One Month To Go

...until life, as I know it, is over. While most of you are caught up in the countdown until college football season, I've been dreading the end of August. Why? Because it's the end of my 30's. I will be turning 40 freaking years old one month from today. I don't want to hear any comments about how it really isn't that bad because you know what? It is. Just ask my mother - I actually yelled at her recently for reminding me for the 1000th time that I'm "about to turn 40." So bring on the ball busting and the old person jokes. I might as well get used to it as I enjoy my final month of youth.

TT's Guide To Starting A Cover Band, Part One

Having played in many bands over the years, I’ve gained much experience and knowledge in the area of performing. And while I had a couple of stints in bands that worked on “making it” with original material, the majority of these years (especially the past decade) has been spent whoring myself in countless cover bands. Wanting to set your mind into starting a cover band? I think U better close it and let me guide U…

Know the song, don’t learn the song

“What’s the difference?” you might ask. Many people make the mistake of concentrating solely on playing the song – the chords, the lyrics, the ending, etc. But if you aren’t familiar with the song, you’ll forget the little things. Is the solo section 4 bars or 8? Is the bridge after the second chorus or the third? LISTEN to the damn song all the way through over and over without an instrument on your lap, without listening to YOUR part. KNOW the song so when you’re playing it, you automatically know where to go when.

T - - E - - M - - P - - O

If your drummer can’t keep a beat or plays too fast, you’re screwed. Might as well just forget it and quit before the first practice is over, because he’s gonna lead you down a path of putrid aural chaos. Having played with some of the best drummers around, I’ve been spoiled. There’s nothing more frustrating than a sucky drummer. Too many yahoos spend an inordinate amount of time playing badass fills and rushing to the next cool section of a song. Mr. Jackson said it best - Relax your mind…lay back and groove with mine.


Be versatile

Don't be a band that just plays between the lines. Find some guys who have an ear for music and can play requests on the fly. There's nothing wrong with saying no to requesters or at least asking them to show a tit or two, but be prepared when the hot girls make requests for gay songs you wouldn't necessarily be caught dead performing otherwise.

Leave them wanting more

There's nothing more pathetic than a band who plays an overly looooong third set in front of four drunks who keep asking for "Sweet Caroline" or "Sweet Home Alabama". Know when the party's over and step away while the fire's still hot. There's nothing wrong with leaving the audience wanting more...

I'll offer more hot tips in a future post.

Kids With Mohawks - Why?

This is a phenomenon that is growing like a weed, because I've noticed several of these poor children on the beach this week. I'm not talking about teenagers but small children! For the love of everything good and holy, why would any parent allow their child to have a freaking Mohawk haircut? Not only is it classless, but it's just bad parenting. And yes, I know I'm not a parent. But, by God, I know I'd be better than any schmuck who'd let their kid out of the house looking like a Travis Barker mini-me. What's next, tats and piercings? Serenity now!

Beach Tools

When choosing a spot on the beach, I like to be fairly isolated - I like my own space. Earlier this week it was pretty easy but as the week has winded down, more folks have shown up and set up camp in their own spots. There are now more umbrellas and chairs, including a tall pole with an American flag and a Univ. of Alabama flag underneath it.

Yesterday, I walked out and discovered that a group of tools had erected their own Neverland right next to our stuff. There was a 10x10 LSU tent with a bunch of chairs and towels strewn around it. A group of douchebag clones were gathered - twentysomething guys holding beers (along with their dicks), wearing visors, standing around talking about intellectual topics such as NASCAR, animals they've killed and what they bought on their last trip to Home Depot. Their shitty music was blasting from underneath the tent, deafening the other beachgoers around them.

I decided to relinquish my space and move a few feet beyond our original spot. That's when one of the tools walked over with a small orange flag and said, "Hey man - is this yours?"

"No, but it was here yesterday. I don't know who it belongs to," I said.

"Yeah, we ought to use it to cover up that Alabama stuff over there."

I wasn't sure I had heard him correctly. "What?"

"We need to cover up that damn Alabama flag over there."

"Um, yeah, I went there,", I said, making my annoyance obvious to this jackass.

"Oh, well we're all all Auburn grads and our wives went to LSU," said the genius.

I looked past him and scanned his buddies shooting the breeze next to their tent.

"Nice pairing," I snickered, with conspicuous disdain. I picked up my stuff and proceeded to relocate to spot a good distance away, making it clear that I didn't want any part of their group or any pissing contest over SEC affiliation. They spent the rest of the day tossing the frisbee and frattin' it up with their Tigerettes in tow.

