With a Fresh Set of Ears

I've dedicated my entire life to the craft of songwriting...to that amazing God given gift that (somehow) has been bestowed upon me, where I am able to translate inspiration into music and lyrics that may in fact, one day move or inspire others.

It's often difficult to describe to others what the process of songwriting entails, because it is largely due to moments (or maybe even milliseconds) of magic that strikes without notice. I could be in a cab in New York City, or waiting in the wings of a stage in Shanghai, China ... or on a bus in Los Angeles, or a funeral in Massachusetts, when suddenly IT strikes. Frantic to grab a pencil or pen, and any space to write it down, the idea can be gone with a simple "hello" from a passerby...or the voice of a postal clerk calling, "NEXT IN LINE"...which is why I need to be available when inspiration strikes out of the blue.

As Paul Williams so eloquently wrote, "I need to have stretches of time to push through the frustration when inspiration is elusive; to walk away from something, and then return again with a fresh set of ears." With that being said, paving the way to nurture those moments is crucial to the process of songwriting. It is important to disable the “craziness” in our daily lives, so that the energy of creation can find its way into the universe. When this occurs, as a songwriter, I am essentially a conduit to the manifestation of an ethereal influence. Without warning, a melody begins to simmer in my head and the process begins.

I often find sources of inspiration while watching a great interview with someone who has lived life hard, but rebounded with intense grace and dignity. Or even through no words at all; I can be inspired by the wafting seed of a once glorious dandelion or the crooked smile of someone less fortunate than myself. There are many pools to draw from, but when it arrives, I must struggle to keep it alive, especially when I can feel my heart racing because of a melody beginning to dance around my head.

Ironically, almost always, a lyric is never far behind. Taunting the melody with seductive prowess, the lyric unfolds and wraps itself around a cluster of notes forming the birth of a new song. Yes folks, this is the kind of madness we songwriters deal with! However, when those two energies are joined, the melody and the lyric, there is a euphoric experience that transcends the spiritual self and its impact often leaves me weeping.

The notion of a melody seducing a lyric may sound ridiculous to you, but when the results convey a passage that proclaims, "I can't give you things that I don't have, but what I have is love. It's the only thing I never knew, my heart had plenty of...until you showed me I was more than I could be...and now love is something new, because of someone new in me" … it makes you wonder?

I often wonder, "why me?" Surely EVERYONE must be able to do this, I mean, if they put their minds to it? But as I begin to accept these gifts as being “gifts”, then I begin to understand more and more that we are all “songwriters” in some way or another. Each of us is a lyric to someone else’s melody, or visa versa, and when we are combined it becomes a chorus...and that chorus can be harmonious as much as it can be dissonant; but the end result is the same...we are music, which is why MUSIC is the Universal language. Above and beyond any other art form, music has the ability to heal anyone with a fresh set of ears. With a willingness to listen, and an openness to accept the myriad styles and genres of a global wealth of melodies and lyrics, we are all songwriters of one massive song!

ACT II - Use Ink Only

On a recent trip to the Berkshires with my brother, it became vividly evident to me why this landscape was so rich with heritage in the field of visual and performing arts. From Tanglewood to the Mohawk Trail, the vast tracts of the wilderness in the western parts of Massachusetts are as breathtaking as any sacred place on earth.  It is a reminder of how gentle and yet, intoxicating the presence of nature can be. I marveled as a family of turkeys quietly crossed the narrow road we were traveling.  My brother and I pulled the car over to witness this heartwarming moment. Within seconds, a car was behind us.  At first I thought they were patiently waiting for us to press on, however, they soon pulled up next to us just enough to watch as well.  With neither a harrowed stride, nor a sudden flight, it became evident that this family of gallinaceous birds were focused on their mission to cross the street on their terms, not on ours.  

As a teenager, embracing the possibility of everything outside of Worcester, Massachusetts seemed like a lofty goal, especially for someone armed with a wheelchair.  Yet, for some reason, I spent the last two years of high school focusing on moving west of the Mississippi.  I had big dreams.  Even at that age, I felt as if those aspirations would be expunged by the impacting doom of winter. It seemed only logical to eliminate that fourth season altogether.  But of course, that was then...and this is now. These days I yearn for that very place that I was eager to vacate as a teenage boy. Now New England has become a respite from the vortex of self centered "Hollywood Wanna-be's" scrambling for the klieg lights and ten dollar lattes.

As the pages in the second act of my life turn, I have found myself in a gravitational pull ...almost to the point where there is cause for a re-write...a second draft (if you will) for Act II.  After all, I have control of the pencil...and with it, comes the power to create any scenario that I am capable of drafting.  The only thing getting in the way, is the one thing that will always get in the way...and that is fear.  If the pencil is the instrument to supply the journey, than fear is the eraser that will prevent it from happening. The late and great composer David Rose once told me, when writing music, never use a pencil.  Use ink only.  I've adapted that lesson as a metaphor to living my life in Act II.  It's difficult to erase ink...so I am now a lot more careful of my choices.

Almost certainly, back in Chapter I, there would have been no need for me to stop and marvel at that flock of turkeys...unless of course I was hunting them down for Thanksgiving.  I was racing to the finish line with reckless abandon.  I can't even begin to imagine all the turkeys I missed in the first chapter of my life.  Oh how I wish I had used a pen...then.

