tag:lavapups.com,2005:/blogs/from-the-beginning-to-nowFrom the Beginning to Now2018-08-19T16:36:15-07:00Lava Pupsfalsetag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/32070422014-09-27T16:42:15-07:002017-01-13T16:30:27-08:00Firefighters, Chili, and the Pups<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/9d1cdd14060ab0d1200c74f475b0dd1b54c1d330/medium/fire-fighters.jpg?1411860708" class="size_m justify_left border_medium" alt="" /><br>Sometimes something reminds us how much fun playing live is. Last Saturday was one of those sometimes. The Pups returned to Safetyville USA for the firefighter chili cook off.<br><br>The stars and planets must have been aligned just right because potential stumbling blocks seemed to melt away throughout the day. The 5 was a parking lot headed downtown. But I saw that while heading home from the Saturday morning stitch ‘n bitch with the Wiki Weekend Warriors. Surface streets and call to Glenn meant we both arrived on time at the Doghouse to load up. The 50 was a parking lot in West Sac headed into SacTown, and Safetyville was on the other side of downtown. Despite an SPD road block, surface streets allowed us to avoid that 50 morass.<br><br>We had no schedule for playing other than be ready by noon and take down at 4:00. We had no set lists. Given my need for structure, that was a possible stumbling block. What's next? When? Loyal readers can see me screwing that up. The scheduled emcee did not show up -- another potential problem. While Safetyville’s staff scrambled for a solution, we played. Who needs a set list and schedule anyway? We played. Sue called out a tune, and we played. Spontaneous Pups!<br><br>As our energy greeted the guests, one of the chili tasting judges became emcee. And she was great -- totally comfortable with a wireless mic. By 12:30, the volunteer emcee and the Pups were perfectly in sync. Sue named a tune, and we played. We then looked to the emcee, and she yakked -- mentioning sponsors and drawing times for raffle prizes. She looked to us, and we played. The only schedule needed was the times for raffle drawings, the chili judging, and the grand prize drawings.<br><br>The afternoon flew by. Chili tasting, iced Starbucks, and kibitzing with the guests occupied our off-stage time. Robert provided drum rolls for announcing the chili cooking winners. Kids and adults danced occasionally to our music. The firefighters chili cook off was totally what our garage surf is about -- fun and frivolity for all. By 4:15, the 600 or so guests had left Safetyville. Firefighters, their cooking teams, volunteers, and the Pups loaded up to leave, but not before grabbing an ice cream sundae from the only booth that remained open.<br><br>By the time that I headed home from the Doghouse, the highways were clear. Traffic was flowing as were my thoughts. The chili cook off had made for a pleasant afternoon of playing music. The entire band had fun. Firefighters, chili, and the Pups were the right kind of combination to melt away any obstacle. I then reflected on how much fun we had performing in KDVS’s tiny studio A -- sweat, garage rock, and a good time. <br><br>Then a big-picture thought reared up: Playing live has taught us to have fun and roll with the punches; maybe we are embarking on a new phase as a band. The adventure continues.</span><br><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/31857662014-09-13T14:20:32-07:002017-01-13T16:30:27-08:00Robert Kuhlmann: Waiting for Your Singer-Songwriter Bit<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/8d1b80bbbeaa29f7269e0dd1039d4685059bd463/large/robert-dylan.jpg?1410643148" class="size_l justify_center border_medium" alt="" /><br>In the Spring 1965, Bob Dylan committed an heretical act in the eyes of America’s, and probably the world’s, folkies. Before then, at 23 years old, he was the leading songwriter of the American folk music revival. Some of his songs already achieved a revered status among America’s young activists and were labeled “protest songs” by their parents and antagonists: “Blowin’ in the Wind”; “The Times They Are a-Changin’”; “A Hard Rain’s a-Gonna Fall.” Civil rights. Nuclear war. Change. Parents and politicians losing control. Dylan was quite precocious!<br><br>Dylan’s act of heresy: He used an electric backing band. Electric! Holy smokes, the folkies were eating their young in the name of purity. Maybe they were not as tolerant, or as committed to change, as they wanted the Great Society to be.<br><br>Earlier this year, local promoter Jerry Perry put together a 5-hour all ages show at Harlow’s. It featured local performers singing Bob Dylan folk songs from the pre-electric era -- his catalog before the album <em>Bringing It All Back Home</em>. That meant it was an all acoustic show reflecting on music made 50 or more years ago. Given folk music’s respect for its past, some of the songs probably dated back a couple of hundred years.<br><br>Jerry Perry opened the show by announcing that the performers were “his favorites” and “hand-picked.” Among the hand-picked favorites was Robert Kuhlmann, known affectionately as the Kool Kat to Pup fans. Within an hour or so after Jerry Perry opened the show, Robert was going to take the stage and sing.<br><br>While waiting, I realized that I never had heard Robert sing -- truly sing. Some backup stuff for “Monster Mash” and “Ghost Busters” did not count. In fact, as long as I have known him, Robert has portrayed himself as a jazz musician first. In the nascent days of my guitar playing, Robert had an eponymous free jazz quartet in which he played guitar. When that group faltered, he shifted to bass in a couple of free jazz groups, including Chikading and Miles Now.<br><br>Even though he gravitates to the unconstrained improvisational nature of free jazz, Robert writes songs -- the kind that are prearranged and sung. His Mac is loaded with his original compositions. He promises from time to time to “do a singer-songwriter bit,” performing his songs solo. So far, that promise -- tease, threat, goal -- has not come to fruition. But that promise, etc., must be based upon a talent to sing because Robert’s professional pride will not allow him to do something incompetently. Perhaps, he worries too much about having the perfect set to showcase his own material.<br><br>In the '80s -- last century, Robert played alternative rock. He was a guitarist and vocalist. A trip through Google also shows that he played some jazz. But he was a rocker first. Through Google, you also may find his 1987 album, <em>My Ki El</em>, on eBay -- mint condition for $13.12 U.S. He played guitar for John McCrea [later of Cake] and the Roughousers, which recorded a couple of songs that Cake re-recorded later. Robert fronted The Flying Boats, whose version of “Down by the Seaside” appears on compilation of Led Zeppelin covers.<br><br>A Newcastle Brown and a burger later, I was ready to hear him for the first time. Robert came on stage. His black blazer topped off his all black ensemble. An acoustic guitar completed the singer-songwriter look. He was joined by Tony Passarell, who was there to provide accompaniment on hand drums. Robert started through the sound check. “More volume in the monitor. What’s that noise?” His guitar cord was shorting out. He instructed the sound engineer through a couple more adjustments and signaled that he and Tony were ready.<br><br>The first part of Robert’s stage time went badly. His cord kept shorting out. The mic cord was not connected properly. The house sound was intermittent. Robert was a bit frustrated. Yeah, stuff happens even in a well-produced show. Most of the problems were worked out by the second -- and last -- song. He introduced “Baby, Let Me Follow You Down,” and he and Tony were underway.<br><br>The audience then could hear Robert’s guitar skills and voice. “Baby, let me follow you down. Baby, let me follow you down. Yes, I’ll do anything in this godalmighty world if you just let me follow you down.” His voice was a soft baritone and quite good.<br><br>“Baby, let me follow you down. Baby, let me follow you down. Yes, I’ll do anything in this godalmighty world, if I just had a guitar cord that worked.” The audience chuckled. Robert finished, and his ten minutes of doing Dylan Unplugged were done.<br><br>My first thought was, “He’s right. Nothing teaches like playing live.” That was replaced quickly by “with his talent, wouldn’t it be cool if he did his ‘singer-songwriter bit’ for a night or two?”</span><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/31751592014-09-06T16:42:51-07:002017-01-13T16:30:27-08:00Live in Studio A - Radio Does Not Do Pictures<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/829dae74d5a7afa77d8f2adbf44efbe2c0f7c8d1/large/l-i-s-a.jpg?1410046138" class="size_l justify_center border_medium" alt="" /><br>“We’ll meet you in parking lot by the tennis courts at 7:30. Some volunteers will be there to help you with your equipment.” For a moment, that made me feel like a rock star. But not being familiar with the UC Davis campus, I did not realize that the parking lot was two blocks away from Freeborn Hall, where KDVS’s studios are located.<br><br>The good news was that we don’t play through Fender Twins or 4x15 bass cabinets. The bad news was, even though our equipment is relatively light, we were going to the basement and no elevator was available. Descending two flights of narrow stairs, I thought, “This building is old enough to have been designated a bomb shelter during the Cold War.”<br><br>Christine, the Assistant Studio Technician, ushered us through a small office, half of which was taken up by a glass-topped Ikea desk. A door led to Studio A. That was our destination. We were at KDVS to record “Live in Studio A.” Does that sound a bit like an oxymoron?<br><br>Christine opened the door to reveal a room with dark walls, floor, and ceiling. Sound-absorbing tiles covered almost all the wall surface except for a glass window and a spot where graffiti and stickers replaced the tiles. Christine would sit on the other side of the window and operate the sound board and recording equipment. She would be joined by an assistant and TJ, the DJ for the SubZero show.<br><br>Glenn started to set up the drums in a corner. “Do you have any monitors?” Gesturing to the ceiling above the window, Christine responded, “We have room monitors, but really don’t like to use them.” Glenn then moved out towards the room’s center. It was Robert’s idea, “We’ll just put our amps around the room and turn them in towards us and Glenn.” We were going for surround sound, not a wall of sound.<br><br>“How are you going to mic the drums?” “We’ll use two mics: one on the kick, and an overhead.” This was going to be simple and low tech. Two lines for the drums, one line for each instrument, one mic for talking. We would play. Christine would mix at the sound board. The result would be a single track recording to be played on a Saturday night.<br><br>Set up was fast. Within a half hour, we were playing so that Christine could get her mix. “Here’s our loudest.” I hit the boast pedal, and Glenn went into heavy drumming. Christine fiddled with sliders and knobs. She turned her headphones over to TJ, and they made more changes. TJ had heard us before, as well as hundreds of hours of instrumental surf. She was relying on him. Finally, Christine announced over the monitors, “We’re ready when you are.”<br><br>We conversed briefly, and the Pups then were unleashed. Even though the room itself was dead -- what do you expect with all those sound-absorbing tiles -- the sound within the band was amazingly alive. It was colliding and washing over us as we were surrounded by our amps and Glenn’s creative, yet steady, drumming. <br><br>Robert seemed to be both inspired and enthused by the sound and an opportunity to experiment. A couple of times, he raised his hand to call off the song because he had a new idea. That is not something he could do in a live show. But because we were “live in Studio A,” he could. <br><br>We were soaked with sweat when we took a five-minute break around 9:15. While the others rehydrated, TJ and I discussed his interviewing me as part of the show. Break over. TJ conducted his interview. To my embarrassment, a senior moment came as I described our music as traditional surf meeting Northwest garage, but I could not remember the Sonics’ name. I then let on -- duh -- that Link Wray influenced our music.<br><br>The interview ended. We were back with the energy and the trashy, raw sound that make up Pup music and differentiate us from other surf bands. We just cannot sustain the others' clarity and purity for a show. For “Live in Studio A,” we were not restrained by -- or concerned about -- an audience directly in front of us. Instead, we became lost in the music and kept pushing closer and closer to chaos’s edge -- the place where we seem to play best.<br><br>Drenched in sweat and having spent our musical juices, we wrapped up recording the show. Interestingly, we had no idea what the mix was or how we sounded outside the envelope of sound we enjoyed in the room. But we just had had fun time playing garage surf music together and would bask in that knowledge over beers back at the Doghouse.<br><br>Those feelings stuck with me until the next morning when the little voice asked, “Will the energy and fun that we had come through on the radio?” I responded -- not out loud, mind you -- “If they do, no one listening will know that some white hairs played that because radio does not do pictures.”<br><br>Responding to our asking when the show will air, Christine said, “This Saturday.” I guess we will find out tonight!</span><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/31661652014-09-01T09:40:22-07:002017-01-13T16:30:27-08:00Sue - Artist, Designer, and Rocker<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/47f3bac147ef34640cec0644a10ade7b93999b7b/medium/sue-with-uke-against-blue-300-dpi-img-4968.jpg?1392181295" class="size_m justify_right border_medium" alt="" />Loyal readers may remember how Sue came to be a Lava Pup. But for others, here is the four sentence recap. In June 2012, a year after releasing our CD and playing some gigs, Paul the Pyronaut moved to the idyllic Victorian village of Ferndale, five plus hours away. We grappled with whether to have, and how to find, a rhythm guitar player. Fortunately, the answer sat across the breakfast table every Sunday morning -- my sister Sue, who could play rhythm, albeit on ukulele, “with the best of them.” She agreed, and the rest, as they say, is history.<br><br>In the Pups, Sue’s electric ukulele locks in with Glenn’s drumming to provide a solid rhythmic foundation upon which Robert and I tread. Robert treads, and often romps, adroitly. Lacking his daring, I occasionally stumble a bit. Sue and Glenn, however, stay on beat. Sue plays with aplomb and some attitude. Often after shows, people come up and say, “Sue looks like she is really having fun.” Or “Sue really was rockin’ out tonight!”<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/e6de0e2453d4e5f3565082a7a7557efac27bc6a5/medium/stcurtis.jpg?1409589432" class="size_m justify_left border_medium" alt="" />But Sue is more than a rocker, whose ideas and vision help differentiate us from other bands. She also is an artist by education, and a designer by virtue of her creativity. Sue graduated from UC Davis with a degree in fine arts. At that time, the arts had not been relegated to a back seat in America’s education bus. Instead, balance, artistic expression, creativity, and impracticality were respected and often encouraged. Counterculture was visible and extolled in the media. America reveled in its rebels as counterweights to the practical, button-down status quo that the Eisenhower years produced and as beacons for the optimism generated by the Kennedys.<br><br>While Sue studied, the UC Davis faculty included Wayne Thiebaud, Robert Arneson, Roy DeForest, William T. Wiley, and Manuel Neri. The school was an art incubator. It pulled the Central Valley out of impressionist landscapes into exciting new subjects and forms.