Eddie's

Maybe my quality of discerning change has dulled; with age it happens with eyesight and hearing, so perhaps perception as well? 
I consider myself as a broad stroke sort of fellow, so it’d not be a huge surprise when I miss glaring details.

I went to an old haunt, Eddie's Attic.

Mondays, they have open microphone; years back I used to be a contestant.  I don't do that any longer, I found the judging too capricious for my needy-artist-soul-turned-cynical.  I guess the truth of it being, I never was Bohemian enough to look like an authentic ' folk-singer-songwriter' I didn't sport the wanting-waning-suffering-for-art’s-sake persona so many people have grown accustomed to in association with honest-real-this-is-my-calling musicians. 

  I'm too clean cut, and yes now, thirty years senior to most of the wanna-be's; some things just can’t be shaken off.  I resembled a seasoned banker or stock broker; an authority figure rather than a sensitive artist type.  Life had branded me as a go-to guy and I look the part, even after I've ejected myself from the hero-fixing business.

  So I stand out in the crowd of endless weeping souls who have lost love; been burned by love; or are just out of their mind in love and don't know what the heart is to do anything about it.  I'm venturing into conjecture here so let me fire my thrusters to slow down before I land on an uncharted moon in another sector of ether forgetting the point of all this space travel.

Oh yes, now I remember.

  Eddie Owens, the owner, sold the place; then three years later bought it back; some habits just won't die easy.  So he's the MC announcing each of the performers onto the stage. Two songs and you're done.  Three performers are selected at the end of the night to compete for a billet in the bi-annual $1,000 shoot out; while the second runner up gets booked a gig.  So, for work, its honey to bee's; sugar to ants; votes to politicians...I'm digressing again I can feel it.

  On the night I am addressing, Eddie mentioned that we, as the audience, could help support these troubadours by purchasing any CD's they had for sell.  I use to bring CD's of the Tick cartoons, I didn't sell many.  He mentioned that with the gas prices being what they were, purchasing the CD's just might be the difference of them getting to their next gig. 

  That struck me unaware and profound.

  My mind attacked that notion like a dog with a favorite stuffed bunny toy.  I knew for certain that most of these 'kids' were living hand to mouth.  And this unpredictable increase in operation cost could be devastating...never mind the current condition of sleeping in the car, or surviving on fast food; that's what young people are able to withstand, heck to some it had always been that way; never mind as a traveling artist.  But the fuel issue could be the preverbal show stopper. 

  I recall my master plan of 2005, before all this fuel nonsense became earnest.  I was focused on finding places to play, create a personal circuit to accommodate my desire to visit my family on the west coast.  The idea was to do a six month tour, then when the weather got really crappy I could stay home and write stories about my process of becoming aware of the delicate balance of dreaming.  I was stalled to realize that I would have been in that same boat of need that Eddie was speaking of.  Oh, a different oar to be sure, I had some back up plan besides moving back in with my parents when times got bad; I earned a retirement, so solvency was not a dire threat.  But just the same...how I could see my efforts fall apart by this change.  I easily recall when I finished recording my CD how my plans to go to NY and LA were thwarted by 911 as  I was activated back onto active duty with the Army...for the war. 

  Yes, I was a bit grumpy with that because it seemed to me as if I continued to run into insurmountable obstacles all long my musical dreaming way...it wasn't until I finally retired from the Army that the power was in my hands to choose.  Only then did I see I no longer NEEDED to do that to be 'fulfilled'.  Yeah, that truth took some getting used to.  Yup, there are times; when there is a tug of a wisp of a nudge that it'd be swell to be up there...again.  Much like a prize fighter or Rock group that calls it quits at the zenith of their career’s only to be caught sneaking back in years later from the back door.  So I didn’t feel the desire as deeply felt in the past, but discernible nonetheless.  I ran across an old music buddy from those times.  I made it a point to drive up state to see him play again, to do the support-the-artist thing; he was a genuine trooper.  He had changed, as we all do.  His music was still stellar, and I enjoyed the show.  But there was subtle sadness from the event.  Because that was the first time I didn't long to be there doing that.  I didn't want to 'be him' at all; He looked tired, and after the show he would spend the night at a strangers home, then drive on to his next destination in the morning.

   He was always on stage.  Watching what he said; being careful not to upset his host.  How many chicken dinners with over cooked string beans can a soul consume before there's an inner revolt to the endless parade of mundane, accommodating situations?  He may still love it, but I couldn’t discern it.  I noticed a worn thin quality in his movement off stage.  Maybe that addiction takes a different toll.  Who you are in the bliss of playing is not the transport to the next fix.  What I realized was that I no longer had that compelling thirst for the stage; the cost had become too high for my present condition.  Maybe that's why the young are out there beating the bushes for another gig?  They're hungry.  I hope I don't become so complacent that I stop expressing myself altogether.  I figure not, I'm too full of opinion to sit still for long being comfortable.  Still....reflection can be such a colorful event of observation when I let down the filters of what I think things should be. 

 Let that breeze of real blow my hair back, making tears run from the corner of my eyes… Learning how to love out loud...and not be noisy doing it.