Tonight at the Hollywood Bowl

There’s something magical about listening to music under the stars…and even more so, when that music is performed live. For me, there is no better venue for that experience than at the Hollywood Bowl. Tonight, however, was particularly special for me because it marked the induction into the Hollywood Bowl Hall of Fame for my musical mentors, Karen and Richard Carpenter. The Carpenters, along with another childhood favorite of mine, Donna Summer, as well as the gifted pianist Jean-Yves Thibaudet were recipients of this year’s prestigious Hollywood Bowl Hall of Fame award. It’s difficult to imagine that just ten years ago, I attended the very first Hollywood Bowl Hall of Fame ceremony honoring John Williams and Garth Brooks. I remember thinking back then, how nice it would be if that award were granted to the Carpenters, after all, it’s where the Carpenter’s began their career in 1966 when they won for Outstanding Musical Group at the “Hollywood Bowl Battle of the Bands.” Ironically, they won it without Karen ever singing a note. Karen Carpenter was just 16 years old at the time, and she played the drums while Richard played the piano, and their friend Wes Jacobs played Tuba! They were known as The Richard Carpenter Trio and they took home the Grand Prize. I’m sure Richard never imagined back then, that some 44 years later, he’d stand upon that stage to accept an award that would bare such bittersweet success. After all, this time around he would have to accept the award without his sister Karen. The evening began with a presentation and performance by the first inductee, Jean-Yves Thibaudet. Then the co-founder of A&M Records, the gifted musician Herb Alpert, was introduced andhe began to tell us of how he first heard the Carpenters back in 1969. Herb said that someone gave him a tape and told him “to check it out.” He was in his office, listening through Altec 604 speakers about 12 feet away from his couch, when he closed his eyes and heard Karen’s voice for the first time. When he finished his story, a video “package” began with Karen singing, “Children, it was more fun to be children…we just took life as it happened…Run through the days, don’t look behind.” Suddenly, for the first time since her voice was silenced in 1983, I actually felt the presence of Karen Carpenter as her miraculous vocals caressed the audience under a darkened Southern California sky. The collective emotion from every listener was palpable. That’s when I noticed people around me slowly wiping runaway tears. I found myself getting caught up in the melancholy sentiment until Karen started to sing the upbeat hit, “Top of the World.” So many emotions raced through my head. I thought about my first meeting with her, as a 12 year old boy…and then suddenly, I was a 22 year old student at the University of Arizona…hearing (with shock and disbelief) the news of her untimely passing. Karen Carpenter was more than a singer to me. She was more than a gifted drummer, who could play in any time signature, and she was even more than a superstar or musical icon. To me, she was my youth. The Carpenters represent the path that brought me to where I am now, in this very moment as I type these words. Therefore, tonight was more of a cathartic journey for me, rather than the musical tribute I had expected to witness.

Richard took to the stage, after Herb Alpert introduced him, and he conducted the Hollywood Bowl Orchestra in a familiar medley of Carpenters Hits. Following that performance Richard recreated (sans Karen on drums) his original song, “Iced Tea,” which helped the Richard Carpenter Trio take home their trophy back in 1966. Then, reminiscent of the famous duet between the late, great Nat King Cole and his beautiful and talented daughter Natalie, Karen appeared on the giant screen and sang, “For All We Know” while Richard played piano with the accompanying orchestra. It was nothing shy of breathtaking for everyone who witnessed it. The highlight of tonight’s wonderful Hollywood Bowl Experience, however, came when I least expected it.

After a short break, Donna Summer received her award via David Foster, and then gave us brilliant performances of a few of her wonderful hits. It was like perusing through a childhood photo album as Donna belted out “On the Radio” and “No More Tears (Enough is Enough)" but in an unexpected moment, she began to talk about how much she loved the Carpenters. She explained that she knew all of the background parts and would sing the songs of Karen and Richard Carpenter whenever she was in her car or on a road trip with her family. Then she explained how it was a dream of hers to perform with them…and that’s when she brought back to the stage, Richard Carpenter. In a surprise performance with Richard at the piano, and the backing of the Hollywood Bowl Orchestra, Donna Summer sang the Carpenters version of “Superstar” with extraordinary grace and reserve…as well as with a vocal tenderness that was captivating. It appeared that she was fighting back her own cathartic moment…as it seemed that during the line, “Long ago and oh so far away,” Donna Summer may have had a couple tears of her own. She wasn’t alone. I fought back several as well.

Tonight was an evening that  I had only half expected. I was not prepared for the other half… that which I am now so grateful for. Congratulations to the Carpenters, Donna Summer and Jean-Yves Thibaudet. Karen Carpenter, wherever you are… you are remembered with profound love and gratitude and your legacy is clearly alive and well…as it illuminated a packed house tonight, at the Hollywood Bowl.

A Calm, Reasoned Discussion

By Alison Hay
I don't often come out on a political rant but there are things roiling about in my head that I have to write down to alleviate.

Much has been made of the current case in Malawi of two gay men who are being imprisoned for the crime of love. It's right to be offended by this; what kind of backward society becomes punitive over the simple act of loving another human being? One whose principles are rooted in the ignorance of many centuries past. But I think you'll find that these principles are causal from the politics of religion, like most of the evils of this world visited upon the masses. As Christopher Hitchens says, God is NOT Great, and he understandably devotes an entire book eloquently arguing why religion is the single largest reason for the hell (literally, right here on earth) that millions of ordinary people find themselves embroiled in.

African countries are often mired in devout belief and superstitions and Malawi is no exception. 75% of the population is Christian, 20% Muslim. Slavish adherence to either of these sects has helped to contribute to a high incidence of AIDS related disease (veto of condom use, condemnation of any sexual practices outside of marriage thereby driving these practices underground) for a whopping 15% of the country. They are heavily reliant on monetary contributions from the Global Fund to alleviate the effects on their economy this brings but more importantly, 40% of the National Budget also comes from the GF. Simply put, the rest of the world is propping up Malawi's economy. You'd be forgiven for thinking that this might entitle some of us to demand they raise the standard of their human rights record.

But why stop there? Today I saw someone describe the imprisonment of these two unfortunate gentlemen as an 'extreme abuse of human rights'.
Extreme? Compared to what? To Idi Amin cutting off genitals and making people parade down the streets with them in their mouths? Others have haranged their social networks for not doing enough for a cause and trivializing the Malawians plight by means of carrying on a life undevoted to their fate.

Perhaps some of you are fortunate enough to have had a life that is robust and full enough to have somewhat overlooked the abuse of human rights that has been pervasive in 90% of the planet's cultures, plentifully covered in news items from time immemorial. Anywhere there are human beings, there will be found oppression, war, domination, cruelty. It has always been thus.