<br><br>But, through the years, painting was not the only outlet for Sue’s creativity. She lived in a loft before that was <em>de rigueur</em> for Sacramento’s urban dwellers. Fiercely independent and entrepreneurial, she embarked on novel -- and possibly pioneering -- businesses. She owned a midtown store long before that became a community staple. She started a dessert diner near Broadway and 16th, when Tower Records, the Tower Theatre, and Melarkey’s offered an nightlife alternative to gentrified, yuppy bars and new wave clubs. Later, as she settled into the 1990s, Sue owned a restaurant and bar that became a neighborhood hangout. Nothing upscale; no celebrity chefs; nothing complicated; just a friendly place to have a meal and good conversation.<br><br>In her business and other endeavors, Sue’s creative juices continuously flow. Something new is always just around the corner. Even though she never really left, she has returned to painting in earnest. Her works have appeared in numerous group shows in our City’s galleries. And her commissioned dog renderings now are hung with care by proud owners.<br><br>Several months ago, Sue struck upon another creative outlet to add to painting: eco friendly jewelry. She conjured up recycling bicycle inner tubes by cutting them up and using them in necklaces and earrings. Wow! “Eco friendly jewelry.” No blood diamonds. No plastics. But how did she even come up with that idea? That is the mystery of creative people.<br><br>Last week, a 20-something woman noticed Sue’s earrings. “Where did you get those?” Offering the earring for touch, Sue responded, “I made them out of bicycle inner tubes.” The 20-something inquired, “Can I get a pair?” Sue, the entrepreneur, replied, “Sure. Here’s my card.”<br><br>Yes, indeed, Sue is not only a rocker. She applies her creativity to be an artist and designer. The Lava Pups are lucky to have her. And -- I probably will get an earful for writing this -- I am lucky to have Sue as a sister and, occasionally, a fashion adviser.</span> <span style="color:#000080;">But, as lucky as I may be, you will not see me modeling recycled bicycle inner tube earrings any time soon!</span><br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/83ab2e30dc275b33b2a4e59bb1be103f798f9712/medium/stnecklace.jpg?1409589552" class="size_m justify_center border_medium" alt="" /><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/31414192014-08-17T13:45:13-07:002017-01-13T16:30:27-08:00Fast, Loud, and Loose with a Sense of Fashion<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/37a05010071efacada0beda8d02f444d651ed10b/large/shine-photo-8-16.jpg?1408307724" class="size_l justify_center border_medium" alt="" /><br>Sometimes you just got to go with what you’ve got.<br><br>Getting ready for Shine’s Surf Night yesterday included running through the set without the benefit of a band. Wow, the old fingers were exceedingly bulky. They had a mind of their own. My brain said, “fifth fret, low E.” But the fingers went wherever they pleased. My brain responded, “We’re going to screw up this puppy tonight.”<br><br>By mid afternoon, however, any trepidation subsided. Alfred E. Neuman’s mantra took over, “What, me worry?” Worrying just would exacerbate the brain-finger disconnect. Thinking -- or overthinking -- may easily be humanity’s worst enemy. Reconciled to rely on zen in the art of guitar playing, fingers and brain were nearly in sync by 8:25 when we took Shine’s stage. <br><br>Besides, as usual, band mates, energy, and an audience were going to pull me through. Perfection is for the symphony and critics. Fast, loud, and loose is for the Lava Pups. Our forte is trashy, energetic garage surf. “Precise” and “clean” generally are not used to describe our music.<br><br>Fast, loud, and loose, standing alone, probably are not enough to justify spending $5 to watch us play. After all, if somebody wants to hear perfect -- or even trashy garage -- music, iTunes is available. For that reason, the Lava Pups hope to give an audience something more. Energy. Fun. Engagement. <br><br>Last night, we added sense of fashion. For Shine, Robert wore his “singer-songwriter” ensemble -- all black including his jacket. Sue displayed her handcrafted, recycled, bicycle inner tube earrings. They provided an elegant and sophisticated touch to her black outfit. Glenn wore his limited edition “cuelgan sueltos con los muertos” camp shirt. <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/96c1037cf1f3c466f7fe405bff6ccd6a78a533b8/medium/dickdalehalf.jpg?1362377324" class="size_m justify_left border_medium" alt="" />For me, the cheap shark skin suit came out of the closet. When asked for fashion guidance, Sue vetoed a pink striped jacket with raspberry pants. Robert suggested, “Business look -- like Dick Dale.” Not paisley. Not Hawaiian print. Businesslike.<br><br>“How about a shark skin suit?” Robert responded, “Do you have gray?” “Well, no. Gray washes out with my hair!” After some more fashion direction from Sue and Robert, the verdict was the cheap shark skin. You might ask, “How cheap was the suit?” Cheap enough that having it tailored to fit cost nearly as much as the suit. Not so cheap -- or expensive -- to have a high sheen look.<br><br>After setting up and a semi-soundcheck, I exited to the restroom and donned the black shark skin suit -- black so that it does not clash with my hair. That was a ticket back to my youth. Thin lapels. Skinny tie. Collar pin. Very business like -- except for the orange and yellow striped socks and abstract patterned, dusty purple jacket lining. Nobody ever will call us sophisticated or subtle.<br><br>Somebody unfamiliar with Pup music might have looked at us and thought, “Vintage surf rock coming up.” But sun glasses with zebra-stripe frames and few bars of our garage surf quickly dispelled that notion. Add our rapport with the audience, and even a casual observer would know that the Lava Pups do not do vintage surf rock.<br><br>High energy rock ‘n roll and a bit of a fashion statement made for a fun evening at Shine. Funny what happens when you just go with what you got!</span><br><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/31284522014-08-09T10:36:42-07:002023-03-01T21:30:35-08:00The Babe Was One Heck of a Ball Player<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/63b1b5d56c49fb0ecd78911392b86d675908b0b1/large/granny-goose.jpg?1407563112" class="size_l justify_center border_medium" alt="" /><br>What’s in a name? At our Saturday coffee clutch, one Wiki Weekend Warrior mentioned that he heard a band named "Trampled by Turtles" on satellite radio. He observed, “They sure don’t plan on going very far with<em> that</em> name.” Biting my tongue, I thought, “Hey, they’re getting air play on satellite radio. That's going somewhere!”<br><br>Actually, Trampled by Turtles is doing much more than getting satellite radio air play. They played on David Letterman a couple of times. They currently are on tour, crossing the US and performing in venues like Red Rocks Amphitheatre and the Fox in Oakland. Then they are off to Germany, the UK, and the Netherlands. They have released eight CDs. That is not bad for a band with a name that, in my friend's assessment, won’t take them very far.<br><br>The Wiki Weekend Warrior’s observation raised the question of what's in a name. My mind flashed to a commercial from the last century for Granny Goose potato chips. The potato chips originally were made in Oakland, California, and Granny Goose was a regional brand when regional brands mattered. Ultimately, competition from Frito Lay laid Granny Goose to rest.<br><br>During a time when macho men in cowboy hats hawked cigarettes, Granny Goose ran an ad campaign that featured Philip Carey as a tough cowboy. The ads were totally tongue-in-cheek, campy, and extraordinary memorable. Like Granny Goose, they too were regional, which meant that not all of the United States knew of, or was treated to, them.<br><br>In one -- probably the first, the macho cowboy rides up on a white horse. He looks into the camera and says, “You may not believe this, but my name is Granny Goose.”<br><br>He continues, “You may be thinking, 'That's a strange name for a guy.' But Babe Ruth was a strange name for a guy. And the Babe was one heck of a ball player.”<br><br>Pulling a bag of Granny Goose potato chips out of a saddle bag, he says, “And I make one heck of a potato chip.” He rips the bag open with his teeth and spits the top out. It flutters down into a basket marked, “Every litter bit hurts.” He pulls out a chip and, with a crunch, takes a bite. “Provocative. Well-seasoned. I make them for grown ups.”<br><br>Looking into the camera: “Now, the only question is: Are you grown up enough for Granny Goose?” The cowboy pulls the rim of his hat down, rears his white stallion, and rides away.<br><br>Amazingly, that commercial has stuck with me for nearly 50 years. Unfortunately, it has not found its way on to the Internet. So you just have to rely on my memory or, if you are old enough, your own. One Granny Goose commercial, however, has survived to demonstrate the schtick. Check it out: </span><strong><a contents="Granny Goose and the banditos" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JlyzY139Wfg" target="_blank"><span style="color:#FF0000;">What's in the bag, Goose</span></a></strong><span style="color:#000080;">? Provocative. Well-seasoned.<br><br>What’s in a name? Remember the Lava Pups may be a strange name for a garage surf band. But they never leave an audience wanting for fun or energy. Now, we have a question for you. Are you grown up enough for the Lava Pups?</span><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/31222862014-08-06T06:16:58-07:002017-01-13T16:30:27-08:00Surf on the Radio: TJ the DJ and KDVS<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/750567a2300a14e6b2faf706fbb33c131b87fbb9/medium/subzero.jpg?1407296297" class="size_m justify_left border_thin" alt="" />During his feud with Geffen Records, Neil Young co-wrote “Payola Blues” for his <em>Everybody’s Rockin’</em> album. Its verse was:<br><br>“No matter where I go<br>I never hear my record on the radio”<br><br>That summed up my expectations when we recorded <em>Into the Flow</em> in 2011. What radio station ever would play a song from a self-produced CD made up of original surf genre instrumentals performed by mostly non-professional musicians in a band named “The Lava Pups”?<br><br>Early on, those expectations were not too far off the mark. But we did get to hear our record -- rather, CD -- on the radio. Initially, connections helped. A friend’s husband had a radio show, plugged one of our early shows, and played “Lava Tube.” A record store passed local releases to a DJ, and over a couple of shows <em>Into the Flow</em> was played in its entirety. One of the two shows included an interview with Sal Valentino -- a local icon who was the Beau Brummels’ frontman in the 1960s. He was promoting an upcoming gig or new release.<br><br>With that we had achieved more than I ever could have imagined. Emboldened, we submitted songs to Internet surf “radio stations” and podcasts -- cyber radio. But it felt impersonal. Find a “station”; follow the instructions to upload a song; wait to find out if your song is accepted. Outlets for surf music seemed limited.<br><br>But sometimes things are not as they seem. One night after a performance, an audience member came up and introduced himself. “Hi, I’m TJ. I have a weekly program on KDVS. For one hour, I play surf music.” <br><br>Surf music -- weekly -- on local radio. Did I hear that correctly? Wow, radio is no longer dead or impersonal. It had a face. I was talking to a real, live “DJ” who played surf music. Standing there was somebody who loved it enough to pull together a weekly show with one hour devoted to traditional and modern surf. And some radio program director was willing to give TJ the air time for his show.<br><br>KDVS may not be the equivalent of “XERB the Mighty 1090,” which blasted northward from Baja at 50,000 watts and bounced its way into Northern California on clear nights in the 60s. Rather, KDVS broadcasts from Davis at 13,000 watts. On a good day with a good car radio, you might pick it up almost all the way to Lake Tahoe. Unlike commercial radio, KDVS is freeform and prides itself in its program diversity.<br><br>Freeform leaves programming control to a DJ or producer. That freedom allows TJ to put on “Sub Zero” on Monday nights from 6 to 8:00. The first hour is surf music; the second hour is an eclectic mix of indie, psychedelic, and whatever other music TJ pulls out. During the surf hour, his self-programming ranges from classic first wave surf -- like the Sentinals or the Centurions -- to the later waves -- like Slacktone and Satan’s Pilgrims. <br><br>In a return to the halcyon days of local AM radio, TJ plays local bands. If you tune in on a Monday night, you might hear The Funicellos, The Pyronauts, The VibroCounts, or The Sneaky Tikis. And -- hold on -- you might even hear The Lava Pups! That, in turn, makes us think about recording again to capture how we sound now.<br><br>Check </span><strong><a contents="“Sub Zero”" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://kdvs.org/playlist-details/26981/" target="_blank"><span style="color:#FF0000;">“Sub Zero”</span></a></strong><span style="color:#000080;"> out. Support TJ and KDVS. After all, they support us and the music we love.<br><br>Thanks to TJ the DJ and KDVS, we need not sing the "Payola Blues" lament. Instead, as long as we do not go too far down the road, we get to hear our record on the radio.</span><br><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/31198482014-08-02T06:17:57-07:002017-01-13T16:30:27-08:00Moon Dawg 2014<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/3cddb535f97c52f41701e5487003f18019b3da67/medium/moondawg.jpg?1406947877" class="size_m justify_left border_medium" alt="" />Time to get back to rock ‘n roll! This year marked the third annual Sierra Surf Music Camp. That means it is here to stay for awhile. After all, when you do something twice with a smart dog, it then is a habit. Sierra Surf Music Camp passed habit in year two, and the dates for year four are out already.<br><br>Day job demands shortened my camp to a bit more than 24 hours -- arrive Saturday morning at 10:15 and leave Sunday morning at 10:45. As you might expect, those 24 hours raced by.<br><br>I parked and pulled my guitar out of the trunk just in time for a lesson with Paul the Pyronaut. In that half hour, we caught up on the past year and played a couple of Lava Pup originals. Then came a lesson with Matt Quilter. Ferenc Dobronyi was next, imparting his wisdom and hints on songwriting to the campers. Sam Bolle, Dave Wronski, and Danny Snyder, among others, added their ideas. Surf Band 101 rehearsal followed lunch. Saturday night featured performances by the first ever Sierra Surf ukulele orchestra, student bands, and Frankie and the Pool Boys. Sunday morning was pack up the car, breakfast, exchange goodbyes, and head home.<br><br>Even though the 24 hours were a blur, being surrounded by amazing surf musicians was an opportunity to learn while having fun. Part of that opportunity was the lesson with Matt Quilter, who is a versatile and knowledgeable musician. At each camp iteration, he has been the bass player for one or more of the featured bands: the Surf Camp All-Stars in year one; Jon and the Nightriders in year two; Frankie and the Pool Boys this year. Not bad for a guitarist in the Reventlos and other surf bands. He also plays with a Rolling Stones tribute band.<br><br>After catching up a bit on the last year, Matt asked, “What do you want to do?” My response was, “I hear you’re the only guy in camp who knows ‘Moon Dawg.’” I then stumbled through some double picking and said, “What’s the melody?” And, without any hesitation, Matt started playing the melody. “Here you go. There are a bunch of different versions. I like the Beach Boys’ best. Some bands go up a step. Some don’t.” I watched his fingers move adroitly and quickly. “Can you slow that down a bit?” He did. As our half hour ended, he said, “Now you have the basic riff to work on.” I thought, “Good luck with that!”<br><br>“Moon Dawg” was a staple of several early surf bands. It was recorded in 1960 by the Gamblers and included blazing guitars, a drum intro, and Bruce Johnston’s pounding piano. It was a high energy instrumental that some consider to be the first surf rock song. Matt was right about the different versions. The song was covered by the Beach Boys, Challengers, Ventures, Tornadoes, Surfaris, Paul Revere and the Raiders, and Dave Allan and the Arrows.