hype music 
Or whatever is being pushed
Down one's throat.
It makes me like it less. 
The music industry is so desperate
To stay alive 
And 
To sell shit to people 
That the spinning wheel 
Just keeps on turning 
Regardless of the quality. 
And I know 
There is always great music 
Out there. 
Most of it unheard
By the masses. 
Maybe that's how it should be. 
I don't know. 
I just do what I do. 
And try to steer my energy 
Whether positive or negative 
Toward creative pursuits. 
Everything else 
That is of a petty origin 
Is mostly a total waste of time. 
While you're bitching & moaning,
Someone else is down 
In the sweat shack
Doing it 
Exploring 
Creating it
Out in the backwoods 
Of the imagination,
Teaming with the spirit code
And quantum gospel,
Past the miles of bullshit
That undoubtedly will consume you.
But maybe that is
As it should be as well. 

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