I'm not dismissing the heinous act of imprisoning someone for 14 years as lighthearted. But in the same name of fervor, many nations in the year of 2010 summarily execute people for the same or lesser leanings. Homosexuality is illegal in plenty of other countries, with far more serious consequences. Neither am I saying that one shouldn't care passionately about the fate of two men who are being mercilessly persecuted.
Does anyone care about those other issues? Did they before last week? I fucking did.

The President of Malawi has been quoted as saying that there was a "need to engage traditional and religious leaders and others on the laws that criminalize same-sex liaisons in Malawi." This seems a lot more hopeful to me than, for instance, the Wahabism default of 100 lashes preceding execution with zero chance of any repeal of obsessively medieval practices, mostly uncondemned by a world community that shuts its eyes to barbaric practices for fear of reprisal, whether it be economic, terroristic or military.

I see no widespread outcry amongst Western social networks for taking an eleven year old girl from her family, selling her off to a man in his seventies to be used as a sexual punchbag, to have her body invaded to bear his sexual assaults and his children, being locked in a house for her entire life, under a black sheet, with a metal mouthpiece over her face, with the threat of severe beating or death if she is ever caught talking to an unrelated man, let alone having a relationship with one, yet this goes on right now.

Or how about a child being held down and having all their outward genitals cut off, without anesthetic, with a rusty knife, in case they should commit the sin of wanton lust or desire in their life, even within the bounds of a marriage? This is happening right now.

I've been in countries where one can be arrested and imprisoned for whistling, eating or dancing at the wrong time, let alone holding someone's hand in public, or expressing chaste heterosexual affection. Westerners (much less native populations) who don't even subscribe to the religious practices of other cultures are right now in jail for much less than sleeping with someone. I myself am lucky not to be in one right now for giving someone the finger as they were screaming at me in a psychotic rage, two inches from my face, for not getting out of their way fast enough in a parking lot when the way was blocked by maneuvering cars. They had just driven into the side of my car in their temper. My middle finger could have had me jailed for just as long as two men in a Malawi prison.

In Saudi, sexting can get you jailed. Listening to the wrong radio station. Sitting in a car with someone. Getting gang raped can get you a stiffer sentence than 14 years with a few hundred lashes thrown in for good measure. Adultery, in many Middle Eastern and African countries can get you stoned to death up to your neck in sand.
There's an English woman in jail right now in Dubai who had a relationship with a man after her husband left her for another woman. Three years later he reported her for adultery and took her children away from her for life.

Is any of it right? Fuck, no. But just because something strikes a chord because it is close to one's life circumstance doesn't isolate it as the single most important social cause either, to be used as a weapon to make others feel guilt that they are not sharing your level of outrage.

I was outraged when I saw the video of the brother of the ruler of Dubai; he had not received satisfaction from a business deal. What he did was round up a police convoy and capture the man who had made money off him. He then joined the police for a drive out to the desert whereby the Egyptian in question was beaten into the dirt by several senior police officers. When the man was rendered nearly unconscious, the sheik took to the wheel of the four wheel drive himself, and ran the man over, backwards and forwards, three times with his vehicle. The video they took was for their own enjoyment. When it leaked, naturally the local media was suppressed from any reportage, as it always is in relation to anything negative to the ruling class.
I didn't see any protest registered in Western circles. The ruler of Dubai continues to own vast tracts of land in the UK for his prime racing stables. Glitterati continues to patronize Dubai on glossy publicized holidays.
The country still employs millions of impoverished Asian and Indian workers, kept in concentration camp conditions, often unpaid, kept deliberately in debt and forced to work in 48 degree temperatures on high building construction sites with a total lack of representation or safety while their passports are confiscated.
I don't see anyone raising protest.

I read of a word today. 'Slack-tivist'. The principle of pushing a button on a Facebook site and relieving our consciences that we have successfully contributed to defeating a cause, whether it be animal cruelty, hostage taking, oppression, unprincipled wars, domestic violence, the wrong candidate on the X Factor. Whatever. Let me tell you:- no one cares that you signed a petition. No one in the position of causing the damage, that is.

Tell me the last time it made a significant difference. Perhaps you have to go back to the Suffragettes to find a time when signing a petition meant causing change. The fact is that petitions are by dint of their nature the act of a minority. You can get a million people on a piece of paper and it wouldn't have the power of a cultural shift caused by a civil war, such as happened with Apartheid. Or the Global Fund removing monetary support to Malawi, which they're not about to do if that means that at the same time they deprive a quarter of a million people with AIDs their medical assistance. Should they? Not so black and white, is it?

Don't tell me I care about nothing enough to change it. I've leapt out of a car and waded, fists flailing, into a crowd of bikers on the street I saw abusing an animal. I've stood up to people much bigger than I in traumatic scenes of domestic violence, as a child and as an adult, on behalf of other people. I've risked my job many times to speak out on abuse and unfairness for people I was responsible for who couldn't fight for themselves. I've lost jobs for opening my mouth about corruption and abuse of authority when hundreds of my colleagues were too afraid to say a word. I've lived in frightening places that uniformly persecute for practices I feel are my right and stood firm on what I believe in and remained true to my own principles and choices. Can you say that?

I did say that in a comment on someone's page and it was quickly removed because it didn't conform to whatever political correctness was proliferating in the Malawi case.

If you have made a difference, you can then castigate me for worrying about what I can afford in Tesco today rather than joining a Facebook page.
Do what you must, with my blessing and admiration, but please remember that there is much out there to be concerned about. One either devotes a life to making a difference or gets through a life as best one can in the face of so many issues.

LITTLE GIRL BLUE: The Life of Karen Carpenter

 By Donnie Demers

As most of you know, my musical endeavors began with my affection and love for the music of the Carpenters. As a child, I knew that I wanted to inspire others the way Karen's voice and Richards arrangements inspired me.  I am more than happy to endorse and recommend the upcoming (and in my opinion the most truthful) biography written about Karen Carpenter, "Little Girl Blue: The Life of Karen Carpenter."