<br><br>After a couple of months of trying to get the riff under my fingers, I started “Moon Dawg” up for the Pups at practice one Wednesday evening. Even though it lacked precision, within a few minutes, Robert and Glenn joined in. Once we agreed to the basic chord structure, Sue was playing along. After we fooled around with the song, Robert asked, “Does this sound anything like the original?”<br><br>Recalling what Matt said about a bunch of different versions, I responded, “Let’s not worry about that. We’ll just call it ‘Moon Dawg 2014’!”</span><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/30997822014-07-26T16:04:20-07:002017-01-13T16:30:27-08:00I'm Getting Too Old for this . . . . (Part 2)<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/950dbb90eb45f17d2efbcfc634564022f2b5243e/large/google-self-driving-car-628.jpg?1406345604" class="size_l justify_center border_thin" alt="" /><br>Back in the Nineteenth Century, Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote “a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds . . . .” That was before smart phones and text messages, and his phrase still went viral. As you may recall from Part I, an Alaska Airlines’ text interrupted my curmudgeonly musings. Was reading that text hypocritical? Hadn’t I just written about how rude reading a text in mid conversation is? Of course, that begs the question of whether a hobgoblin hangs out in your or my attic.<br><br>These days, people walk around with their eyes cast downward. They are not watching the ground -- trying to avoid cracks in the sidewalk. They are not introverted or bashful -- trying to avoid eye contact. Instead, they are reading, or sending, text messages. They are making sure that their communications -- with somebody not in their presence -- are instant. <br><br>Sometimes, walking texters appear oblivious to their surroundings -- mesmerized by their smart phones. You will see them walk into an intersection without the slightest attention to traffic or the light. One walking texter was so transfixed that he was unconscious to an oncoming fire engine -- red lights flashing and siren blurring. Fortunately, somebody on the corner was not texting and pulled the texter back to safety.<br><br>Would we rather be run over than neglect somebody with whom we are connected in cyberspace? Are the walking texters thinking, “Tactile interpersonal contact be damned. My friend is online, and, if I don’t respond, she will think that I am an inattentive oaf”? Luckily, those thoughts are not terminated with a splat. You know, as in what is the last thing that passes through a bug’s brain when it hits a windshield? Its anus.<br><br>Driving texters make walking texters look like minor leaguers. You see them doing 75 miles per hour with one eye on the road and the other on the mobile phone. On city streets, they text from light to light rolling up to -- or into -- intersections. A skilled multi-tasker can shave, comb his hair, drink coffee, eat an Egg McMuffin, read emails, and text -- all while driving to work. Yes, you got it, while driving in rush hour bumper-to-bumper traffic with a bunch of other driving texters!<br><br>The good news is that the same technology mavens that made “text” a verb are working to protect the zombies they create. Google -- the proper noun, not the verb -- is testing a car that will drive itself -- an “autonomous” car. Walking texters will not have to worry being hit by cars in intersections; they only will have to worry about emergency vehicles. And they can get the odds of that happening from their mobile device. Driving texters no longer will be drivers -- they will be texters only.<br><br>Once the texters are safe -- except from the occasional emergency vehicle or a technologically impaired older car -- maybe they will not feel compelled to text at the dinner table, in restaurants, or meetings. Don’t be too optimistic though. Until peers register some degree of indignation or insult when someone stops a face-to-face conversation to read and respond to text messages, we remain technology’s tools. <br><br>Upon coming to the realization that these anachronistic ramblings are whispers lost in technology’s thunder, I think, “I’m getting too old for this [fill in the blank for PG, PG-17, or R]. Time to get back to some rock ‘n roll!”</span><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/30879772014-07-20T17:04:53-07:002017-01-13T16:30:27-08:00I'm Getting Too Old for this . . . . (Part 1)<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/ca0f5d92d8cc3522f1d56ab7c4cf42551a087fba/large/cells.jpg?1405900318" class="size_l justify_center border_thin" alt="" /><br>I’m getting too old for this crap! Have you ever said that? Thought it?<br><br>As I sat in the Portland airport, some guy in a dress shirt sans tie -- after all, it was a Sunday -- paced by. The dress shirt elevated him to business traveler. His cell phone to his ear -- truly old school, no blue tooth -- he uttered his frustration. “I’m getting too old for this crap!” Whether he was saying that for the benefit of the person with whom he was speaking or the packed waiting area was not entirely clear. My impression was that a multimillion dollar deal was being negotiated. Maybe he was trying to impress us plebeians in the waiting area.<br><br>Back in the day -- as I get older, that gets more use -- the packed waiting area would not have been forced to overhear his telephone conversation. Pay phones provided some semblance of privacy. Now you can search the airport high and low to find a pay phone. Actually, if you say “pay phone” in a room full of 20 something year olds, you most likely would see blank looks and draw a collective “huh?”<br><br>Pay phones are a relic of the past. Now, everybody seems to have a mobile phone -- or a smart phone. Many people care little for private conversations. They are on their phones while walking through the airport. At restaurants. In the line at Starbucks. They are perfectly willing to share their intimate thoughts with strangers.<br><br>Into the phone, “Hey, I think that you need to talk to Joe about his drinking. Should we do an intervention?”<br><br>To the barista, “I’ll have a white mocha latte with soy, a double pump of vanilla, and one pump of mint. No whip.”<br><br>Back to the phone, “If we cannot do an intervention, maybe we should get a psychiatrist. What, you don’t think that Joe has a drinking problem? The evidence is overwhelming” Blah. Blah. Blah.<br><br>To the barista, “I said a double pump of vanilla!”<br><br>When folks are not talking, they are texting. Back in the day -- whoops, I wrote that again -- “text” was not a verb. Now, people text, or check their texts, while walking through the airport. At restaurants. In the line at Starbucks. While driving. Used to be when somebody was looking in their lap while driving, you had questions about what they were doing. Folks text while walking on crowded sidewalks or crossing the street. During meetings.<br><br>In the middle of a face-to-face conversation, a phone beeps, and a text must be read. Some message from somebody somewhere else on earth is more important than what is going on right before their eyes. Do you ever think that that is just plain rude? Or that it shows where you fit in the scheme of things? Have you ever thought of saying, "Text me when I can have your undivided attention?"<br><br>Ding! Excuse me . . . . Alaska Airlines just sent a text that my flight is on time.<br><br>Oh, where was I? All together now, "maybe, I am getting too old for this [fill in the blank for PG, PG-17, or R]!"</span><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/30739012014-07-13T17:29:16-07:002017-01-13T16:30:27-08:00Return Via the Old School<img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/049820fc6cdfed8973b6c5ea30ca82f1cae721ba/medium/shine-8-16-half.jpg?1405208753" class="size_m justify_left border_thin" alt="" /><br><span style="color:#000080;">Been off the blogging track for nearly four months. Is that a hiatus? A vacation? A sabbatical? A creative slump?<br><br>Of course, when you neglect a project for awhile, you feel that you must come up with some excuse. This is particularly so when people inquire about your well-being. “Are you okay?” “Did something happen?” “Where have you been?”<br><br>Other than to thank people for asking, I got nothing -- no excuse, no funny story. I simply have been on break -- feel free to call it a vacation or a sabbatical -- from being a blogger. Meanwhile, the Pups practiced regularly, played a couple of shows, and lined up new dates. The creative juices even bubbled up a few times over the four months to work on new material.<br><br>Our blog missed the entire spring. We now are moving into a Sacramento Valley summer of hot days that call out for rock ‘n roll Lava Pups style. As we gear up for the next couple of months, the break from blogging has to end.<br><br>A quiet weekend at home was an opportunity to get back on the blogging track. It also was an opportunity to start promoting our August 16th show at Shine: Surf Night with the VibroCounts.<br><br>The first step for promotion was coming up with a poster. But a cartoonish poster for a show with the VibroCounts, three talented and very experienced musicians, did not feel right. As individual musicians, members of the VibroCounts, among other things, played with the Beau Brummels, nearly had a recording deal with Brian Wilson, and opened for some of the great acts from San Francisco’s summer of love. My cartoonish art just would not be fitting for, or respectful to, musicians with such serious, stellar resumes.<br><br>That meant thinking outside the Pup box and exceeding the bounds of what comes easily. What were we promoting? Talented. Experienced. Surf music. As those thoughts turned over, an idea came. It was time again for an old school poster. And what is more old school than Mickey Munoz’s quasimoto? Black and white photo. A true classic.<br><br>Mickey Munoz was a big wave pioneer. He was with Greg Noll, Mike Strange, and Pat Curren in the winter of 1957 when Waimea Bay was first ridden. Mickey Munoz also was a small wave innovator, experimenting with shorter boards. And he created the quasimoto.<br><br>Creative slump over! In a couple of hours, the poster emerged. An old school look for what should be an old school show -- fun, energy, and two surf bands. Maybe this is the first step to ending the vacation and getting back on the blogging track.</span><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/27641122014-03-17T21:29:20-07:002017-01-13T16:30:27-08:00"I Saw a Little Daylight There"<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/c7207ff4f3f045bcd441c5ddf2ce21867ef8b201/original/shine-3-14.jpg?1395116506" class="size_l justify_center border_" />As Thursday night's practice concluded, we moved our gear near the Doghouse door. Rush (the band) was right, “All this machinery making modern music.” Amps. Drums. Hardware. Guitars -- an extra just in case. Bass. Pedal board. A bagful of cords and other paraphernalia. Indeed, it was a bunch of machinery that had to go less than three miles across the Sacramento River to the “new” Shine.<br><br>A Friday night gig meant leaving work early -- at 5:15 -- to go home, change out of a coat and tie, hit a drive-thru in West Sacramento, pack all that machinery into cars, and unload at Shine. The decision had been made that the Pups would play first. Our goal was to have everything on stage and ready to go by 8:00, which was the nominal starting time. It was “nominal” because an audience generally does not begin to arrive until the announced starting time.<br><br>Surprisingly and un-Pup-like, everything seemed to be going quite smoothly. We were plugged in by 7:50 and semi-sound checked by 8:05 or so. All knobs right. All plugs right. All pedals working including a new Tube Screamer Chinese cheapie clone to put some growl into Sue’s electric uke. Wireless with a fresh battery and ready to go.<br><br>The audience started arriving at 7:30. Folks ordered wine, beer, and food and found seats. By 8:15, Lob, who wears the multiple hats of booker, door guy, and sound tech, felt the crowd justified lighting off. “You guys ready to start?” Sue, Glenn, and I looked around for Robert. “He was here ten minutes ago. Maybe he’s outside.” After a few minutes, Lob reported, “He went home to get a jacket.”<br><br>Huh? Home? A jacket? Well -- after all -- Lob had said that we would start at 8:30, and it was still daylight outside. That gave the rest of us time to mingle with the audience and get in some pacing. No show is complete without pacing propelled by nervous energy and anticipation.<br><br>Robert walked in at 8:30. He was dressed elegantly in black. Black blazer. Black shirt. Black jeans. Black shoes. I thought, “He looks quite sophisticated.” I pulled on the Hawaiian tux -- so much for sophistication. We took the stage.<br><br>Radio voice: “For your listening pleasure . . . the Lava Pups.” Cackling, mischievous voice: “For your fun . . . the Lava Pups!” I flubbed the first note of Surf Rider and stopped immediately. Looked down at my fingers and the fret board. Stared the left index finger into place and struck the low E string. No flub. No fuss. No muss. We were underway.<br><br>Forty-five minutes or so later, we hit the final chord of Jack-the-Ripper. In between, we had fun. Joked with the crowd. Got them to sing along on a couple of songs. Maybe his dress required that Robert maintain an air of sophistication. Even though his playing was as spirited as always, he limited himself to more-reserved movements. I, however, ventured away from my corner of the stage. Maybe the Hawaiian tux inspired that.<br><br>We moved our gear out Shine’s new side door on to the sidewalk. Once the stage was clear, the Funicellos set up. Their set would display their musicianship. Johnny Funicello playing both lead and rhythm guitar at once -- precise playing with chords interspersed for depth -- interpreted their originals, instrumental classics, and a couple of Los Straitjackets songs. That was built on, and anchored by, a solid rhythm section of Tony and Donny Funicello.<br><br>Once outside, I pulled off the Hawaiian tux and dumped it in the Prius’s front seat. We packed our equipment into our cars. Lob looked out the side door and asked, “You got everything?” After we affirmed that we had, he closed and locked the door. The transition off the stage also had gone smoothly. Shine apparently had been remodeled with bands in mind.<br><br>As we took advantage of mild evening to cool down and unwind, friends came out to talk with us. “You guys were great tonight.” “That was really fun!” That made me think how far we had come. Awhile back, we might have responded with, “I completely screwed up the bridge in Squad Car.” Now, we say, “Thank you. We hope that you enjoyed it.” I also thought about how exhilarating playing in front of a crowd is.<br><br>Talking to the audience brought the realization that practice and playing were paying off. We were getting better as a band with a better stage presence and our own personality.<br><br>A sure sign that practice was helping came when a friend said, “I saw a little daylight there between your feet and the stage on one of those jumps.”</span><br><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/27459412014-03-14T06:15:33-07:002017-01-13T16:30:27-08:00The "New" Shine<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/c77fa08de87718a69d5c5cd498a1aa0e31f1433d/medium/shine-light.jpg?1394802189" class="size_m justify_left border_none" alt="" /><br>At 7:45 or so the last time the Pups played Shine, the then owner asked, “Are you going to have enough people here?” That question was answered with a question, “Why?” Her response was disheartening, “If you don’t have enough people, we’ll just close.” The eternal optimist asked, “How many is enough?” The answer meant we had no worry. “Ten or so.” No problem.<br><br>Even though she always was nice to me, several musicians may not have received the same treatment. One band agreed to be a last minute replacement, only to be shut down when the audience was not big enough. To them, that was proof that no good deed goes unpunished.