Rumifications from Day 1 At The Beach

- I can't stand what I call "car clusters" on the interstate. See if this sounds familiar: you're driving 80 on cruise control - no one around you, perfect conditions; a group of 3 or 4 cars approach and then hover around you for several miles at inconsistent speeds. You pass them, they pass you, they mess up your pace and you keep having to tap the brake to disengage the cruise control. "Screw this," you say, and floor it to 100 just to get a half mile ahead of these bozos and drive at your own speed by yourself. A few minutes later, they catch up with you again, cluster around you and linger. Why the f**k do people do this?

- Similar scenario: you walk out onto the wide open beach - only a few people out there and plenty of space. You stake out your own spot, away from other people. A young couple saunters out a little later, plopping down 10 yards away. Whatever. Soon afterwards, a family appears out of nowhere, hauling coolers, rafts, chairs, umbrellas and loud children. Where do they decide set up camp? You got it - 10 yards away on the other side. You sit up, look around at the vast empty beach in either direction, turn back to glare at your new neighbors, and wonder why the f**k these people felt it necessary to invade your space. Same thing happenes in movie theaters by the way.

- I'm gonna sound like a hypocrite in light of my last post, but I've had it with the Michael Jackson tributes and retrospectives on every single news and/or cable channel. Enough already. Peace out.

Another GD Michael Jackson Tribute

I hate to pile on with another Michael Jackson tribute but the man deserves it. I’ve often said that I was a fan of his “when he was black”. It’s partially a joke but it is also true. When he was making real soul music, there was no one ever better and for a time, everything he touched was gold. His albums Off The Wall and Thriller are simply two of the greatest albums of all time. If you’re wondering about that, I’d like you to turn off your TV, turn off your cell phone, lock yourself in a room and listen. This is what I did over and over and over again as a kid. Listen to Side One (the first five songs on your CD) of Off The Wall. That sequence of songs – "Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough", "Rock With You", "Working Day And Night", "Get On The Floor" and "Off The Wall" – might be the greatest side of a record ever. Listen to the drums, the handclaps, the rhythm guitar, the percussion – listen closely to it all. What you’re hearing is called a groove, and no one executed it better than Michael did in this phase of his career. Thriller is right up there, too.

After that, it all started going downhill. Bad was just, well, bad, and I don’t WTF he was doing beyond that. But regardless of that or any of his batshit crazyness, there’s no denying that he was a genius. What he and Quincy Jones created during those younger years will never be duplicated. For years I had a recurring daydream that I met Michael and he actually solicited my advice about how to regain his career and become relevant again in music circles. I would tell him this:

“Lose all the sampling and drum machines. Write grooves, write songs the way you used to – in your head, not on a freaking computer. Hire real musicians and have them play real acoustic instruments. Make your music organic again, make it come from your soul. Don’t try to keep up with the latest sounds and trends in music. Do it your way. And if you do, you’ll become huge again, I guarantee it.”

Alas, he never did. But I’ll always remember the way he used to do it, and baby it grooved.

Get Out Of My Life

I have had it with this whole Jon & Kate thing. Until a few months ago, I had no clue who these people were. Then I continued to hear tidbits on the news about this couple who, as I later learned, have a reality show about themselves and their eight kids. Wonderful parenting idea.

Now their marital problems have invaded my life. I can't watch the Today show, read a magazine or a blog without being inundated with updates on this freaking family that I couldn't give two shits about. Unfortunately, there are scores of idiots out there who do care - whose lives are somehow unfulfilled unless they can live vicariously through others. Stay out of my life, Jon & Kate, and please allow your children to grow up normally instead of on everyone's TV sets.

Re-Post

It's hotter than a half-bred fox in a forest fire.
It's hotter than a June bride in a feather bed.
It's hotter than a ginger mill in Hades.
It's hotter than the devil's dick.
It's hotter than a four-balled tom cat.
It's hotter than a flaming bag of turd.
It's hotter than Oprah's underwear during a hot flash.
It's hotter than a snake's ass in a wagon rut.
It's hotter than a two-peckered goat.

And an old favorite...it's hotter than two rats f**king in a wool sock.

My New Favorite Phrase/Description

It's "Batshit crazy". I've been saying it a lot lately. It can be used in just about any sentence, as in:

- "The Octomom is batshit crazy."

- "That dude who shot up the Holocaust Museum is just plain batshit crazy."

- "Sarah Palin needs to STFU - she's batshit crazy!"

Feel free to share these words with your friends and batshit crazy relatives.

You Gotta Love Old People

This morning I went to Panera Bread Co. to get one (okay, two) of their warm fluffy bagels. I was standing in line behind an older couple (late 60's to early 70's) who had ordered two coffees and were not pleased with the cup sizes they were presented with.