That being said, behind every story, there lies 3 truths:

1. The truth according to how I see it
2. The truth the way you see it, and
3. The truth as it actually was

After reading an advance copy of this book, I am happy to report that many of the private stories and personal recollections of the great, Karen Carpenter (that were previously withheld in other books written about Karen)...have been revealed within the pages of Randy Schmidt's story, hence, "the truth the way I see it."

Having been privy to these stories for years (and unable to share them), I'm glad that Karen's remarkable life is being told without the glossing over of facts, and yet detailed with great respect and admiration by the author. Having had many of Karen's friends involved in this book (including Olivia Newton John), Randy Schmidt opens up doors that were previously locked.  While this book is not about Karen's battle with the eating disorder Anorexia Nervosa, it does however, give us a glimpse into some of the issues that may have contributed to it.

Regardless of how the story is told, whether it be any of the three truths, the most important and undeniable truth still remains; Karen Carpenter was one of American Popular Music's greatest female vocalists of all time.  To this day, Karen Carpenter's voice is heard all over the world inspiring millions of listeners long after her untimely passing on February 4, 1983.

For a really great read, pick up Randy Schmidt's book when it comes out July 2010!
http://www.karencarpenterbiography.com/

"Oh, Danny Boy"

Jimmy Demers

Become a Fan Get Email Alerts from this Blogger

A couple months ago I was having dinner in Boston with a friend and she said something that hit rather home. "Jimmy, you're one step away from homeless." She paused and added, "I guess we all are. I mean, I am too, but that's why I own 5 homes." We had a little laugh, but days later, I found myself thinking about what she said, and although I've never owned a home, I've never really felt without one.

I was walking to my apartment last Tuesday evening, and as I always do, I greeted a man who happened to be walking in the opposite direction. Clearly, he had no home.  He looked like the actor Jason Lewis, from Sex in the City, and if he didn't have the authentic odor we all try to take a few steps away from that follows one without the luxury of a shower, I would've sworn it was Lewis doing research for a new role. After all, I do live in LA...I said "What's your name?" He answered "Danny."  Seeing his condition and without thinking; I just blurted out "Danny! What's going on? What happened?"  He looked at me with a genuine smile, paused for a moment and simply said, "I honestly don't know."  I didn't hear his answer so much as I felt it. As a singer, it's pretty much the same answer I give to just about everyone who upon hearing me sing always asks, "Why haven't you made it?"  My most truthful response, maybe not always with the smile, is said simply, "I honestly don't know."  I asked Danny what he wanted and he said "A shower", then added "Oh, and some clean clothes..." I said "Well, I can get you some clothes, what would you like?"  He said very specifically, "a white t-shirt, a pair of underwear, and a sweatshirt if you have one."  I asked him to wait on a set of steps and I went inside to get his things. A few minutes later, I handed Danny the bag, which ironically was a 'gift bag' from some swanky party I'd attended. I said "You got one of my favorite sweatshirts in here Danny! Wear it well! And there's also some shampoo, deodorant, conditioner and soap for whenever you find that shower."
It was a brief encounter, these two ships in the night, but a genuine connection. I was with a kindred spirit, perhaps a reflection of my own self -- and when I hugged him goodbye, it didn't matter to me how bad he smelled, which he did. I felt in that moment, I was hugging God.

We walked our separate ways, and before going back into my apartment, I wiped a tear from my eye knowing I'd never forget him. I may never really know why I'm here, or what it all means in "the Big Picture," but I do know I will always treasure that moment.

It only dawned on me after the fact that it was the night before St Patrick's Day, and his name was Danny.
So whenever I find myself wanting to take a few extra steps away from that odor that visits those temporarily less fortunate, I hope I will take a step or two closer.

And should anyone ever ask why I would step closer to someone others would step away from, I hope I'll be able to smile as genuinely as "oh, Danny boy" did, and simply say:
"I honestly don't know."

Reprinted from the Huffington Post:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jimmy-demers/oh-danny-boy_b_512512.html#postComment

Comfort Food

Allergy season is upon us here in LaLa land (probably everywhere)...and it's something I’ve only recently been gifted.  It appears that AARP is not the only luminous treat from the “Old age gift basket” one receives after THE BIG transition to (I can’t say it out loud, nor can I type it… but it’s ½ off a hundred and a year more than 49). Having allergies is a lot worse than I ever imagined. For starters, it keeps you up at night trying to gauge when the left nostril will unplug so that it doesn't settle on your pillow, making sure to quickly turn over so that the right nostril can have it’s go at it!   Switching back and forth…all night long (screaming at that inner child who wanted so desperately to be an adult.)  Then there’s all of that hysterical sneezing! Is it me, or do sneezes (wouldn’t it be funny if the plural for that was sneez-I?) actually get louder with allergies? I sneezed (which technically should be snoozed) the other night so loud that my neighbor kicked the wall that separates our apartments! I think a picture had fallen or something.  It’s ridiculous what these allergies will do to you and to those unlucky enough to share a wall with you.

Well, after another one of those nights, I woke up feeling a little sad.  I was missing my mom. It’s been a little over 4 years since she was taken via the Cancer Trolley, and for some reason…today was going to be another one of those days where I just really wanted her to scream at me and tell me to get out of bed, that it was time for me to get up for school!

I hated waking up in the morning.  Like most kids, the warmth of my Flintstones comforter was a lot more appealing to me than getting up at the crack of dawn to be dragged out of the house and off to school! I remember pleading with my mom, telling her that I was too sick to go to school on this particular day.  I had cleverly (or foolishly, as I see it now) taken the shade off the lamp next to my bed, and turned the light on.  I pressed the light bulb up to my forehead.  As the light quickly warmed up, so did my forehead…and THAT was a sign of a fever in our house!