<br><br><br><br>Friends told me of poor service and being treated indifferently. Shine had become toxic, or unwelcoming, to some people. “I won’t go back there” was heard more than once. What was once viewed as a friendly, intimate venue had deteriorated in the eyes of some musicians and customers.<br><br>Of course, we all have heard, “You cannot please all the people all the time.” Truth? Rumor? Chronic complainers? Who knows because it does not really matter any more.<br><br>Last October, I noticed a liquor license change of ownership notice in the window. Nobody in the barbershop across the street knew what was going on or what was going to happen. “Is it changing hands or just transferring the liquor license into a LLC?” “Dunno.” “Will it still have music?” “Dunno.” “Will its menu change?” “Dunno.”<br><br>After a series of “dunnos,” the questioning ended. Why persist when no answer was coming?<br><br>Around November, construction was underway. A friend confirmed that Shine had been -- or was being -- sold. The new owners were remodeling. Then, on December 7, the new Shine presented the first night of live music in the newly remodeled space under new ownership.<br><br>After giving the new Shine some time to shake out any wrinkles, I caught a show. <br><br>Wow! The space had changed. It felt urban hip. The abstract painting behind the stage was gone and replaced by an entire wall of wood and chrome doodads to light it up. A modern, but funky, fixture hung from the ceiling above the stage. It changed colors. Red. Blue. Green. Orange. Magenta. The furniture no longer had that used, donated feeling. The huge dining table that always seemed to be in the way was gone. Modernizing, however, had not destroyed the space’s intimacy. Rather, it seemed to improve intimacy.<br><br>Surveying the beers and wine revealed an expanded selection. Microbrews. Ales. Lagers. Stouts. Locals. Well-knowns. The wines no longer were limited to some red and some white. The coffee was locally roasted -- at Temple. The folks behind the counter were friendly, accommodating, and attentive. I ordered a<br>Moose's Drool ale and settled down in a comfortable couch in the back.<br><br>Despite remodeling that seemed to open up the room and harden the surfaces, the sound remained excellent. Nothing was overpowering, even though Lob still was working out the kinks on the sound board and its connection to the stage.<br><br>Listening to the music, I thought, “This still is a cool place to play. Will the Pups fit into the new vibe? How would we do at the new Shine?”<br><br>Tonight at 8:00, we find out. Please join us.</span><br><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/27141112014-03-09T14:08:54-07:002017-01-13T16:30:27-08:00Replaced by an iPhone Application<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/52a9c21a5b0bb4a6d90ef68f2d1c647c04a0fc00/medium/tiki-olava-pup.jpg?1394379244" class="size_m justify_left border_medium" alt="" />How do we keep up with technology? A Neo-Luddite might answer, “We should not. We simply should refuse to embrace technology.” A true Luddite might answer, “By destroying the damn machines.” But that was not successful in the 19th Century; some Luddites were executed for destroying the damn machines. Parliament made “machine breaking” a capital offense.<br><br>Few folks these days can be either a Neo-Luddite or a true Luddite. Instead, we are at the mercy of Apple, Microsoft, and a bunch of young millionaires who create some new technological thingy every day. When you buy a computer, “smart phone,” tablet, etc., it is obsolete before your American Express bill arrives. <br><br>Nonetheless, computers, microchips, and other technological doodads run everything. I once lifted the hood to my Prius, only to realize I had no idea what was there. Whatever happened to Weber downdrafts and 4-barrel carburetors?<br><br>A couple of years ago, we introduced the talking animated Lava Pup. In addition to speaking, he walked, drove a car, read an iPad, and spoke with the Surfer Dude. Each animation was short. They ranged from 10 to 30 seconds.<br><br>Admittedly, the animated Pup was not a Pixar, Disney, or Nickelodeon production. Nor was it shipped off to Korea after the 10- to 30- second story was written. Unlike the animation process -- or production line -- that Disney made famous, frames were not drawn or traced over prior frames, colored, photographed, and then made into a film clip. Modern technology allowed copying and pasting.<br><br>Despite the technological assistance, each animation was a labor of love. Ten seconds required 240 frames, but each frame had many layers. The Pup and Surfer Dude were broken apart and drawn piece-by-piece -- profile, quartering, and frontal views. Their movements were plotted out. Mouth shapes were created for the characters to speak. Multiple hands were drawn. Props and backgrounds moved. Two hundred forty frames sometimes involved 1,500 or more pieces.<br><br>As a sexagenarian, I am not very tech savvy. The basic computer stuff for animation certainly was not intuitive to me. That meant going back to school -- a semester of 2D animation at American River. Several hundred hours were invested in the Pup’s hitting the screen. Just to make a character talk for 10 seconds without any other major action -- a talking head -- meant layering and planning.<br><br>Last week, my trusty Blackberry Storm bit the obsolescence bullet. The sign that its days were numbered came when I learned that no Starbucks app -- computer lingo for “application” -- was available for it. The calculus was not rocket science: no Starbucks app; no future!<br><br>A technology choice lie ahead. Droid? Windows? Or iPhone? When you live in household that already has two Macs, an iPad, and an iPhone, the choice really already was made. “Don’t you want something that will synch up with your Mac?” “You don’t use Outlook at home anymore.” Blah. Blah. Blah. Yep, an iPhone was in my future.<br><br>Today, I downloaded -- actually with some assistance and some swearing -- an app called “My Talking Pet.” Somehow the 99-cent transaction took place in the ether or the cloud or whatever. The app itself is pretty intuitive -- that is because it is simple. Bring up a photo of your pet, mark its eyes, mouth, and chin, speak into the iPhone, adjust the pitch, and -- voila -- you have a talking pet.<br><br>A semester of higher education, hours of planning and drawing, layer-upon-layer within frames of animation, lip-syncing, voice overs, creativity, etc., had been replaced by a 99-cent iPhone app. Of course, </span><a contents="the end product" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://youtu.be/LxhVVeOsXbc" target="_blank"><span style="color:#FF0000;"><strong>the end product</strong></span></a><span style="color:#000080;"> is not as well done as previous Pup animations. But . . . .<br><br>Now I know how the Luddites felt when their artisan skills were being replaced by machines tended by less-skilled, low-wage laborers that turned out lesser quality products. Is “machine breaking” still a capital offense?</span><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/26896362014-03-04T19:29:56-08:002017-01-13T16:30:26-08:00Airborne Yet? And Other Burning Questions<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/ef8e96c4a519cabf987102d1a8a3e42b65c84ee3/large/jump.jpg?1393989934" class="size_l justify_center border_medium" alt="" /><br>Somebody recently asked, “How is that jumping thing going?” As we all know, sometimes enthusiasm overwhelms common sense. My knees can attest to that. Today, they hurt. <br><br>The pain, in turn, raises the age-old question of whether overweight older folks are designed to jump? We will leave to scientists, theologians, and politicians the debate as to exactly what is “age-old” and whether man is 6,000 or 200,000 years old.<br><br>My body parts are not debating humankind’s age. Instead, my knees are complaining that extra weight and age are not conducive to jumping. The raging debate here is whether losing 30 pounds would elevate my vertical jump. That, of course, begs the question of whether I even should work on my vertical jump in the first place.<br><br>Loyal readers know that an improved vertical jump is part of a -- perhaps ill-conceived -- plan to distract audiences from shortcomings in my guitar-playing abilities. The combination of standing in one place on stage, pursing my lips, assuming some heavenly inspired gaze, and relying solely on my musical talents is a recipe for a potential disaster. Nor is it very entertaining.<br><br>Vertical jump. Humor. Self-deprecation. Banter. Dark glasses. Bright clothes. Energy. While these may mask my talent deficits, they also have entertainment value. Isn’t rock ‘n roll entertainment? If you want to hear precisely played, error-free surf music, you are better off with a CD. The Lava Pups live are not for you. We are a rock ‘n roll garage band. Subtle and sophisticated do not describe us. Having fun and being enthusiastic about performing work best for us. <br><br>Besides we are glad that people come out to see live music. Would you rather see a band that is happy to have you there or one that acts like you somehow are intruding into its inner sanctum? In some musical genres, being aloof and detached from an audience seems to be <em>de rigueur.</em> If the Lava Pups ever go there, pull the plug. The band is done!<br><br>Unfortunately, my sore knees are balking at their role in this endeavor. They seem to be asking, “Didn’t you listen when somebody described you as portly the other day?” Maybe they would prefer the Chuck Berry duck walk. Ugh!</span><br><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/26327142014-02-23T18:07:42-08:002017-01-13T16:30:26-08:00Of Gold, Green, and the Growl<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/e349f6fcd6a2e6f9e775fd0c8b28d444c8f7e5c1/large/kfjc-9-bt.jpg?1392182394" class="size_l justify_center border_medium" alt="" />We describe our music as garage or industrial surf. But just what is that? Maybe it is a bit like pornography; it cannot be described but you know it when your hear it. We think of it as throaty with a twinge of a growl. It sounds a smidge dirty with reverb, some slap echo, and tremolo or vibrato. Occasionally overdriven. Our music gives the sense of playing on the verge of falling into a vat of muck and other industrial waste.. <br><br>My Schecter gold top serves up garage surf very nicely. It defies the Schecter image of guitars mainly for headbangers and metalheads. Perhaps because of that, few gold tops were made. They were not big sellers for a company that boasts members of Avenged Sevenfold, Black Label Society, Danzig, Motley Crue, Seether, Slayer, and Suicide Silence among its artists. The descriptions of Schecter’s artists and their bands include goth, metalcore, screamo, punk-pop, horror punk, and death metal. No wonder the gold top was a marketing failure at Schecter.<br><br>Surf, traditional rock, garage rock, or even plain punk is nowhere to be found on Schecter’s website. Deep down, we know that the folks at Schecter would shutter at the thought that one of their guitars would serve up garage -- or even industrial -- surf. A sexagenarian lead guitarist for a band named for a fluffy white dog does not fit anywhere in Schecter’s marketing scheme. Besides none of us sports visible ink or very much makeup.<br><br>Despite serving up garage surf very nicely and being handsome, the Schecter gold top does not have a true “surf vibe.” Its roots lie with Gibson. Instrumental surf music, however, is Fender-centric. It is dominated by the clean sound of Fender amps, the boing of Fender reverb units, and the brightness and clarity of Fender single coil guitars.<br><br>In its own way, my ocean turquoise Jazzmaster is equally as handsome as the Schecter. The Jazzmaster may not have the carved top, machined knobs, or binding of the Schecter, but it has a surf pedigree. It also stands out. Its color is a departure from the sunbursts and olympic whites that seem to dominate. Its matching headstock also sets it apart from other Jazzmasters. The tiki-tipped tremolo bar makes the ocean turquoise truly unique.<br><br>Robert, however, berates the Jazzmaster’s sound as “being like every other surf band.” He prefers the throaty aggressive tone from the Schecter. Being distinctive -- having our own sound and schtick -- is important to him. My less discerning ear does not hear the differences as clearly as Robert. And unfortunately, as I get older, my hearing seems to deteriorating faster than my vertical jump.<br><br>Jazzmaster or gold top? Surf vibe or something else? Fender or headbangers’ brand? Looks or a particular tone? Are we back to image is everything? Does anybody even care? Wow, this might be a real rock ‘n roll dilemma. <br><br>Of course, you probably are thinking that it is a tempest in a teapot because blog posts just do not flow as freely as they once did.<br><br>Fortunately, before becoming fully wrapped around the axle, the epiphany came. Why not just replace a pickup in the Jazzmaster? Surf vibe. Tiki-tipped tremolo. And the growl that seems to be the Lava Pups’ evolving sound. The best of two worlds. With a couple of clicks on the Lollar Pickups website, the solution was two days and visit to Guitar Workshop away.<br><br>Test drive coming soon. Blog entry or Consumer Reports?</span><br><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/25922392014-02-16T18:31:53-08:002017-01-13T16:30:26-08:00Cliche? Blase? Everybody Is Entitled to an Opinion<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/8a89a32bdaa63cae24f9260045d1c34f3ed5d43b/large/3-14-14.jpg?1392595261" class="size_l justify_center border_medium" alt="" /><br>Day jobs and rock ‘n roll fantasies do not fold together as nicely as we sometimes like. Demanding day jobs that we really enjoy can make the combination especially dicey. Working every day for three weeks uses up what creativity and energy might be available for rock ‘n roll, blog posts, etc. Tight, structured thinking and waves of projects do not allow for many free flow thoughts or mental meanderings. <br><br>But I am not going to let another week slip by without putting fingers to keyboard. If I tap away, something may emerge. After all, a roomful for monkeys working in Word might come up with a novel. With autocorrect, other computer aids, and rapidly evolving technology, the odds of success improve daily.<br><br>The new Lava Pup -- Tiki the Bichon -- is not acclimated at all to band life. Rather, he is a celebrity in his own right with his own Facebook page. Posts to his page generally outdraw anything posted by us.<br><br>Today, in San Jose, a woman came up to Becky and said, “Is that Tiki the Bichon? I recognize him from his Facebook page.” The appeal of a cute fluffy puppy overpowers any appeal that four middle-aged rock ‘n rollers have.<br><br>Becky must have seen this coming. She has shifted her managerial and promotional efforts over to Tiki the Bichon. Photos. Videos. She is taking him on the road in June. Tiki’s star is rising with her while the Lava Pups’ star fades.<br><br>Tiki recognizes that he is the star in our household. He is not going to give that up. Recently, I practiced at home in front of Tiki the Bichon -- eight or nine songs with no amplification. After entertaining him, I put my guitar in a gig bag and set it in the corner.<br><br>Maybe he felt cheated with only eight or nine songs. Maybe they were not as entertaining as I thought. Or maybe my skills are not up his expectations. Or maybe my playing was really bad. Or maybe Tiki just wanted to assert his dominance.<br><br>Irrespective of whether he was opining about my playing or showing who is the top dog in the house, at least the gig bag was water -- or more accurately urine -- resistant!