"Wait, this is the size we ordered? We wanted small," said the old fart, er, man.

"I'm sorry, I though you wanted regular sized coffee," replied the girl behind the counter. She held up the two cups. The small size was only slightly smaller - perhaps four ounces. The man indicated that he wanted the small.

"Dude, don't fill the cup all the way or just don't drink it all," I thought to myself.

"Would you like the small instead?" asked the patient Panera girl.

"Yes, that's what I wanted."

"Do you want me to refund the difference? It's 22 cents."

Apparently he had already paid for his coffee and breakfast.

"Yes."

Are you freaking kidding me?

"Ok, I'll need your card to run the transaction."

You're going to make her go through a whole credit card transaction for a 22 cent refund? I'll bet the bank's gonna love that when they read their daily report.

I almost stepped forward to offer the man a quarter just to shut him up, but somehow I knew it would be to no avail. As Butthead used to giggle to himself, "Old people. Huh hah huh hah."

I'm A Murderer

Something terrible happened the other day while taking a casual Sunday commute. I was driving on a through way past a golf course when I came upon a deep dip in the road. I slowly drove through it and as I was coming out of the dip I saw a mother duck and her ducklings waddling across the road just at the top of the rise. I slammed on my brakes but it was too late. As I rolled through, I prayed to God that I didn't run over any of them but I knew I wouldn't be that lucky. I looked in my rear view mirror and sure enough, I had flattened one of the ducklings and halfway flattened another one. My heart sank - I felt terrible. And there was nothing I could do at that point.

Not that I aim for them, but I've run over squirrels and possums many times and have gotten over the guilt within a mile or two. Not this time. I still feel guilty. So technically this means that I've committed one and a half counts of duckslaughter. I'm already going to hell, so it's not like this one incident is going to determine my fate. But it still sucks.

Ultimate Gayness

Is it possible for something to be (supposedly) badass and gay at the same time (not that there's anything wrong with that)? Let's examine this. At my weekly sports bar gig, there are a couple of TV's that show Ultimate Fighting (or MMA or whatever the eff you want to call it), and it's all I can do to keep from spitting out my beer from laughter when I glance up and witness these tough guys grappling around the ring like Brokeback Cowboys in pretzel positions. I hate to break it to them, but prancing around like Buffalo Bill hiding his peen is more of a manly act than this. Find a more audacious sport, fellas. Like hopscotch.

"I only have some knowledge that the language of your country"

I have multiple Hotmail accounts due to the various MySpace pages for all of my bands. Every once in awhile I randomly receive messages from foreign chicks searching aimlessly for a mate. Like a teenage boy fumbling with a bra strap, their fledgling attempts at the English language are quite often amusing and entertaining. Of course, my mother is so desperate for any of her three sons to marry, she'd probably encourage me to respond to the one who sent this to me just last night:

Hello,
I was engaged in the work of beauty, I personality moderate person, I beautiful image of icing on the cake for my career, but who has never married. I like foreign men humor, romantic, generous, so the men would like to do with friends or get married, you may have to wait for my people? I like beauty, travel, swimming, listening to music. I only have some knowledge that the language of your country, I would like to know more about you, because I usually relatively busy, if not mind, you can go to the following address my private wrote to me the address below: http://www.-----.html
(Direct open this link, you can find me, Free,and I often open letter here to watch a friend. There are more private photos I) I'm looking forward to you for your letter.

Does that usage of nouns, verbs and adverbs get any prettier? I think not.

An Idiot Spreading Wisdom

We have a young whippersnapper at work who comes in part-time after getting out of school in the afternoon. The other day he was bemoaning the fact that he's been "talking to" two girls and can't decide which one to proceed in asking out on a date. And he was asking for advice about what to do, as if I was some sort of sage guru of love. First of all, anyone who knows me is cognizant of the fact that seeking dating advice from me is ludicrous and counterproductive. Secondly, there is the small matter of a fact of life that we cannot control and that I imparted on this young man: that all men are idiots.

There are many levels and layers of idiocy that we as men travel through during our lifetime. As kids, we're simply oblivious to the outside world and the consequences of our thoughts and actions. But as we reach our teen years, it turns into what I call "complete f***ing idiocy". It morphs over time and through the years into different categories - incorrigible idiocy, unadulterated idiocy, irreparable idiocy, and so on. By the time we die, we're just plain "idiots". Men are idiots in any and all scenarios, whether it's school, family, or work. But nothing brings out the true colors of our idiocy like dealing with the opposite sex. Women are our Kryptonite, causing detrimental harm to our brain functionality as well as our collective psyche. They make us do and say things that we would never, for the life of us, attempt to do in any normal situation. This is the power that women have over us, and there is nothing we can do to prevent it.