I could smell the French toast from the kitchen.  Or was it my forehead? No, it was the kitchen (my forehead doesn't have cinnamon); the butter and that cinnamon wafting through the air! This was my mother’s way of luring us all out of bed in the morning; fresh, thickly cut bread, drenched in an egg wash of vanilla and cream with a splash of sugar and cinnamon!  My mom made the best French toast in the neighborhood (but to me, it was the world!) I summoned her to my bunk bed, feigning illness and offering my forehead as proof.  How silly of me...I could never pull the wool over my mom’s eyes. Unfortunately, I wasn't the first child born in our house.  I have an older brother whom, I'm pretty sure would not have forgotten to put the lamp shade back on the lamp! I never was good at acting…and I’m still not! I made the best of it though... I got to have insanely delicious French toast before heading off to prison, I mean school.

So there I was, entombed in the memories of my childhood while I scratched at my itching throat with the back of my tongue (and how annoying is that, if you're in the same room with someone doing it?)  It was pretty obvious now, I was really missing my mother big time.

Suddenly a light went off in my head (probably the same one I used to fake a fever)!  I decided to gather the ingredients and whip up a breakfast of comfort food…French toast, ala my mom!  I even ground the cinnamon with my magic bullet and used whole eggs (not just whites) and cream! Plus, about a week or so ago, I had purchased FRENCH TOAST BREAD (that's actually what they call it) and put it in the freezer ...apparently just for a moment like this! When it was done, I savored every last bite. The aroma literally washed away the sadness (well, with the aid of perhaps a tear ...or maybe two).  Then it dawned on me, why do I deprive myself of food like this?  It was like having Cinnabon for breakfast!

It had been years since I had eaten French Toast, and I had really forgotten how much I loved it...but I had not forgotten how much I loved my mom and how much I miss her.

It’s true…there really is such a thing as COMFORT FOOD!

Karen Carpenter - March 2, 1950 - February 4,1983

It's hard to imagine that Karen Carpenter would have turned 60 today.  One of the greatest female singers to ever grace the world of popular music was silenced in 1983 from causes directly resulting from her affliction with anorexia nervosa. Over 27 years have passed since that shocking friday morning, when the world learned of Karen's death; however, her angelic voice is still ever present world wide. The Carpenters music continues to top the charts in Japan and England, where their soft blend of perfect harmonies have always been well received. Today I celebrate, KAREN CARPENTER.

The Boob Tube - Sunday Wrap

Last night was the Closing Ceremony of the Winter Olympics Games in Vancouver, B.C. Which number Olympics it was, I don't really recall.  It was a small one though, when you compare it to its Brother, the Summer Olympic Games (or sister, depending on which AA meeting you're at.)  This Sunday, however, all eyes were on the big hockey game that afternoon. That event was built up to rekindle the excitement of the "Miracle on Ice" from the Lake Placid games in 1980; however, while it was a decent game, the only comparison it shared was, well…it was the ice, really! 

After the U.S. got defeated by the Canadians in a tie-breaking 2-3 final, I started to gear my evening around the Closing Ceremony.  This would mean unplugging anything that would distract me from watching that portal to mediocrity, the boob tube! Telephones would be silenced.  Computers shut down. Even the blinds drawn, (yes, that’s how bad my ADD can get!) What do you want from me; it was a gorgeous moon out there last night!

Since I had been involved in a couple of Olympic ceremonies myself  (performing at the 2007 Closing Ceremonies of the Summer Games of the Special Olympics in Shanghai, China, and then performing again for the Special Olympics (and writing the song) for the Opening/Closing Ceremonies of the 2009 World Winter Games in Boise, I knew the work that was put into these glorious events.  Now if you're saying to yourself, the “Special Olympics” is not a comparison"...how wrong you are!  The event in Shanghai was in fact, equally as incredible and robust of a celebration as the Games that followed in Beijing.  Let's face it; the Chinese Government was on a mission to make a few social statements about their country.  Some critics have said, "They turned their people upside down (so that we could see them smile)".  I mean, after all, the Olympic Games definitely provides the perfect stage to showcase the very best of any country that wins the right to host it, so why not?   Whatever the motive, the Chinese had my attention...and they couldn't have been more gracious to me and my entourage. By the way, we landed in a monsoon, but that had nothing to do with their hospitality! Now I'm wondering if those critics might have been in a monsoon based on that harsh comment about being "upside down"! It sure does make you wonder. My point, however, was that the Special Olympics Ceremonies were equally as extravagant as any Olympics I had ever seen (much less, anything I  had ever been a part of).  So with all that in mind, I was eagerly looking forward to last nights Winter Olympics Closing Ceremony. 

Yes, we all got a chuckle from the opening segment, where a mime was seen parodying the awkward malfunction that delayed the lighting of the indoor cauldron at the opening ceremony. The mime was going through the motions of pulling the fourth arm of the massive cauldron from the floor of the BC Place as the audience members sat with obliging laughter.  It was clever, and it was perfect!  But (for me anyhow) it wasn't enough to prevent a wish that something like last weeks debacle would happen again.  At least it would be unpredictable, because the slow pace of this production had me nodding off.

From the Russian Choir to the oddly placed Michael J.Fox (hello...he's lived in the US for 30 years folks, he even told us! AWKWARD, party of one!) The Canadian's would probably have had better bragging rights if they featured a "Maple Leaf Coiffed" Lady Gaga. Nonetheless, there he was: American Actor, I mean Canadian born, Michael J. Fox... standing there on a stage with the roar of a standing ovation (for "Back to the Future"????) and murmuring words that could have been written by the gaffer from "The Electric Company." Okay, nothing against gaffers, by the way (or the EC) but seriously, couldn't they have written something a little more profound, or hilarious, or if nothing else, maybe a flashing 800 number for Muscular Dystrophy, or is it Multiple Sclerosis? Either would have been a better use of those 8 minutes! Don't get me wrong, I love me some MJF...who doesn't? I saw "Back to the Future" at least twice (okay the second time was on HBO when they ran movies, so maybe that doesn't count). But he rocks!  Oh, and who the F**k is Catherine O'Hara? Wasn't she in "Gone with the Wind"? How can she look that good if she was in that movie?  Okay, I get it, she’s Canadian.