<br><br>Three straight weeks of working did not mean the total neglect of rock ‘n roll fantasies. Nor did our fading star in Becky’s eyes impede us from keeping the fantasy going. Nor did Tiki expressing his opinion, or dominance, dampen -- pun intended -- planning. We learned last year that a week or two of procrastination turns into months of inactivity. <br><br>We booked a show at the “new” Shine. “New” because its ownership changed and its interior was remodeled, but more about that some other time. A weekend free of day job demands and resort to cliche brought forth a poster for a March 14th show. <br><br>Okay, you may be thinking, “O’Lava Pups? O’Funicellos? St. Patty’s Surf? A couple of shamrocks? That is way too obvious. Can’t they come up with something more creative? The Pups are giving into convention.”<br><br>But do we really want to join in that debate? Our approach today is really simple: Progress beats inertia. And all is well in Pup land. After all, just like Tiki the Bichon, everybody is entitled to an opinion. Just leave my gig bag and guitar alone!</span><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/25033232014-02-01T06:30:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:26-08:00Getting the Hook<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/91eccac2ad2b9e820b6b18bc3cc842a0506824b3/original/photo.jpg?1391225742" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><br>The Sound Guy’s voice came through the monitors. “One more.” Huh? “You took a long time to set up. You’re done!” An ignominious end to a performance that began with no sound at the Blue Lamp.<br><br>By the time that the Sound Guy put a halt to our set, I had overcome the heat, coffee, tacos, nervous energy, and embarrassment of overlooking a zeroed knob on the amp. We started with Surf Rider because Robert needs a bit of a warm up before launching headlong into our more energetic stuff -- that, in Becky’s words, is “overly revved.”<br><br>We hit our stride by Magma Runner. Nerves and embarrassment be damned. We were at the Blue Lamp to play some Pup-style rock ‘n roll. <br><br>Unbeknownst to me, Glenn could not hear much of anything. The stage monitors were not getting much sound back to him. The time spent figuring out the zeroed knob meant no time to adjust what we were hearing. Maybe we had counted too much on the Sound Guy, who may have been a drill sergeant in a prior life.<br><br>Unlike other venues and the Doghouse, Robert and I put our amps in front of Glenn and the drum kit. Our sound was projecting away from him. His only contact with the music was somewhat hearing Sue and watching her rhythm. Nothing teaches like playing live. They kept the beat going. Solid and unrelenting.<br><br>Meanwhile at the front of the stage, Robert was playing the Chinese cheapie palermo blue bass like it was a guitar. I finally was having a good time. As always, energy and enthusiasm made up for my talent deficiencies. <br><br>The crowd seemed to be having fun. Up on the stage, we could hear them singing along while we played Runaway. As part of introducing Link Man, we implored them to chant “Link Wray.” They did. “Link Wray! Link Wray! Link Wray!”<br><br>I introduced Last Date with “This is for Dean Martin.” Loose and wobbly. Some folks understood the reference. A few people in the audience must have heard the Skeeter Davis version and sang along. Again, loud enough that we could hear on stage.<br><br>And then came the inglorious end. The drill sergeant Sound Guy had to keep to his schedule and shooed us off the stage.<br><br>After packing the Prius and parking it where the doorman could watch it, I sat with Robert and a Jameson’s at the end of the bar. Embarrassed. Disappointed. Upset. “Had I known that we were going to be cut short, I would have . . . .” Once again, Robert was the calming influence. “Hey, the Sound Guy’s job is to keep everything on schedule. He just did what he had to do. Stuff happens.”<br><br>Once the financial matters were settled and all the bands were gone, the Blue Lamp was left to Ben and Gabi and their regular patrons and friends. Ben -- the former touring punk band member -- assuaged some of my disappointment with, “We’ve got to get you guys back with a punk band.” Huh? Do they need old people who can’t move fast enough to get out of the way of whatever is being thrown at the stage?<br><br>“The energy. The movement. Pure punk.” Huh? Ben continued, “Your bass player is a punk bassist.” One of Ben’s friends agreed, “Yeah, that Andy Warhol-looking guy, really plays punk bass. I know because I play punk bass.” <br><br>Andy Warhol? Punk? The second wave started with Jon and the Nightriders opening for punk bands at the Whiskey and the Roxy. Those thoughts -- plus the ignominy of getting the hook -- bounced through my head until 3:00 a.m. when the Jameson’s and being awake for 22 hours finally took hold.</span><br><br><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/24838332014-01-28T21:07:11-08:002017-01-13T16:30:26-08:00Seasoned? Think Again, Buddy<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/d1e8f4f1ff9213d26e299d8e39efa9288f492566/large/photo.jpg?1390971516" class="size_l justify_center border_medium" alt="" /><br>Just when you think that you are becoming a seasoned performer, something happens to bring you back to reality. The other night at the Blue Lamp proved that I am far from seasoned. Old and grizzled, maybe. Seasoned, not at all.<br><br>Yes, Saturday night tested my cool, and my cool lost. We were second on the bill. To paraphrase Phil Upchurch, I could not sit down. We loaded in at 7:00 and stacked our instruments and equipment in a corner near the door. We hung out waiting for the other bands to show up. Guided by the “Sound Guy,” we put our amps on stage. Finally, around 7:30, Don -- formerly Jet Blue of the Lava Pups, now Donnie Funicello of the Funicellos -- arrived. He put his amp on the stage.<br><br>In the words of the Sound Guy, “Let’s get as much on stage to make the change overs fast.”<br><br>While the Tiki Lounge Lizards played, I paced. Bought a coffee at Starbucks across the street. Then a couple of carne asada tacos off the taco truck parked out back. Paced some more. By the time the Tiki Lounge Lizards finished, coffee, tacos, and anticipation had my nervous energy at warp speed.<br><br>Once the Tiki Lounge Lizards cleared the stage, the Sound Guy was in the hurry up mode. Drums to the stage. Position the amps. I had to get my stuff ready. Find an extension cord. Power to the amp. Show the Sound Guy the line out to the PA on my amp. Hook up the pedal board. Make sure that everything is connected. Check the settings on the amp. Check the settings on the pedals.<br><br>The Sound Guy was back at the sound board. “Give me the kick.” Glenn stomped on the pedal, and the bass drum boomed. “Is that all that you got? Really kick it!” Glenn stomped on the pedal again. “Rhythm. Play something.” Sue responded. The Sound Guy said something about turning up or turning down. Robert was next.<br><br>While this was going on, I checked the connections. Hit each pedal on the pedal board. They lit up. The amp was on -- in standby. I switched from standby and ran my pick across the strings. Silence. Silence? Silence! At that point, I also realized that the spot lights above the stage were kicking out heat. Heat, coffee, tacos, and nervous energy were not combining well with getting no sound out of my amp.<br><br>The Sound Guy now was back on stage. “Is your battery dead in your wireless?” “No, I put a fresh one in this afternoon. I’ll use a cord.” I left the stage and fished my florescent yellow cord out of the gig bag. I plugged it into the pedal board. More silence. “Let’s try it directly into the amp.” Still no sound. Sweat was beginning to drip off my forehead.<br><br>Heat, coffee, tacos, nervous energy, and frustration were winning out. “Maybe you lost a tube.” “It worked fine this afternoon.” An eternity was passing by. This was downright embarrassing. My cool was being bashed. The Sound Guy was losing his patience.<br><br>I looked over the amp again. And . . . holy smokes, the gain knob was zeroed. I rolled it up to 5 and hit the strings. Blang! We had sound. Zeroed. How did that happen? Why didn’t we notice that earlier? What a putz I am.<br><br>Robert could see that my hands were shaking. “Relax. Take a deep breath. Collect yourself. Everything will be fine.” I thanked him, and he stepped back. I looked down at my shaking hand and then out at the audience. <br><br>“We are the Lava Pups!” I started Surf Rider and hoped that my fingers would find the right strings as the introduction was mine and mine alone. Our set was underway.</span><br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/40efd30a033033a27819636349415ca85b031732/large/photo.jpg?1390971978" class="size_l justify_center border_medium" alt="" />Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/24344952014-01-21T06:27:37-08:002017-01-13T16:30:26-08:00What Should a Sharp Dressed Man Wear to a Beach Party?<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/c71fa9dccea1c33b84536dfd9dfcbae3ed3cbf93/medium/man_suit.jpg?1375722062" class="size_m justify_right border_medium" alt="" />Back in August, we quoted some from ZZ Top’s "Sharp Dressed Man." Today, we quote a bit more:<br><br>Clean shirt, new shoes<br>And I don’t know where I am goin’ to<br>Silk suit, black tie,<br>I don’t need a reason why<br><br>Unlike ZZ Top's sharp dressed man, we have a reason why. The January Beach Party is coming up this Saturday night at the Blue Lamp. Three bands: The Tiki Lounge Lizards, The Lava Pups, and The Funicellos. And each wants to strut its stuff.<br><br>Plus, the promoter -- Shonda Honkanen -- issued a challenge of sorts. “Yes it's girly of me, but can't wait to see what everyone wears!” Can’t wait to see what everyone wears! She is not talking about blue jeans and Dick Dale tee shirts. Hey, I see this as a challenge. Do you?<br><br>What does a sharp dressed man wear to a beach party at a bar in the California’s Central Valley? That is, a sharp dressed man in a garage surf band. Paisley? Hawaiian print? Sharkskin? <br><br>Like the red carpet at the Golden Globes, does it have to be something nobody has seen before? Or has not been worn in front of a crowd before? <em>Tres chic</em>, funky, or utilitarian? Real or faux Hawaiian? Subtle or garish?<br><br>Or does Shonda’s challenge apply only to women? On the red carpet, nobody seems to care that almost every guy wears a black tuxedo or suit of some sort. When was the last time that you heard snarky commentary about what a man was wearing on the red carpet?<br><br>Looking in my closet reveals that too many choices exist. Flowers. Bamboo. Palm trees. Fish. Birds. Tikis. Modern Hawaiian designs. Classic scenes. Classy. Tasteless. How about a Hawaiian cowboy? Madras? That takes care of the shirts. <br><br>A more formal look is available. How about paisley -- too subtle under the spotlights? Or the cheap Chinese sharkskin suit that recently arrived -- too businesslike? Or the Hawaiian tux standby -- too much exposure already?<br><br>This is rapidly becoming paralysis by analysis. Maybe loyal readers should vote. Or Facebook viewers. Or both. What if nobody votes, and I remain paralyzed?<br><br>Oh, what the heck, vote if you want. You can vote early and often. No election coverage. No 30-second hit pieces. No campaign mailers. No robocalls. No solicitations for contributions. No appealing to your base instincts, your fears, or your hates. No promises or platform.<br><br>But remember to come out to the show Saturday night at the Blue Lamp to see the winner when the Lava Pups take the stage. </span><br><br><span style="color:#000080;">In the words of ZZ Top:<br><br>They come runnin' just as fast as they can<br>'Cause every girl crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man</span><br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/6c7fd7a1a4fc0b5f12f9f7c55a012b6216ba4f76/large/shirt-collage.jpg?1390282603" class="size_l justify_center border_medium" alt="" />Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/24261352014-01-19T06:29:02-08:002017-01-13T16:30:26-08:00Where's the Pole?<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/47b6b848bbe69f179147014fcfaa38ff3f35f526/medium/bluelamplogo.jpg?1390091977" class="size_m justify_left border_medium" alt="" /><br>Saturday, January 25, we take the stage at the Blue Lamp. We follow the Tiki Lounge Lizards to warm up the crowd for the Funicellos. Mai Tais, Blue Hawaiians, and Madrases will help with the warm up. Billed as a January Beach Party, folks are encouraged to dress for the beach regardless of the weather.<br><br>A safe prediction is unseasonably warm and dry. Governor Brown -- Jerry in his second incarnation -- declared a drought emergency last Friday. His goal is for Californians to cut water usage by 20 percent. We have friends who are considering an artificial lawn. If the Governor is correct, the entirety of California may become a beach (or a desert) except for patches of artificial turf and drought resistant weeds. <br><br>Drought or not, readying for our first show of 2014 meant a visit to the Blue Lamp. After surveying the bottles behind the bar, I ordered a Jameson’s. To support the Governor’s declaration, I requested it neat. Just Irish whiskey in a glass. No ice -- save on water. No splash -- save on water. No water back -- all together now, save on water.<br><br>The Blue Lamp seemed markedly improved since the last time I was there. It formerly was a standing only place except for bar stools and a small sitting area in the corner diagonally opposite the stage. A pool table now occupies that corner. Cocktail tables and chairs have been added to convert the Blue Lamp into a “let’s sit down and enjoy a show” kind of venue.<br><br>The stage is two steps up with spot lights and a professional sound system. Monitors are in front of the stage. Above the seemingly deep stage, house speakers can produce whatever sound a band and sound technician desire. <br><br>The stage and the bar are survivors of the Blue Lamp’s prior iteration. At one time, it was the Club 400, which featured “exotic” dancers and, among other things, held an annual golf tournament. The dancers “caddied” for tournament participants, who bid for caddying services at an alcohol-fueled auction. Everything that I know about the Club 400 Tournament, I learned sometime back in the 1990s. I was walking off the 18th green in a charity tournament and saw the Club 400 caddies -- clad in short shorts and halter tops -- helping out their "sponsors" on the putting green. In the middle of the action was a friend from college. After hearing his description, I thought to myself, “I’m playing in the wrong golf tournament!”<br><br>While nursing a second Jameson’s, I struck up a conversation with Ben Garcia, who along with his wife Gabi owns the Blue Lamp. They bought the club last October. Their goal is a neighborhood bar that also is a musician-friendly venue. They are working towards the venue goal by upgrading the sound system, improving acoustics, and adding tables and chairs. The neighborhood portion may be more difficult given that the space presently lacks an old bar intimacy and the prior owners opened only for musical events. Ben and Gabi did not buy an established bar clientele.<br><br>Ben understands first hand what makes for a musician-friendly venue. He once sang in a recording and touring punk band. “Been in every state but Alaska.” Why give that up? “I wanted to settle down and be with my family.” As I listened to him, I thought about jobs that may seem cool, but, when really examined, are not: Bicycle messenger in San Francisco and punk rock band member.<br><br>I finished the Jameson’s and said goodbye to Ben. “See you next Saturday.” I responded with a hang loose. Outside, Gabi was putting the finishing touches on a sign with the bar’s new logo. “See you next Saturday. That show should be a blast!” I responded with a hang loose.<br><br>Heading for home, I felt enthused about the upcoming January Beach Party and the efforts that Ben and Gabi are putting into the Blue Lamp. We need to get folks there and have some fun. <br><br>Then the thought struck me, “Where’s the pole from the old Club 400?” I hope that that does not become an obsession.