Aug 31 2008

8-31, '08 I am watching your video, finally. I must complain, friendily, about the sheer kindergartener wannabe singer guitar player guy who screamed painful screams while abusing his outta tune guitar. When I see some person trying to tune their guitar when they haven't yet learned the resonant relationships that make for being in perfect tune, is a very painful experience for me to have to endure. My ears are just too sensitive, I guess, because what that guy, and hundreds before him, was doing just plain flat hurts my senses. Even what you were doing in that video of you singing your songs and whamming away on your guitar is pretty much a painful experience for me. I've learned too much, I guess, for to feel that I must have to tolerate inferior-quality guitar and voice work, other than for only long enough to start feeling stuff that, I fell, just doesn't have to be presented in such an angui-shing and anguished fashion. I mean, I always approached any potential audience with a feeling of a whole lotta love to want to make their experience of me and my musical renderings a pleasant experience. Isn't entertainment supposed to make the entertained ones happy? And I will always add: happy enough to want to dance. Your and their guitar-whackin hands were just waggin back n forth like a buncha floppy sausages and missing notes right and left, and generally making an awful (guitar) noise; fraught with more distortion than real musical note-play—amatuers, the bunch of them, I was thinking. Sorry, but I've just been through too much of too many inferior musical renderers types' louseiness too really have much, if any, stomach to endure their pain—which is so definitely not mine. Just brings me down, if I think about it too much; or allow my sweeter-than-that self to absorb other the fleetingest amounts, and only, mostly, to assure myself that: this aint worth my time nor atten-tion, and I think I'll be moving on to where I would hope to discover pleasanter things, and music. You know how easilyI can excite to quality musical assemblages. Well, translate or transpose that same intensity to my negative reactions to non-quality musical enterprise. There just aint no fun in it, for me, anyway. The only real and true fun is when everything is not only in tune, but working in a unison of spirit and emotive force that is just about impossible to ignore; and therefore: Will attract paying customers. Isn't that what it is ultimately about? Money? Survival. Hasn't the challenge ever intrigued you: of all the extra accompanying notes and chord-pieces could be included along with some rhythmic stuff and enough bass notes to keep the bottom end alive? I see this guy fraz-zing his way through unidentifiable songs, and then: It looks like the same guy doing his best impression of Charlie Manson, or a simile of same—absolutely certifiable. My name is Adam Hardway, and I approve this message. Now he is outdoors at a campfire and acting certifiably too way out for my more conservative tastes and senses-of-decorum. I mean, I've acted out like this guy, but ended up just just in stitches in reaction of my more-sensibly-oriented head's guffaws at the stupidities of my other selves' attempted monologues, or other similar acting out scenarios; and had to desist from sheer embarassment. As an entertainer in the business of providing the entertainment for some event or another, I understand the need to exude an extatic confidence and exhuberant outpouring and the relief sometimes resultant from releasing some inner-felt intensities or some sort or another, and damn near anything goes, really, short of violence, in the wild or wily ways someone who desires to entertain can attract observers. Keeping the crowd, on the other hand, demands a fair portion of what I would call profes-sionalism. Bizarro works more for some folks than others and I am in the others category. It drives me nuts to see pianos at a venue not being used. By the way: Birds, mostly male ones, see their reflections as another bird who has come too close into their inner personal territorial domain, and the automatic reaction in a stout would-be stud is to try to drive off the intruder, and they begin by threatening to, and if not successful, trying to peck it with its beak. If that doesn't work—and refections remain uneffected—they may often get their dander up some more and try hitting the miscreant with its wing. Finally, they pull out all the stops and go at the image with a lunging jump and double flutter of kicks with their feet (claws.) I know this due to having to turn mirrors that I had lying and standing around in the yard after the tom turkeys broke one of them and cut hisself all up in the process. around. The bird attacking your friends' window doors was only trying to drive off his or her reflection.