Well, I held the lids up with toothpicks right until the awkward placement of a new show NBC decided they wanted to drop smack dab in the middle of the Closing Ceremonies!  WTF?  These are, after all, the geniuses that gave us "The Jay & Conan Train Wreck."  I'm pretty sure they are the same BOOBS in BOOB Tube. Nonetheless, this new show was no exception to the impeccable reputation of  this deformed breed of NBC honchos!  The program that these buffoons sliced the Closing Ceremonies of the Winter Games with was some lame (and I mean lame in the absolute nicest way), ridiculous, moronic and mindless brain child of Jerry Seinfeld. Clearly, this one got the green light because of who Jerry Seinfeld is...or can we now safely say, WAS?  

The Seinfeld creation is called, "The Marriage Ref." It’s about as painful as a Chevy Chase Talk Show...no, worse…Magic Johnson...no even worse than that ... Levi Johnson! This is the kind of shit that can (and WILL) bring down NBC (although, they really can't get down much lower). Keeping Saturday Night Live on another season is pretty low... sort of like waiting for George Burns to turn 100 just so we could say he did! By the way, wasn’t that a bit curious that George Burns passed right after he turned 100? Since we're going there, has anyone really seen Dick Clark in person?   Seriously though, this pile of pacadermy poo, is one of the worst shows in the history of TV! The premise involves a celebrity panel deciding who was "in the right" regarding issues involving MARRIED COUPLES and their disagreements.  In the premier episode, the first couple featured a GUIDO and his slave, I mean wife, from NY (naturally).  The husband had a dog that he had for a long time, but like all living creatures...it died.  I guess Mama's meatballs weren't enough! This guy needed to have that dog around ...even AFTER death. Guido couldn’t let go.  Against the will of his wife, the Bada Bing had it stuffed and mounted for display. This is where the celebs come in. 

The panel of “Celebatrysts” consisted of, Alec Baldwin (the chubby brother of at least a few good looking skinnier versions).  You know him, he's got MAD talent....and he's also the one that leaves his kid loving phone messages). Also on the panel was the perky and battery operated (Morning Side-kick of Regis Philbin), Kelly Rippa.  There's something wrong with her...remember, I told you here first.  Then of course, the permanent Jew with shpilkes in his Gunectagazoink, Jerry Seinfeld himself.  All I can say is (and I won't even give this show another mention after today) that it took 15 minutes away from my life and I'm pissed! I could have ...

This was my Sabbath? I was so farblondzhet!  I plugged everything back in (including the iron left on the ironing board!!!)   I needed to get back to the poison I enjoy…familiarity.  That meant, it was now time to watch the show I TiVo’d over the Olympics, "The Amazing Race!

After the first couple of minutes of the race, I wondered if I should just shut it off and watch it the next day instead.  As I sat there trying to understand the language spoken between Jeff and Jordan (are they even from this planet?), it dawned on me: this reminds me of making an Italian gravy; where you end up burning the tomatoes on the bottom of the pan (because you left it on medium-high too long) but you try to salvage the pot of glowing red stuff by removing all the black and charred scraps from the bottom!  The gravy is still red, so it must be okay, right? So you let it continue to cook for the remaining 2 hours. But alas, upon tasting it, your gravy has been violently transformed into the taste of burnt spaghetti sauce! Amazing how that happens, huh?  Well, not so amazing was The Amazing Race.  For me, it had turned into that burnt gravy.  It ultimately ended up being the cherry that topped off last nights BOREDOM BANQUET! I did everything I could just to hear the Aussie say, "You have been eliminated from the race!"  Now, if I could only remember who it was that was actually eliminated, that would be awesome! Unfortunately, the couple that got das boot were so forgettable...they could have easily been Weezy Jefferson and Clair Huxtable for all I knew because I wouldn’t have known the difference! 

The most important thing to me about last night (sadly) was saying goodbye to the Winter Olympics Games. I guess mostly because I knew that when I awoke the next morning, I would return to the normal Yahoo Front Page headlines.  This morning didn't disappoint with alternating headlines, Man finds game in basement worth $40,000 and 'You're So Vain' mystery rekindled ! Ah, the complacency of familiarity! 

Can Friendship Be a Liability?

Recently, I was asked by a friend of my brother’s to play the piano at her wedding reception, several hundred miles north of where I live. This woman was the bride, as well as the party planner, so I replied to her with an approach that I felt was appropriate; one that was professional.  Being that I had only known this person casually (through my brother) I didn’t even know if she had brothers or sisters or if her mom and dad were still married, or even alive?  Get this; I didn’t even know that my brother had introduced her to her fiancé! We had been in each others company a few times.  Mostly those times were during tragic moments; at my moms funeral and then at another funeral of a mutual friend. She had been to see us perform a couple of times, but even then, it was only a brief encounter of “you were great” and “thank you for coming” idol pleasantries.  I had never dined with her, nor had we ever spoken on the phone (that I recall).  The few conversations we had were enjoyable enough for me to know that we could certainly engage in a friendship of our own, if the winds of fate took us there.  Well, I guess the winds of fate took us there…but they didn’t inform me.  What perfect timing for her. 

Since I am a professional musician, I charge a fee for my services. Not unlike the Baker, the Couture, the Rabbi or the Priest, the Chef, the Bartender, the wait staff…etc. a service is offered, a payment is rewarded.  It is always my practice to reduce my rate (drastically) when it is for a friend of my brother’s.  That way, when my friends’ need a great singer for something…he’ll reciprocate the favor!  I explained to the bride, that I was more than happy to offer her my services for a special fee because she is a friend of my brother’s. While there were no numbers ever mentioned, I did explain that I was sure she’d be happy with that rate.  I’m sensing you already know where this is going.  Well, it arrived.  I immediately received an email from the bride to be.  She was under the impression that she and I were friends as well, and that she had planned to take care of my travel and lodging and basically, that should be enough for any friend to do.