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/114e72d62ffda26f5bdcb379391801a7d983527f/large/1-25-14.jpg?1389487093" class="size_l justify_center border_medium" alt="" /></span><br><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/24084652014-01-15T21:24:53-08:002017-01-13T16:30:26-08:00Muggin' for the Camera Sans Sharkskin<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/dd646c52614d3ba4657ff37d41dca2ba5ad8bff3/medium/camera.jpg?1389848768" class="size_m justify_left border_medium" alt="" /><br>Does anybody remember back when all or most cameras had film? Way back then -- yeah, back in the 1990s -- a photographer snapped a picture. Then the film had to be developed. From photo shoot to final result could be a matter of days. Until the finished photo, you were left to wonder whether you truly caught what you thought you had. “Instant” photos were available, but they were poor quality.<br><br>Like much of today’s world, digital photography allows instant gratification -- or disappointment. No more waiting. No more wondering. No more, “we better take another one just in case.” Click, look, and decide whether to delete. Plus, you can do all of this on your cell phone, smart phone, or iPhone.<br><br>Sunday, the Lava Pups gathered at the Doghouse to check an item off their 2014 to-do list. Photo shoot. Just what that meant was not entirely clear.<br><br>A friend, Neil Houston, volunteered to be our photographer. He had a new camera that he wanted to test. That may make this sound somewhat amateurish. But Neil’s resume includes a stint as the staff photographer for the University of California Art Gallery. He shot the works of Mel Ramos, among others, for announcements, postcards, and exhibit brochures. He served as the guy who took pictures of patrons (read contributors) at fund raisers and openings.<br><br>Maybe the Pups would be too low brow for his talents and artistic tastes. Then again, he has heard us and still volunteered. Ingrid Lundquist, who recently has become an award-winning photographer, took photos of the photo shoot. This might be a bit much -- photos of photos being taken.<br><br>Recently, in anticipation of band photo day, I ordered a cheap Chinese sharkskin suit. Googling “narrow lapels + sharkskin” -- or was it “cheap suits” -- eventually got me to a site that offered $85 suits. Of course, buying a suit online offers the opportunity for an ill-fitting piece of garbage to arrive in a UPS box. But the eternal optimist in me won out over the skeptic. The eternal optimist envisioned a serviceable shiny black sharkskin suit.<br><br>For the photo shoot, we all brought changes of clothes. I had black, paisley, flannel, and Hawaiian at the ready. Inspired by a Dick Dale poster, I fished a faux collar pin from a jewelry box. Narrow lapels, skinny tie, high collar, and collar pin would be <em>tres chic</em>. Out of place? Outlandish? Who cares as long as it is <em>tres chic</em>?<br><br>As Neil checked the lighting, he offered up how West Sacramento has some “great industrial” backgrounds. Once all the Pups were gathered, he suggested that we try some shots against the Doghouse’s white walls. “Okay. Look to the right.” Click. Click. Click. “Ahead.” Click. Click. Click. “Again.” Click. Click. Click.<br><br>Then came the instant gratification -- or disappointment. Skinny tie, high collar, and collar pin did not magically transform a black jacket into a consummately cool look. I looked into the viewer. “Holy crap! Glenn, Robert, and Sue are <em>tres chic</em> indeed, but I look like a . . . a broker . . . or a lobbyist . . . or . . . worse.” <br><br>Neil, Sue, and Robert -- the artistic contingent -- headed out the door to find a more industrial looking background. I went to the clothes rack to change. By the time that they returned, I had shifted to paisley. We then were off for shots against the corrugated walls of the neighboring welding shop.<br><br>More instant gratification. Neil said, “We’ve got something to work with here.” Within five hours or so, he called to tell me that he emailed a couple of photos. As we talked, I kept magnifying the photo. "What is the resolution? I'm up to nose hairs, and it has not pixelated yet." I thought, "Good thing I brushed my teeth." Brushed teeth or not. We had something that we could pass off as a real band photo.<br><br>By the way, the cheap Chinese sharkskin suit did not arrive in time for the photo shoot. But we all know now that whether it was an ill-fitting piece of garbage or surprisingly fine would not have made a difference. A black suit was destined to make me look like a broker or a lobbyist or worse -- not <em>tres chic</em>.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/7350eca5eeaeb13d2a484bc627e543de08ed0c1c/large/lavapups-w-instruments-0216.jpg?1389583540" class="size_l justify_center border_medium" alt="" /></span><br><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/23834192014-01-12T08:13:37-08:002017-01-13T16:30:26-08:00Aloofly Aloft? No Way!<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/9c494613b5d4ec494bfdd489cb03cc8e9d3f612a/original/wailers.jpg?1389542477" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><br><br>The Wailers’ photo always had a certain classic, but noir, elegance to me. Actually, when compared with other band photos and album covers of the day, it is not very artsy, provocative, or romantic. It is just five guys and their instruments who look like they are having fun.<br><br>Later today, the Lava Pups will gather at the Doghouse to work on one 2014 (sorta) “resolution” -- a photo shoot. In an earlier post, it was described this way: “We could have a photo shoot with some cool looking shots. That would be an excuse for a new suit and skinny tie.”<br><br>For Robert and Sue, a photo shoot should be easy. With a Bachelors of Fine Art, Sue is an accomplished artist. She understands, knows, and visualizes composition, color, and perspective. She is imaginative, creative, and possesses artistic flair.<br><br>Robert is a veteran of several bands and, at one time, was a graphic designer. Band photos are old hat to him. He too understands, knows, and visualizes composition, color, and perspective.<br><br>Given our lack of artistic or band experience, Glenn and I are disadvantaged. Glenn, however, has an unflappable calm that allows him to adjust to almost any situation. I have watched a drum stick fly out of his hand and across the stage. But Glenn just grabs another stick and keeps going. No panic. No stress. Not even a change in facial expression. A photo shoot will be just another adjustment to him.<br><br>Unflappable (internal) calm does not describe me. Blessed -- and cursed -- with a versatile mind that switches between detailed analysis and scattered creativity, a photo shoot is an opportunity for a seemingly unending internal debate. A photo shoot may be an excuse for a new suit and skinny tie. But we have to look like what we are while keeping in mind the Madison Avenue adage that “image is everything.”<br><br>What image fits our band description? We describe our musical recipe as traditional surf plus a healthy dose of Northwest garage sensibility, a heaping spoonful of Link Wray edginess, and a pinch of punk irreverence. We let everybody know that we do not take ourselves too seriously and have fun making music.<br><br>With that description, we certainly not cannot be portrayed as looking aloofly aloft. Or as four super serious sophisticates. The four of us dressed alike and having eyes uplifted as if contemplating some divine insight disconnects from our personalities and our music. Something that conveys perfection also is far afield.<br><br>Beaches, bikini-clad bimbos, bare-chested bravado, and boards seem a bit incongruent with four older folks from Sacramento. Waves and woodies? Not really. We practice in a warehouse in West Sacramento’s light industrial zone in the midst of severe drought conditions. Writing that conjures up thoughts as rechristening our music as “industrial surf.”<br><br>As the internal debate rages, I will stand in the closet, hand to chin, and contemplate what to take out for the photo shoot. Hawaiian shirt? Shorts? Hawaiian jacket? Paisley? Black? Flannel? All of the above? None of the above? All the while, I will question whether this is as good an idea as it seemed a week ago.<br><br>Maybe we will have photos for you by the end of the day. After all, this is the digital age. In none of them will we be aloofly aloft!</span><br><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/23154372014-01-01T19:34:37-08:002017-01-13T16:30:26-08:00More Janus and Happy New Year!<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/f268536f6580740e56aeae03bb79c3f4b54ab7a9/medium/janus1.gif?1388289896" class="size_m justify_left border_medium" alt="" /><br>Ahead. Behind. Forward. Back. Future. Past. In Roman mythology, Janus looked both ways. During the front end of the month named for him, we have an opportunity to make lofty resolutions. <br><br>Experience teaches that most resolutions will be broken by February and forgotten by March. That alone is a good reason never to write out resolutions. Deniability generally is good. Of course, in this day of cell phone recorders and cameras, deniability is not what it used to be. Denial necessarily has evolved, “I didn’t say that, and any recording or video of me saying that is out of context.”<br><br>So after an evening Moroccan food and belly dancing, why not give in to the resolution temptation? Plausible deniability is preserved because these are being written down without consultation with the rest of the Pups -- one man's succumbing to temptation.<br><br>Here are some thoughts for 2014. The chances of attaining them probably are the same plane as world peace, tolerance, political honesty, corporate ethics, and the NBA championship for the Kings. Throw in some sure-to-come, but unexpected, exigencies and procrastination, and the odds of probable attainment become astronomical.<br><br>Maybe these thoughts do not rise to the resolution level. But they are worth consideration:</span>
<ul>
<li><span style="color:#000080;">Learn two songs a month. We have been a bit stagnant. My limited skills contribute mightily to that. As long as we avoid sophistication and subtlety and stick to primitive, this is not off the charts difficult. Ample melodic instrumental rock songs exist for us to work towards this goal.</span></li> <li><span style="color:#000080;">Write four new original songs. We have channeled our creativity into becoming a band while preserving our foundational ideal -- that have fun. Maybe we have progressed enough that some simple, but original, songs are within our reach. Only a metronome and practice -- and the creative demands of day-to-day living -- stand in the way.</span></li> <li><span style="color:#000080;">Develop a press package. We have tried to walk the undefined line between being a real band and not taking ourselves too seriously. The truth is that we have performed in front of thousands of people. We have put together and promoted shows. For some reason that sounds like being a real band that has fun. Maybe the time has come to put together something that fits a performing band. We could have a photo shoot with some cool looking shots. Can you see a remake of the Fabulous Wailers cover? Or the four of us looking artistically important -- or indifferent -- in front of some industrial background? At least, a photo will be an excuse for a new suit and skinny tie.</span></li> <li><span style="color:#000080;">Continue to hone our sound. Three years ago, the Lava Pups sounded like a gadzillion other surf bands -- clean sound and lots of reverb. The big difference was we had a weak lead guitar player. Getting ready for the Battle of the Surf Bands in 2013 made us examine what our sound is. We do not sound like every other surf band any more. We are grittier, more raw, and more primitive -- primal garage surf. That sound has evolved to fit our skills and personalities. It still is evolving.</span></li> <li><span style="color:#000080;">A tour. Nothing far-fetched or far-flung. Not a world tour. Not a national tour. Not a European tour. Just playing at least three days in a row somewhere on the road -- three days, three different venues, three different towns. Outside of our comfort zone. Away from home. Of course, this could ruin everything. On second thought, a tour may be a really stupid idea.</span></li> <li><span style="color:#000080;">Keep playing until it no longer is fun. We are not a bunch of 20-something year olds -- or 30- or 40- something year olds for that matter. None of us has boundless energy. None of this playing stuff comes naturally to me. Sue, Robert, and Glenn may be different. But as long as we are having fun, why should we stop? Each of us knows that life is too short not to have fun.</span></li> <li><span style="color:#000080;">Getting a little air on one jump on stage and not getting injured while learning how to do it.</span></li>
</ul><span style="color:#000080;">Lofty thoughts? Hardly. Attainable? Given day jobs, reality, inertia, and procrastination, most likely not. Deniable as resolutions? Absolutely, they are thoughts, not resolutions. And they are the meanderings of one person who needed to write a post for a blog. By March, they may be forgotten. Besides, does anyone really care?<br><br>We hope that your resolutions for 2014 fare better and that your 2014 is fun. Happy New Year!</span><br><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/23001082013-12-28T20:25:04-08:002017-01-13T16:30:26-08:00Janus, The Jam, and Jumping<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/a9fe4e2eb04fde89128327db30ad2431b110b1bd/large/jam-2.jpg?1388289857" class="size_l justify_center border_medium" alt="" /><br><br>When you are young, jumping is natural. It comes easily. When you are carrying a bunch of extra weight on old legs, jumping no longer seems natural. It certainly no longer comes easily.<br><br>You may be thinking, “What? Is he going to kvetch about old age and being overweight?” The short answer is, “No.”<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/f268536f6580740e56aeae03bb79c3f4b54ab7a9/medium/janus1.gif?1388289896" class="size_m justify_right border_medium" alt="" />The New Year is visible in the windshield. Janus -- that’s right, as in JANU-ary -- was the Roman god of beginnings and transitions. He was the two-faced guy who always was looking back to the past and ahead to the future. For some reason the winter holidays often get me into a Janus state. <br><br>What happened? What is going to happen? What did we do? What are we going to do? What did we learn? What part of it will we use? Blah. Blah. Blah.<br><br>Recently, during a Janus moment, the realization came that something new may be needed to cover up my shortcomings as a guitar player. My musical talents do not allow for standing in one place and relying on guitar-playing prowess to entertain anybody. <br><br>Now, you may ask, “Don’t a lot of guitarists stand around in one place? Just look at the jazz guys and some other surf bands.” The likely answer to that is, “They are perfect enough that they do not feel the need to distract an audience.” Another possible answer is, “They believe that the purity of the music alone is what an audience wants or deserves.”<br><br>As you have read here before, perfection in live musical performances is not for the Lava Pups as long as I have a guitar in my hands. We are neither perfect enough nor deliverers of musical purity.<br><br>Thinking about that something to cover up for my less than stellar playing brought back the memories of distractions that were tried, but failed. Guitar face was a real dud. An old man’s face twisted up and contorted like he is trying to pass a kidney stone only focuses attention on shortcomings. Walking out into the audience was another disaster. It only proved how bad I can be. Standing in one place and trying to exude an aloof cool. Oh, isn’t that where this started?<br><br>Then I harkened back to an 80s documentary. <em>The Kids Are United</em> presented parts of the 1978 Reading Festival in England, when punk first met mainstream rock at what was then known as the National Jazz and Blues Festival. Sham 69 and The Jam on Friday; Foreigner and Squeeze on Sunday. Watching it now reminds me how tastes change. What I thought was a cool documentary in the 80s seems pretty poor now.