Once I explained this to him, he gazed at me with a blank stare of confusion. "Poor bastard," I thought to myself. "He has no idea."

This Week's Grammar Lesson

I've always been a bit of a spelling & grammar Nazi. Today I was reminded of a common f-up that many people make regarding the use of the word "alumni". Folks, the word "alumni" is plural and "alumnus" is singular. If you are referring to yourself only, you should say, "I am an alumnus of The University of Alabama." If you are an alumnus who thinks you're an alumni, then you shouldn't have become an alum in the first place. Let's keep our eye on the ball, shall we? Toodles.

"Get In The Hole!"

Anyone who has watched golf tournaments on TV has heard this annoying phrase shouted ad nauseam by dorky link losers who are in attendance. I watched The Masters yesterday with intrigue – it was certainly a doozy. But I grew increasingly exasperated by these idiots who wouldn’t shut up after every shot. “Get In The Hole!” is to golf what “Free Bird!” is to live bands. And it’s one thing to do it after a putt while standing around a green. But these morons will holler it while standing beside a tee box on a par 5. I propose that anyone who shouts this phrase be shot on sight. Or at least be tossed off the premises.

Josh

My cousin, Josh Dawson, finally lost his 4 year battle with cancer yesterday, passing away at 36. Josh was one of the most kind and gentle souls I have ever known. He was a loving husband to his dear wife, Bonnie, and as good of a son, brother or friend that you could ask for. He was also a brilliant musician and one of the most talented guitar players my ears have had the pleasure of listening to.


Josh and Bonnie's wedding in Steamboat Colorado five years ago is to this day the most fun and special weekends I've ever had. It was a beautiful occasion when everything came together perfectly - the families, the setting, the weather, etc. This has already been a trying year for me, as I've already lost someone dear to me. But I know Josh is in a better place now and is no longer in pain. I will always love and miss him.

Songs That Should Die A Painfully Slow Death, Pt. 1

Everyone has their own mental list of songs that induce nausea whenever they are played on the radio or anywhere else. As many of you may be shocked to know, I indeed have my own list. Here are but a few of these gems, in no particular order:

1. Missing You - John Waite

This song overstayed (overplayed?) its welcome within months of its release in 1985. And radio is still torturing us with it today. It's an interesting paradox since Waite actually churned out one of my favorite songs of the 80's, Change.

2. Drift Away - Dobie Gray

While not actually a bad song, this ear monster has been so incessantly played on radio over the years, it long ago lost its relevance on classic rock radio and has successfully made the transition to the Geritol generation "oldies" radio format.

3. The Joker - Steve Miller Band

I could really insert any Steve Miller hit in this slot. People still love this song and act like a complete ass whenever it is played by any crappy cover band. If you don't believe me, watch. Speaking of which...

4. Brown-Eyed Girl - Van Morrison

The grandaddy of all irritating and overplayed songs, this ranks up there with Freebird as the most annoyingly requested song of any bar band. 'Nuff said.

5. Walking In Memphis - Mark Cohn

Over the years, I've had more than a few people attempt to convince me just how wonderful this song is. It's not. Turn it off.

6. Life Is A Highway - Tom Cochrane

This song was nettlesome from the moment I heard it. Stupid melody, stupid lyrics - which made it all the more frustrating when I found out later that Cochrane was originally the lead singer in Red Rider, who cranked out a pretty cool song in the 80's, "Lunatic Fringe".

7. American Pie - Don McLean

My mother swears that this was my favorite song as a toddler. I can't imagine why. Don should have hired an editor - the damn song has about 48 verses.

Energy = Ass

I'm a daily coffee drinker but sometimes, for one reason or another, coffee isn't an option and I'm forced to find an alternative. Today I tried a Monster Energy drink. This is after trying an Amp Energy drink a couple of weeks ago. And I have partaken in the occasional Red Bull as well. Besides offering an instant burst of go-go, they all have one other thing in common - they all taste like ass. Why is that? All these different brands and they taste EXACTLY the same. And there are a thousand of these damn things on the market. I wish I had been a fly on the wall when these ad wizards came up with the formula. It's like they peed in a jar of cough syrup and stirred it with a stick of black licorice. I think I've consumed my last one. For now.

My Shower

After putting it off for several months, I finally got a new hot water heater last week. For awhile now, taking a shower has been a race against time to see which comes first - getting my soap, shampoo and shaving done or the hot water running out. Now I'm able to stand under the hot running water for as long as I want without even the tiniest drop of cold water hitting my skin. I'm even seeing something that I haven't glimpsed in my bathroom in a long time - steam. Ah, it's the little things.