Needless to say, I was surprised to learn that I had graduated to “friend” with this person (someone whose middle name I didn’t even know or if she had even been married before). Clearly, there were feelings disrupted…probably on both of our parts.  Although the icing on that wedding cake came when she informed me that my invite was essentially to accompany my brother who had already agreed to sing a song at her wedding.  I merely replied, “If that’s why I was being invited to your wedding, than I guess true intentions have defined our relationship!” After all, I never did receive one of those fancy wedding invites with white lace and promises!!! Nonetheless, I think the next time this person decides to foster a friendship she may wish to pick up the phone and call to say hello every now and again, or at the very least, share her middle name?

This idea of “friendship” really got me to thinking.  What then, is a friend?  What is an acquaintance? Are they different? Is it like flying First Class and Coach? Or is the separation of Friendship and Acquaintance more like First and Business (sometimes there is very little difference at all). The answer depends on whom your asking, I would suppose.

Webster defines a friend like this:   

  

¹friend

Pronunciation: \frend\

Function: noun

1 a : one attached to another by affection or esteem b : acquaintance
2 a : one that is not hostile b : one that is of the same nation, party, or group
3 : one that favors or promotes something (as a charity)
4 : a favored companion

I found Webster's definition to be quite fascinating, actually. How ironic (for me) that it uses the word “acquaintance” in the definition! Maybe the bride had looked this up prior to her email to me? She’s pretty darn thorough, if that was the case.

Like most powerful words, their meanings are subjective and they are largely based on who you’re asking.  For me, a friend is that person who will unceremoniously awaken “the me within" when I’m covering it up with layers of stuff that I am not! A friend will not only protect who I am, but they will do it without judgment, and they will do it with love and understanding and they will do it justly.  During those moments when I need to be heard, a friend will listen, but more importantly, they will hear...they will hear more than the words I’ve spoken.  That’s a friend to me. Someone who is present in their absence. That's a friend to me.  If I can not be all of that and much more to someone else, then I am not a friend to them.  Having a criteria with anything less, is short changing what every human being is entitled to embrace with friendship.  Don’t call me a friend if you don’t even know the most basic ingredients in my recipe! Get to know me…let me get to know you…let’s walk or wheel our way through this journey together on one common ground…that which enriches this experience we call life.  If we can accomplish that together, then sharing a slice of cake (in this case a wedding cake) will be that much more tasty!

What is a friend to you? 

Are You Charging For That Room In Your Brain?

Every now and again, a cluster of words will hit me like a lead balloon. I'm usually riveted in the aftermath...at least enough to be inspired. That's pretty much how I end up writing songs. Earlier this evening I was reading a blog by Roger Ebert and in it he was discussing the recent cover story Esquire magazine did on him. It featured a blown up photo of his distorted face (due to a surgical procedure that removed his jaw). He was very candid about his condition, but mostly he was awakening anyone who read the Esquire piece, to the fact that he was, in fact, very much alive! He also spoke of some harsh words he had Tweeted about Rush Limbaugh when Limbaugh was in the hospital (which he wasn't regretting), and that his wife had said to him, "Did you really have to write all those Tweets about Rush Limbaugh? He's a sick man. What if people had written about you that way when you were in the hospital?"  Ebert replied, "That would be their right. Besides, he (Limbaugh) said he was fine."  His wife then replied, "And you wouldn't care what they said about you?" This is when the lead balloons fell.  Ebert poignantly noted, "Resentment is allowing someone to live rent-free in a room in your head!" Wow! I had to really stop and re-read that a few times...just so it would seep in enough for me to remember.  To remember when I'm allowing more than a few rooms to be rented free! I guess the same can be said about other "wasted emotions" like guilt and envy (is envy even an emotion?) So the next time someone does something that really pisses me off, I'm going to think about being the savvy Landlord that I know I can be!!

The R Word

Once again, a diatribe on the use of (ironically) politically incorrect words has been directed towards Pennsylvania Avenue. Allegedly, feisty White House Chief of Staff, Rahm Emanuel has done the unthinkable: he used the word Retarded as an adjective, but to make matters worse, he prefaced it with an expletive! A couple of weeks ago, The Wall Street Journal reported the blasphemy in an article stating that, “upon learning that liberal special-interest groups were planning to run ads against conservative Democrats not supportive of health care reform, (Emanuel) blasted the plan as "f------ retarded!"

C’mon Rahm, you know better than that. That’s something you learn in “No-No’s 101”! Perhaps you were caught with your guard down, not unlike former Senator Larry Craig (although he was caught with more than his guard down)…you know, because it was behind closed doors!

Thankfully, the head of Special Olympics, Tim Shriver, accepted your apology. Tim works tirelessly to eradicate the misuse of “the R word” so that the millions of decent human beings who receive the brunt of this egregious faux pas can walk through the trenches of a cynical society with pride and with dignity. While I remain a fervent supporter of the Special Olympics, as well as a myriad of other groups that are supportive of intellectual and physical disabilities, I am also well aware that just because a word is uttered, doesn’t necessarily signify intolerance or support of inappropriate behavior. The problem with this kind of publicity, is that it offers up a hearty serving for those hungry pundits and hockey moms! Former Vice Presidential candidate Sarah Palin (via the auspices of her Facebook page) called on President Obama to fire Emanuel for what she saw as “the equivalent of the ‘N’ word!” Palin, whose son Trig is afflicted with Down Syndrome, has every right to be upset over this blurb, but to compare it to the “N” word is almost an insult to the group that word disparages.

The “N” word is laden with generations of horrific implications that we may never fully understand in the modern world. Yes, I get the comparison…but it’s about as over the top as “I can see Russia from my house!” Also, how do you use the “N” word as an adjective? Just sayin.

