Zona

I have a lot of vacation time at work and that is a good thing. I'm taking two days off to add to a four days weekend. It's a very good thing because Matt announced last night that he's in the mood for some all-night sessions in the studio.

This time that I have been an observer with a camera it has been an optimum situation. As a photographer I, for the most part, want to be ignored. I think for their part they want me to keep quiet and not be much of a distraction. I think it's worked out pretty good. The pictures are candid and the subjects have gained a trust that allows me to document the sessions in an intimate way. Everybody has told me that they think the pictures are just great and who wouldn't feel good about that.

I have seen frustration and great zeal from Matt. Anything from "that's bullshit" to "that's fucking awesome". From napping on the sofa to playing air drums and singing to guitar takes being played back. Head in hands to head bouncing in time to the tune. From the recording of funny voices and short comedy before and in between takes, to long sigh after an acoustic take for a song that came about from great, deep hurt.

There is still a long way to go and I'm glad I'm along for the ride.

Being in the studio to watch Matthew Good record is just a thrill beyond words. The man knows what he wants things to sound like and several takes are done and played back and bits from one take are put together with bits from another to get the final sound.

There are times when something is played through and my instinct is to applaud but I don't because I know I'd look like a fool but inside I'm screaming like I do at a concert. The songs are just that good and they're only half finished.

You see Matt above with the three bass guitars that are being used. There is a song where two are used for the different sounds he wants at different times. Maybe even all three. I lose track.

Dinner was on the table in the kitchen area of the studio last night but just waited a bit until the last bit on one take was finished. Another great song was closer to completion when we filed out to the table.

Matt asked what was on TV and then asked to watch the news. The channel was turned to CNN and Larry King was on. After hours of recording amazing sounds and putting it all together all eyes looked to Larry King and his interviewee.....

William Hung.

William Hung of rejected American Idol infamy talking about his new CD.

THAT was profanity. Like a loud fart during some opera solo.

We ate and then we returned to the studio where Matt and the boys continued making what's going to be an amazing CD, without missing a beat. 

Under the cover of darkness....

I headed down to the night heart of Vancouver. Granville is lined with clubs and eateries and decorated in neon lip gloss and sexy eyeliner to coax those who seek the hookup and the erasure of dullness that made up their daylight.

A long line of devotees greeted me at the theatre where three men, who were nobodies a short time ago, and are heralded now as the three wise men were to perform.

There was a pretty girl. Blonde hair and understated lipstick. A mere pixie dressed to attract the hoards of potentials. She was face up on the sidewalk as the line passed her by and her friend revealed to attendants that she had indeed had quite a lot to drink but nothing else. The approaching sirens cutting into the hum of traffic and conversation.

The theatre lined with reserved tables welcomed me. A wood floor that would soon be one large trash can beneath me. A performance ensued and sweet smoke rose from the crowd. A sweet figure also rose from the crowd and breasts were revealed to the performers. She rode the wave onto the stage and breasts were revealed to the crowd to much cheering and my yawn.

The show ended and the doorway that led to backstage nirvana was mobbed by hopefuls. One of the evenings performers, a friend, was disappointed because he fell short of having enough clout to get me past the door which was of no great concern to me. Especially when several large security guards rushed through the door to some unseen melee.

The theatre emptied leaving me, a beautiful young lady in a red beret, and her now two suitors, discussing a private party at another club. One suitor was still occupied with the business end of the evening as the other became agitated at what he perceived was the losing of opportunity of his hoped hookup with the lovely nymph.

Outside to the street again and drama across the way as a young woman in fine regalia was pushed out of a club by security loudly while a small crowd awaited their chance to enter. The hot dog vendor and the waiting taxis and the nymph now on her cell phone, most likely with the suitor who remained inside awaiting payment for the evening performance.

I made my leave and fetched the chariot from the nearly empty parking garage and made my way through the dark off streets before reuniting with Granville on the opposite end. I accelerated over the bridge as the bayside houses to my left lay unconcerned with their neighbor who quickly dipped out of my mirrors.

The pretty street. Decked out with an attractive surface of lights and music and aroma. All to conceal the secret social disease just below the surface.

I have the extreme pleasure of being invited into the studio to watch and photograph Matthew Good while he records his next CD.

http://matthewgood.org 

 

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Drove the car down to Bellingham last week. Squeaking breaks had me wondering what kinda room I had on the credit card. $70 later the breaks were cleaned and the oil was changed. All that in only three and a half hours.

During that time I stopped in for breakfast at Denny's. The waitresses there are cloned you know. All plump ladies with pleasant dispositions. Probably two grade schoolers and some variation of boyfriend/spouse back at the small house/trailer.

Then to the mall to watch the walking crowd. Old folks, women walking in pairs (at least one with a stroller) and the odd single. I felt like joining in but walking the opposite way to see if everybody shunned me until one man in tattered clothing asked why I was walking the wheel the wrong way like the scene in Midnight Express.

Luckily for them Target was open. There are three versions of Johnny Cash's greatest hits currently on sale. The millionth version of a Jimi Hendrix's greatest hits CD is also on the shelves and the heart shaped boxes were being put onto shelves.

I pulled into the duty free just south of the border for a bottle of kahlua for my pal Matt Good and the kids at the counter asked where I lived. When I told him BC he asked how long I was out of Canada. I tossed my dip passport on the counter and told him it didn't matter. It confused the poor guy until the older lady behind the counter knodded to him.

My valentines cards have been printed and shipped.

I'm playing buttloads of online poker.