<br><br>What I remembered most from <em>The Kids Are United</em> was The Jam’s performance. Paul Weller and Bruce Foxton seemed to be airborne throughout. They jumped. Sometimes Bruce Foxton hopped leading up to a jump. That movie was the first time that I noticed rockers jumping. Sure, photos exist of Pete Townsend in which he seems to be six feet off the deck. But for me, The Jam jumping marked a new observation. It was a departure from preening, pouting guitarists or some guitarist with eyes uplifted as if in search of divine inspiration or Chuck Berry's hokey duck walk.<br><br>Robert, who does not need to distract anybody from his playing, jumps occasionally. In fact, during our 12 minutes at the Battle of the Surf Bands, he landed no less than eight jumps. He makes jumping look surprisingly easy. He times his landings to fit the music. Robert is proof that jumping is not limited to the really young.<br><br>Inspired by Robert, memories of The Jam, and the need to add to our schtick, I took a leap without a guitar. I am not sure of whether I was airborne at all. But whatever happened, it was not Air Jordan. The time between up and hitting the ground seemed imperceptible. Age? Weight? I tried it again attempting to hurl my fat ass off the ground and lift my knees.<br><br>Oh, oh. What was that noise? Why does my back hurt? Did Becky just say, "What happens if you break a hip?" Maybe this was not such a good idea!</span><br><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/22745142013-12-22T14:16:29-08:002017-01-13T16:30:26-08:00Rock 'N Roll Hall of Fame to Power Chord Inventor: Nope!<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/572a03af10889e3355c6ab510dff8876702d12aa/medium/linkwray-2.jpg?1387749898" class="size_m justify_right border_medium" alt="" /><br>How is this for a rock ‘n roll resume? He is credited with inventing the power chord -- a staple of rock ‘n roll. He was one of the first, if not the first, guitarists to use distortion -- a staple of much rock ‘n roll. He had the first rock instrumental banned from radio airplay -- surely a sign of rock ‘n roll attitude. He influenced Peter Townsend, Jimmy Page, Eric Clapton, and Neil Young -- rock hall of famers.<br><br>With a resume like that, this artist should be shoo in first ballot inductee to Cleveland's Rock ‘N Roll Hall of Fame. If that is what you think, you are wrong!<br><br>This begs the question of who were the other more influential -- more important rockers -- who will be inducted in 2014. The answer is -- the envelope please . . . ta da -- Hall & Oates, Cat Stevens, Peter Gabriel, Linda Ronstadt, Kiss, and Nirvana. Huh? Except for Nirvana, you must be shaking your head in disbelief. Even though it influenced nobody of consequence, Kiss at least could be considered a band of rockers -- attitude, distortion, and power chords. <br><br>The others? Pablum. Pop. Millions of records or CDs, but not many power chords. Not much rock ‘n roll attitude. How many aspiring rockers out there today are thinking, “Wow, I want to be badass like Hall & Oates?”<br><br>Bob Seger wrote and sang, “Rock ‘n Roll Never Forgets.” But he misjudged how quickly rock ‘n roll really forgets. Clearly, a glittering resume can be forgotten. Contributions that still endure can be forgotten. Influencing a great generation of rockers can be forgotten.<br><br>Last week, the Rock ‘N Roll Hall of Fame decided that Fred Lincoln Wray, Jr. was not worthy of induction. Maybe the selectors did not want somebody named “Fred Lincoln” in their august ranks. Wait, that was shortened to “Link.” How could they exclude Link Wray? How could they exclude anybody with his resume? How could they exclude anybody who influenced the rockers that he did?<br><br>That, my friends, proves that our memories are short and, contrary to anything written by Bob Seger, rock ‘n roll forgets. At one time, a whole generation of rockers wanted to be badass like Link Wray. They followed his lead and broke away from existing musical conventions. Without his influence, you have to wonder how 1960s rock would have sounded.<br><br>Link Wray wrote and performed “Rumble” in 1958. Edgy. Ominous. Rough. Simple. Dangerously subversive. Iggy Pop claims that hearing “Rumble” called him to pursue music as a career. Bob Dylan referred to it as the best instrumental ever. Pete Townsend said, “If it hadn’t been for Link Wray and ‘Rumble,’ I would have never picked up a guitar.” How many future rockers will say something similar about Hall & Oates or any of their singles?<br><br>Clearly, the Rock ‘N Roll Hall of Fame has forgotten the roots of rock. Maybe it should change its name to the "Pop Music Hall of Fame." The Hall once was on my list of places to see. But now I know that Stiv Bators and the Dead Boys were right when introducing “Ain’t Nothing To Do” on <em>Night of the Living Dead Boys</em>: “This song’s about Cleveland.”<br><br>I have to agree that there ain't nothing to do in Cleveland unless you want to be badass like Hall & Oates.<br><br><iframe class="justify_inline" data-video-type="youtube" data-video-id="CIzBPadbxc8" data-video-thumb-url="http://img.youtube.com/vi/CIzBPadbxc8/0.jpg" type="text/html" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/CIzBPadbxc8?rel=0&wmode=transparent&enablejsapi=1" frameborder="0" height="300" width="430" allowfullscreen="true"></iframe></span><br><br><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/22324972013-12-14T14:29:39-08:002017-01-13T16:30:26-08:00Nothing Teaches Like Playing Live<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/cb1266bc5a723009375f444a82103702658e12b9/medium/img-3024.jpg?1387059361" class="size_m justify_left border_medium" alt="" />By now, loyal readers know Robert’s mantra: “Nothing teaches like playing live.” Somehow it gets twisted into a euphemism for “stuff happens.” This may be the right time to confess that Robert’s mantra is not as cockamamie as it seems. <br><br>As we packed up at Old Ironsides a couple of Saturdays ago, we were told “how tight” our playing was, that we have “come a long way,” and that we were “way better than before.” A talented LA musician said that we were “better than expected.” Of course, we who see the glass as half full believe these to be compliments. Those who see the glass half empty see such statements as confirming how bad we were before.<br><br>No matter whether the glass is half full or half empty, we have learned not to say something like, “How can you say that? I missed the [fill in the blank] in the second verse of . . . .” Playing live has taught us to say, “Thank you. We hope that you had fun.” After all, stuff happens.<br><br>Of course, playing live also means that we make mistakes. Sure, we should learn from our mistakes. Unfortunately, type A folks and perfectionists focus on mistakes. So do critics. But fear of making -- or playing only to correct -- mistakes stifles creativity. Playing live requires playing through mistakes. We have learned that very few people really expect perfection. Fun is more important.<br><br>Sometimes playing live means taking chances. We have learned by taking chances. Trying to play in the dark does not work. Thinking that I can play lead and dance a same time is delusional. Age and being out of shape limit how high a person can jump. You are absolutely correct that sometimes stepping out of our comfort zone results in mistakes. That augers for moderation. But, in the words of Oscar Wilde, “Moderation is a fatal thing. Nothing succeeds like excess.”<br><br>Playing live always exposes weaknesses. A real musician once told me, “You guys would be good if your skills matched your enthusiasm.” Crest fallen, I thought, “Isn’t making a fool of yourself to entertain others a talent?” A good friend said, “Playing simple melodies. Is that all that you do?” Once again, my silent retort was, “We also have fun.”<br><br>So why are we conceding the validity of Robert’s mantra? Contrary to what the naysayers and pessimists say, we have learned to be a band. That is from leaving the Doghouse and playing live. Sure, our skills may not match our enthusiasm. We may not be as experienced or musically perfect as others. But live musical perfection is for the symphony and critics.<br><br>Playing live has taught us that we are what we are -- nothing more. We are not going to be perfect; we measure success on a fun quotient. We are often loud. We are always unsophisticated. We have learned that we do not do subtle well. Precise musicality is not our forte. We may be best when we are on the brink of going out of control. But an audience usually can count on us to be energetic. The Lava Pups are not four people standing still on stage in search of perfection.<br><br>Yes, Robert’s mantra is not far-fetched at all. Truly, nothing teaches like playing live!<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/842260b3b53fcd4ebe77c3c5eb2389366b4538ab/large/oi16.jpg?1387060099" class="size_l justify_center border_medium" alt="" /></span>Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/21417582013-12-01T20:21:48-08:002017-01-13T16:30:26-08:00Half a Millennium and Still Rockin'<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/9639946a15c52c07953a88b792c54fa1e582ca8d/large/oi37.jpg?1385957291" class="size_l justify_center border_medium" alt="" /><br>Subtle as a Flying Mallet. That describes the Lava Pups. Too bad that Dave Edmunds used the phrase in 1975 for an album title. We are the antithesis of subtle or sophisticated -- the anti-subtle -- or . . . . Subtle as a flying mallet!<br><br>The anti-subtle of the Pups and the subtle and sophisticated stylings of Surface Tension wrapped around a cupcake cake made for a rousing show at Old Ironsides. As the two bands loaded in starting at 3:00, the looks on the staff’s faces showed that they expected an entirely laid back afternoon. Gray hair, white hair, little hair, short hair. Relatively small amps; no double stacks; no 500-watt bass heads. The bartender probably was wondering if he needed to send out for Geritol for the bands.<br><br>After Surface Tension set up stools on the Old Ironsides‘ stage, the staff probably believed its expectations were confirmed. But come show time, the place was humming with people. The bar was filled. The “show room” was pretty full with only an area directly in front of the stage open. Suddenly, the bartender was hopping to keep pace with the demand for drinks. This was not going to be a laid-back-pour-a-couple-of-soft-drinks afternoon.<br><br>Surface Tension played its combination of rock and blues. Its set was all original songs carefully crafted to fit the band’s instruments and voices. For the show, a conga was added. Charlie’s vamps and precise riffs spiced up the songs. Eva’s sultry voice contributed to each song -- either as the lead vocalist, a counterpoint, or harmony. I kept thinking, “Nina Simone or Dinah Washington?” Layered harmonies added to the sophistication of the music that had no bass. Its “bottom” was up an octave or more from conventional rock.<br><br>Surface Tension finished to enthusiastic applause. Even though the bar was busy, the staff still figured it was half right in its assessment. The music was distinctively cool, and the delivery certainly had been pretty laid back.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/ff11021706efe7a4341140262a3b49ffc094ab16/medium/oi21.jpg?1385957340" class="size_m justify_left border_medium" alt="" />While the guests drank and, along with the staff, partook in cupcake cake for the Pups’ anniversary and my birthday, Surface Tension’s stools and small PA were replaced with the Lava Pups’ drum kit and instruments fed into the Pup PA -- 220 watts per channel driving 15” speakers. A container of ear plugs was set out. Sue tuned her new solid body uke. Robert tweaked the settings on the PA. I donned sun glasses and a new purple paisley blazer, and the Pups were ready to play.<br><br>Any thought by the staff that this was going to continue to be laid back in any way was put to rest within a few bars of Glenn’s driving beat, Robert’s flourishing bass lines, Sue’s solid rhythm, and the throaty output of my Schecter gold top. The Pups had come to play energy-infused instrumental garage rock. Nothing sophisticated. Nothing subtle. Reverb. Echo. Occasional distortion. A straight-ahead wall of sound interrupted by banter with the audience between songs. <br><br>And this audience was engaged and having fun. They clearly felt our energy and returned it with energy of their own. They responded with “The Ventures” when asked about a northwest band beginning with a V. The audience shouted “Surf Party” in reply to “what kind of party is this.” They danced to “Miserlou.” The entire bar sang along to “Secret Agent Man.” During “Ghost Riders,” people mouthed the words.<br><br>The Lava Pups’ combined ages may be a quarter of a millennium, but we are not ready for the rest home yet. On this Saturday, we played with pure energy and had pure fun. Despite Becky’s cautions, I even drew air with a couple of jumps on the stage. As Robert and I jumped together to end the “Link Wray Medley,” my guitar head stock hit the ceiling (not that hard, it was low). The crowd applauded and cheered.<br><br>Driving home, I mused about how this music stuff had made for some wonderful times and this particular Saturday had been one of the best birthdays ever. Why had it been so long in the making? <br><br>Then I shifted from what might have been philosophical musings to the concrete. We had shown everybody including the staff that we were the anti-subtle -- yeah, subtle as a flying mallet! <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/c804a896743438acfdfb93b14e34dfbdeb330e1e/large/oi8.jpg?1385958053" class="size_l justify_center border_medium" alt="" /></span><br><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/21265332013-11-27T20:15:07-08:002017-01-13T16:30:26-08:00Introducing Surface Tension: Sophisticated, Subtle, and Eclectic<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/66a9db4f348aa3c3c8cb2d57d9417126793386cd/large/aarp-st.jpg?1385611853" class="size_l justify_center border_medium" alt="" /><br>Heading off to a warehouse on 19th between U and V to hear Surface Tension, I pondered, “Can anybody have a warehouse practice space more bitchin’ than the Doghouse?” Soon the answer was clear. Mickey Abbey’s custom glassworks warehouse is unimaginably amazing. It is the anti-buttondown to the Doghouse’s buttoned down order.<br><br>A diverse collection of artifacts, gadgets, and gizmos graces the walls, occupies the floor, and hangs from the rafters. Surface Tension’s practice area is backed by mannequins, cut outs, and pictures. Roy Orbison. Marilyn. A blonde surfer dude. Wonder Woman. A white rabbit. <br><br>The poster and fliers for AARP Saturday are displayed prominently in the practice area and affixed to the refrigerator. AARP Saturday seems especially appropriate for a band that with pride bills itself: “I think I can say with some certainty, that we are Sacramento's oldest band! Oh, no? I defy you to find one that is playing rock and roll, that is older. I like to call us the two thousand year old band!”<br><br>The two thousand year old band may be hyperbolic. But the combined ages of Surface Tension and the Lava Pups exceed half a millennium.<br><br>Surface Tension is Charlie Weiss, Les Haber, Eva Nicholson, Mickey Abbey, and Bob Mamola. Guitars, keyboard, occasional harmonica, and some percussion. No drums. No bass. Bob’s percussive playing provides the underlying metronomic beat for which other bands need drums. Mickey also supplies a solid strumming rhythm on an acoustic electric. Les is multi-instrumental with an emphasis on the keyboard. Charlie seems to be the lead guitar. Eva sings and adds percussion. <br><br>Actually, everybody in the band sings. Charlie, Les, and Eva alternate as featured vocalist. Different voicings for different songs. Between the band members, Surface Tension has a catalog of more than 50 original songs.<br><br>A Sierra Nevada in hand, I sunk into a chair in front of the band as practice started. Immediately, their musicianship was apparent. Tight rhythms from weekly practice sessions. Interchange between the guitars and keyboard. Eva’s sultry voice. Other band members joined in to provide harmonies. The music was a mix of rock and blues with sophistication and subtleness. But like the warehouse, the music had an eclecticism to it that really defied categorization. <br><br>I finished the Sierra Nevada and said, “Wow, that was really good! Have a Happy Thanksgiving. Old Ironsides is going to be a blast.” <br><br>Heading for home, a new thought occurred, “Eclectic, sophisticated, and subtle juxtaposed with Pup music? What a sonic smorgasbord that will be. Yes indeed, Old Ironsides is going to be a blast!”