Did Rahm Emanuel speak inappropriately? Of course he did…isn’t that his m.o.? Should he be fired? Of course not. He’s a smart dude…but he’s human (although the infamous Hockey Mom may attempt to refute that?)

In this case, the R word should stand for RELAX!

To get involved with the Special Olympics, please go to:

The Special Olympics

Count the "R" Word on ANY SITE

The Plastic Surgery of Network Television

What is going on with the “executive management” in Network Television? That is the burning question one has to ask these days. Is it me, or are these people reeking havoc on the playground in our minds (you know, that area where space is as vast as our McDonald’s-eating muffin tops?) I guess the better question would be, “Does the playground in the minds of THOSE EXECUTIVES lack a ‘CURB YOUR DOG’ sign?”

Surprisingly, the recent magnitude 10 earthquake of Late Night Television here in America may have only been an after-shock! Just months before that, the careless mishandling of Paula Abdul ( America ’s most beloved judge) seems to be the catalyst that would reshape the landscape of television in 2010. No Conan? No Paula? Okay, more like just …NO PAULA? But what’s next, are they going to replace Bob Barker with some likable “what’s his name” with big glasses?

Well, if you’re like me (and I know you are) you poke around with the channel finder from time to time…and if you’re REALLY like me, you know…a voracious reality TV-Show whore, then of course American Idol is on your radar! Even if you’re in the closet about it (speaking of Ryan Seacrest, those viewer numbers CAN’T BE WRONG…he would never lie to us) the temptation to watch “Up with People on Steroids,” taunts that mindless playground of ours every Tuesday and Wednesday from February through to May. But this season the climate is as different as the ever-changing geography of Joan Rivers smile. How do we watch American Idol without Paula Abdul? Will the American Idol allegiance remain in tact, or has the face-lift of TV’s most successful talent show challenged its numbers as a result of bad executive decision making? Will they really let Ryan boast, “Last night, thanks to you, 175,000 votes were called in for tonight’s results?” Wait, my skin is crawling… I’ll be back… after the break!

So, Paula wanted a raise…big deal! Was it really that atrocious of a request? I mean c’mon, are you trying to tell me that Paula wasn’t worth every nickel she asked for? If for no other reason, did those execs forget the countless “oh no she ditn’t” reactions we were gifted? Let’s not forgot those gushing moments of parental pride and joy that Paula would pump into the throngs of mediocre talent over the years, much the same way we would encourage our three legged cocker spaniel to “give me your paw!” That alone warranted such a raise.

While some critics have cited that Ms. Abdul earned a wage most American’s would kill for in such difficult economical times, and that perhaps her ambitious request was typical of Hollywood self-indulgence, I’d like to remind those antagonists that most American’s don’t have the patina of Super-stardom that Abdul has sustained for over 25 years. Notwithstanding, prior to Ms. Abdul's involvement with American Idol, producers were unsuccessful in their attempts to secure a deal after approaching all the major networks. Nobody in the U.S. knew who Simon Cowell was in 2002. Nobody still knows who Randy Johnson is in 2010. Yet it was arguably Abdul’s credibility that changed the minds of Fox executives when they gave the greenlight to American Idol. So then, a raise (and a dwarfed one at that, when compared to Cowell’s salary) seemed appropriate and well earned to those of us who were left hanging in the balance after last seasons Finale: Will Paula leave or will she stay? Simple mathematics gave us blind faith, of course she’ll stay. Fox would never puncture a hole in the silicone fill of Primetime’s most successful implant! Or would they? Do the people that make these decisions even WATCH TV?

Now that the first phase of “Hollywood Week” or “Hell Week” (as some refer to it as) has come and gone on American Idol, we’ve been able to slightly gauge the contestant-friendliness of Paula’s replacement, the seemingly innocuous and incumbent talk show host/comedienne Ellen Degeneres. Will Degeneres degenerate (as many comics do) when removed from the confines of their little fish bowls? Will she flounder about…looking for that familiar plastic seaweed and colorful rocky flooring? That has yet to play itself out, since Hell Week is an edited portion of the reality series. We’re going to have to wait for the LIVE broadcasts before we’re able to provide a thorough and more realistic autopsy!

Nonetheless, I am aware of what goes on “behind the scenes” of this juggernaut (having been a guest for several seasons), and I also know that “Hollywood Week” is a very tense and revealing moment for so many of the hopeful contestants. But this time around, it was more revealing for many of us viewers. On Tuesday’s broadcast, Andrew Garcia (this season’s top hopeful contestant) broke out into a reworking of Paula Abdul’s MEGGAHIT, “Straight Up!” It blew the judges away…especially Kara! But when the camera panned to Degeneres, her reaction seemed to yelp, “I thought we agreed Paula Abdul would not be referenced while I’m on camera!” Well, for me, that was the defining moment…the moment that would discern reality from hearsay: Is Paula really not coming back? Mr. Garcia’s awesome rendition of Abdul’s classic mega hit was like salt in the wound of a Pop Culture gash! How did we let this happen? I sat there biting my nails (already down to the bone from the Super Bowl) waiting for Ellen to get up from her swiveling chair, and give it back to Paula (who had probably just gotten up briefly to wipe away the mascara from an earlier audition!) She is coming back…right? Paula? Stop playing with us! This is all just one big Primetime joke, right?

How did we let this happen? We should have been able to vote on this, no? Why not? We vote on everything nowadays. Just ask “The Insider’s” Lara Spencer…she’s always asking us to vote on things far less important, like whether or not Kate Gosselin’s hairstyle should swing up, or swing down! Look, I’m all for change, but if you’ve got the ocean, why settle for a pond? I’m just saying. Is it wrong that I miss Paula, of course it’s not wrong… it’s likely more of a “YOU NEED TO GET A LIFE” thing than anything else! Will I survive? The jury is still out on that one…but one thing I do know for sure; the bandages of the new season of “American Idol” have been removed …and at this point, Ryan Seacrest is looking more and more like Ed McMahon!