My buddies, Swollen Members, want me to come down to the Commodore on Tuesday night to see them, Helix, and the guys from Trailer Park Boys.

The next day I meet up with Matt to do some in studio photos.

And lots more poker.

That sums up last week and this week.

Just the last two portraits from the Taboo, Naughty But Nice Sex Show held in Vancouver last weekend. I have to say that I was disappointed. I thought it would be bigger given Vancouver's size and notoriety for liberal behavior.

Weekend Whine

I'm trying to cut back on my Coca Cola consumption this year. So at work I'm refraining from buying the first one until 10AM. Or was it 9:45. Wait, 9:30 today. Yeah, that's it. But I'm going to stop buying it for the house........probably.

People often ask one another, "what magic power would you like to possess"? The ability to fly? cure cancer? live forever? find the G spot? Today the magic power I want is the ability to change my breath, at will, to "knock a buzzard off a shit wagon" breath, and then back to normal again. Anybody who deals with the general public knows why. I even want them to TELL me, "man you need a breath mint". I WANT them to throw up in their mouths. Wouldn't that be a great power to have?

"Can we go to McDonalds?"

That was one of the first things Shawn Hornbeck asked his father after the two were reunited by police who had rescued Shawn and arrested his kidnapper. Shawn vanished four years earlier and it's a miracle that he was found alive. As a father of a 16 year-old son I tell you that "Can we go to McDonalds" sends chills up and down my spine and a tear to my eye.

My kids don't understand why their mother and I get upset when they're out beyond the time they told us they would be. Only parents understand that. Only parents have those feelings.

I was wondering how many stories tall a building would have to be for me to pee off the edge, and finish before the first drops hit the ground. I'm talking no wind and temps in the 70's.

Anybody?

Sun pours through a high shattered window like a spotlight onto a bare floor. Dust moves through the light like clouds through a sky with no rainbow promises. The sound of life is heard on the other side of locked doors This is my alone place. Part of me is always here. Even when I am smiling at you as you are happy to see me because I never feel myself deserving of what you offer.

The wind from the ocean prevents me from jumping. The view of the dark blue sea and the light blue sky horizon calls me to fly but my feet stay on the ground with earth arms holding on tight. The wind aria playing in my ears makes me believe there really is a heaven. The freeway noise behind me lets me know I will never see it. Everything I touch is real. Everything I feel is hope. Everything I want is out of reach and the sand, far down below the cliff edge, may be my destiny.

Sunlight pours through dirty windows like a romance whose transgressions are revealed. The brilliance soon blinds my eyes to the faults that I see when the distance fades the light from our day. The shadow rumors, that I ignore for reasons I keep inside. The fear of knowing how the world fails me is overshadowed by my knowledge of how I fail the world so I choose to hide it all with smiles and vision that only sees other smiles. It is then that I long for the comfort blanket of gray clouds.

I like to pull the hood of the sweatshirt over my head because it keeps me from recognition and it keeps the rain out, for a little while. But the water always soaks through eventually and the cold comes with it. But I keep my head down and maintain my anonymity while moving through the gray day throngs of unhappy people. Sometimes I need the cold just to remind me why the warmth is so useful, sometimes anyway.

I imagined that the wind flowing through the trees was smoke moving through the shredded leaves of tobacco in a cigarette. Blue sky was above me but it hurt my soul because I always associated blue sky with warmth and playground laughter. But there was only the wind mocking me and the sky refusing to comfort me and the fallen leaves beginning to engulf me. That was when I knew that if I stayed motionless I would disappear more than ever.

I stood in the corner as an intent observer when the girl walked up and handed me a styrofoam cup of champagne from the tray. Irony like the rented tux I wore but in reverse. Maybe I should pour the champagne on the suit and wear the cup like a hat? It probably wasn't expensive champagne though and the tux had been paid for several times over by the tall fat men such as I who had donned it to countless weddings and bar mitzvahs and such.

I went down to Birch Bay to take pictures of the driftwood jams and came upon something completely different. Kite boarders in a strong, cold, winter wind. I had to walk about two hundred yards through the muck to get close to them. You tell me. Was it worth filling my boots with muddy sea water?

The light was perfect and I was complaining about not bringing my zoom lens. That was, until the huge flock of birds joined the fun.

People all day ask me, "How are you?", to which I generally respond, "I am". Here are the top ten things I'm going to start using because I'm tired of "I am".

1. Bored with that question
2. Ask your wife
3. I'm happy to not be you
4. I'm best served with red wine
5. I'm hopeful that you're not as stupid as you look
6. I'm very jihady thanks
7. I'm nervous that my boss will find out I'm not wearing underwear
8. Deje de joder cabron
9. I'm chocked full of natural juice and vitamins
10. I'm wondering if you really care how I am

Yeah yeah yeah. Happy New Year and all that holiday greeting BS that's finally ending. Of course I like to hear it from you guys and the friends I've met and family but as I told a lady today, I'm ready to puke on December 5th because I've already heard too many holiday greetings from strangers.

As is tradition last night, I watched the ball drop in Times Square then went to bed.

A conclusion I came to this morning at work is that there are way too many staplers in the world that have fallen into the hands of morons. It's some kind of temporary attaching of things power trip and, I would wager, the reason for such a high global divorce rate. The forceful clamping of two objects together with a device, or belief, that wears out.

It's gonna be a fun year kids.

Fasten that belt snugly and keep your arms and legs inside the car at all times while the ride is in motion.

Two songs you'ld dig because I do and my shit is hip:

Thinking About You by Norah Jones
How We Operate by Gomez