<br><br>Come out and see for yourself. AARP Saturday beginning at 4:00.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/33624d4c795b3fe2a3db3dc6c665ea58090cd06c/large/aarp-cw.jpg?1385611854" class="size_l justify_center border_medium" alt="" /></span><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/21034872013-11-23T19:32:30-08:002017-01-13T16:30:25-08:00Sue's New Uke - This Isn't Your Parents' Ukulele!<span style="color:#000080;">"Priscilla, Queen of the Desert," the stage musical, stopped off in Sacramento recently. Sue had tickets for the Thursday night show. Loyal readers know that the Pups practice on Thursdays. Some people might ask, “You practice to play like that?” Or "You practice and play like that?" But this post is not about condescending skeptics of Pup music.<br><br>Knowing that Sue had a conflict, an email went out. What is a good night to practice? The consensus was Monday. Sue’s further response was, “Great, can’t wait.” That telegraphed that she had something to share.<br><br>Come Monday night, Sue walked into the Doghouse with a downsized version of a Gibson guitar case. This was a departure from the gig bag that housed her uku-tar. One look at the case told us that something special was inside.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/04f40c3d92be02fd17cf9a2bd4eed1af9b49c333/medium/riza.jpg?1385263394" class="size_m justify_left border_medium" alt="" />She did not keep us in suspense long. Actually, the look on her face showed that she was quite proud of whatever was in the case. Sue opened the case to expose her new ukulele. An electric solid-body ukulele.<br><br>Words may not suffice to describe Sue’s find. It looked like a small Les Paul. Mahogany sunburst body. Black and cream pick ups. Pearl inlays on the bound fret board. For you non-guitar geeks, all that you need to know is that this was thing of beauty.<br><br>Sue’s search for a solid-body ukulele began more than six years ago. On our way to see Slacktone at the Hotel Utah in San Francisco, we stopped at a guitar show in San Rafael. The show was a mixed bag of boutique amps and custom guitars and vintage instruments and parts. There, she met a couple of luthiers who made ukuleles. They, however, really did not seem very enthused over her vision.<br><br>An afternoon of Slacktone helped push her to explore her vision further. Sue talked to some guitar builders in Sacramento. Their responses were lukewarm. “The body and the neck are not that hard, but what are you going to do for pickups?” None of the local builders ever made a serious effort to explore whether and what pickups might be available. Why do something difficult or different when "no" is an easy out?<br><br>Sue’s vision was an electric baritone ukulele -- something that would not be drowned out by amplified basses and guitars. She finally yielded to the naysayers, purchased a SE lookalike, and took off the two lowest strings. Sue then had an electric solid-body tenor guitar or baritone ukulele with a long neck -- an imperfect, but functional, solution.<br><br>Monster Mash 2013, however, demonstrated that imperfect, but functional, was problematic. Sue broke a string in the middle of our set -- a learning opportunity. She then realized that having a six-string, short scale guitar in standby was unworkable without disabling or cutting off the two lowest strings. She survived an event -- stuff happens -- that would have caused the melt down of a lesser musician.<br><br>The next day, Sue was on the Internet searching in earnest for a solid-body ukulele. Lo and behold, it was in Folsom -- a mere 20 miles away -- on consignment. It was barely used, still had clear plastic on the pick ups, and came with a case that would cost more than her short scale standby guitar. Her six-year search was over. Despite the naysayers, her vision was fulfilled.<br><br>Check it out for yourself on Saturday afternoon at Old Ironsides. Wow!</span><br><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/20647062013-11-17T17:35:02-08:002017-01-13T16:30:25-08:00AARP Saturday: Gotta Get Home By Bedtime<div class="captioned justify_center"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/332393d4825fcca19e34c58bdc9efce323504adf/medium/poster-11-30-13-half.jpg?1384733745" class="size_orig justify_center border_" alt="" /><p class="caption">Too Tough - Celebrate Another Year!</p></div><span style="color:#000080;">“AARP Saturday?” you ask. It really is a simple concept. Start a show late enough to get the day’s chores done, and end it early enough to enjoy an early bird special dinner and be home for the usual bedtime. Of course, that may sound as far-fetched as a restaurant where you can have a conversation as opposed to a shout fest.<br><br>With the Monster Mash 2013 in the review mirror, November was upon us. That meant the Lava Pups anniversary (<a contents="see our last post" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://lavapups.com/blog/blog/lava-pups-three-years-huh" target="_blank">see our last post</a>). It also meant my birthday was on the horizon. Those should be cause enough for a party.<br><br>Following her “learning opportunity” at the Monster Mash 2013 -- a broken string with an unfamiliar replacement instrument -- Sue splurged and bought an electric solid body baritone ukulele. It looks like a downsized Les Paul. With a sun burst mahogany body, set neck, humbuckers, pickup switch, and four knobs to adjust volume and tone, it is truly an artwork. She was so enthused that she hardly could wait for band practice. That was another cause for a party.<br><br>But by Veterans Day, reality set in. Chaos on the home front left no time to find a place to play. The day-by-day responsibilities of family and profession had trumped the desire for a party. Pup anniversary, birthday, and Sue’s new uke seemingly were going to go uncelebrated publicly.<br><br>By Thursday’s band practice, I was reconciled to this. After a trip through the Taco Bell drive-thru, I arrived at the Doghouse to gulp down two tacos while checking email and Facebook. Next up was making a cup of coffee and hanging up my tie and suit jacket. Freed in part of my professional attire, I could get down on my hands and knees to plug in cords to be ready for practice.<br><br>As I rose to my feet -- that’s harder with age -- Sue and Robert bounded into the Doghouse. They were laughing, smiling, and carrying on -- downright giddy. They either had stopped off for a beer on the way or had something up their sleeves. Sue then announced, “I’ve got a birthday present for you. How about Old Ironsides on your birthday?” <br><br>Old Ironsides! It is truly one of Sacramento’s iconic venues. It is one of the oldest bars in town. It opened in 1934 shortly after Prohibition ended. Old Ironsides is a venue where surf bands like Slacktone, the Hypnotic IV, and Pollo del Mar have performed. <br><br>I replied, “Wow! That could be one of the best birthdays ever.” Under my breath, I muttered, “And I have had a bunch of birthdays.”<br><br>“Well, we’re about 98% sure it will happen. Your job this weekend will be to get out some save-the-date emails and get a poster together. We’re working on a late afternoon show -- 4 or 4:30ish -- and out by 6:30.”<br><br>I thought, “Hey, this will work out for many of my friends. They are nearly as old as I and like to get to bed early.” A burst of energy accompanied that thought. Visions of a poster flashed into my mind. How about a old turkey that is too tough to make the Thanksgiving dinner table ala the Foster chicken wannabes?<br><br>An upcoming gig breathed life into our practice. We always practice better when we have visible goal. The prospect of Old Ironsides also changed our banter. We joked about the starting time. The more we talked about it, the more spirited Robert became.<br><br>After awhile, he shared his nascent vision with us. “AARP Saturday. If we pull this off, maybe it can be a start of . . . AARP Saturdays!” Whoa.</span><br><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/20306642013-11-14T06:00:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:25-08:00Lava Pups: Three Years - Huh?<div class="captioned justify_center"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/09b78a770c22284e497626041411e9360677406c/original/gkwnwcki3a-urt53hkya7tfud0jighr9gduvd7chy9w-iviunl6ffopwgtjhbx-qeprt2xevmnuapb-qmwcjxa4-qojuiplg413xayrvgxcbl4qyxz96nwvnb6adbhrlrba.jpg?1382580505" class="size_orig justify_center border_" /><p class="caption">Photo by Sean Flansbaum</p></div><br><br><span style="color:#000080;">Holy smokes! From a conceptual art project to . . . . How about a band photo and a professionally shot video? Really, who knows what is next. This is still a work in progress. <br><br>On November 14, 2010, Don “Jet Blue” Bazinet, Paul the Pyronaut, Glenn Kohlmeister, and I gathered at the Doghouse to go through the eight songs that became <em>Into the Flow</em>. At that time, it was more a conceptual art project than a music project. Write songs. Do the artwork. Record. Release. Play the CD once for friends and family. And it would be finished. Viewers and listeners would attend the “opening” and maybe take a few pictures; the tangible work would be gone. Everything then would be left to imagination and memory -- eventually, distant memories.<br><br>In the ensuing three years, the conceptual art project has morphed into a band. Last year, Robert “Kool Kat” Kuhlmann and my sister, Sue, joined Glenn and me. We developed our own sound with our own idiosyncrasies -- garage surf played with an edge and a bit of irreverence. The Lava Pups are not hemmed in by the boundaries of traditional surf music. <br><br>Over the last year, every time that we played was fun. We found that audiences have a way of providing energy and validating efforts. But, as the Kool Kat says, “nothing teaches like playing live” -- that is musician talk for "stuff happens." So we had our teaching moments like equipment baking in the hot sun, reacting to dead cables, and adjusting to different venues. The learning moments pale next to the exhilaration of some incredibly amazing times. None of those times would have been part of any conceptual art project. <br><br>None of those times was even imagined on November 14, 2010. Had somebody said in 2010 that the Lava Pups would play at an event -- or a couple of events -- with a thousand people present, the response have been, “If you believe that, we know where you can get a good deal on the I Street Bridge.” Open for Slacktone would have generated, “We hear that both the Capitol and I Street Bridges are for sale.” Open for Dick Dale, you would have heard, “If you believe that, you should buy the Golden Gate Bridge, which is for sale . . . cheap.”<br><br>From conceptual art project to where we are today has been quite a journey -- unexpected to say the least. Glenn, Robert, and Sue have made it an absolute blast, as has every person who came out to see the Lava Pups play. Without those who came to see us, there would be no live music and certainly no Pup music.<br><br>Fortunately, we have had a support group of families and friends. They participated in our ups and downs and provided needed reality checks. We also have been lucky to have people share ideas with us, look at our website, buy our CD, come to see us, and understand that we play to have fun. Early on, we had the good fortune that some people let us play even though we had little or no experience under our belts.<br><br>On this third anniversary of the Pups, we want to thank everybody for making the last three years exciting and so much fun.<br><br>Finally, I will end this post like last year’s. I want to thank our Dads who gave us the freedom and inspiration to find our own ways and do whatever we wanted to do. Who would have thought we would have done what we have done over the last three years? I didn’t. But maybe my Dad is looking down and saying, “See what you can do if you just put your mind to it. Dreams should be lived.” I only wish that he had had the opportunity to see Sue and me play some rock ‘n roll.</span><br><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/20282002013-11-11T13:40:25-08:002017-01-13T16:30:25-08:00Veterans Day 2013 - A Starbucks Moment?<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/959b288fee77a98ef247ed1408665daa6bc96b6f/large/veterans.jpg?1384206460" class="size_l justify_center border_medium" alt="" /><br>Veterans and spouses of veterans, Starbucks is recognizing your service with a free drink today. A veteran and spouse can sit in their local Starbucks and commiserate about their and others’ service. Yes, this is an opportunity for a Starbucks moment. The only spoiler is that this offer is limited to one drink per customer.<br><br>Over the last few years, Veterans Day seems to be making a comeback. For some period of time -- I am not sure exactly when -- Veterans Day was a forgotten holiday. It was not recognized by employers. The media gave it short shrift. Few cared about the day anymore.<br><br>But the United States has been at war since “Operation Enduring Freedom” in October 2001. Despite proclamations of victory and troop withdrawals, we still are at war and have a generation of veterans of the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. Maybe, this has revived Veterans Day.<br><br>Today’s <em>Sacramento Bee</em> showed the age range of veterans to be honored this Veterans Day. Having a current war always allows the media to feature smooth-faced young people who become adults under extremely difficult circumstances. The soldiers, sailors, and Marines involved in Afghanistan and Iraq today often are freshly out of high school or college. The <em>Bee</em> thus could feature the veterans in camouflage fatigues returning to celebratory families of school-aged children<br><br>The <em>Bee</em> also included an article on World War II veterans. Their numbers are dwindling. After all, a new conscript or recruit -- 17 or 18 years old -- in 1945 is 85 or 86 today. The Nazis surrendered in March 1945, and the United States launched the “nuclear age” in August 1945. Once smooth-faced, wide-eyed innocents, the survivors of World War II are winkled and clearly no longer innocent. They have replaced the seemingly elderly veterans of World War I -- and even the Spanish-American War -- who marched in the Armistice Day Parade when I was a child.<br><br>Originally, Veterans Day was Armistice Day. On November 11, 1918, at 11:00 a.m., the Allies and Germany signed the armistice to cease hostilities on the Western Front. That marked the beginning of the end of the “War to End War.” That, however, was a fanciful and short-lived dream. War did not end. A little more than 20 years later, the Nazis were in full flourish unleashing World War II upon Europe. A couple of years later, the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. World War II ended up being fought in Europe, Asia, Africa, and the Pacific. In the end, that war brought on the nuclear age and the Cold War.<br><br>After World War II, some politicians wanted to make Armistice Day more inclusive. In 1954, it became Veterans Day. Since World War II and in addition to wars in Korea, Vietnam, and Kuwait and invasions of Grenada, Panama, Iraq, and Afghanistan, we have had “wars” on poverty, drugs, and terror. Seemingly, since World War II, we have had never-ending war. Even the Soviet Union’s self-destruction in 1991 did not bring an end to war.<br><br>Never-ending war means a never-ending need for soldiers, sailors, and Marines. Young men and women fill that need. They take on a job created inevitably by events and philosophies that were beyond their control. At times, they were conscripted. Some times, they were forced into service by judges, poverty, or unemployment. Often, they volunteered out of patriotism, a sense of duty, or the desire to serve their fellow Americans. We even have offered them incentives in the form of signing, re-enlistment, and post-service education bonuses.<br><br>No matter how they became soldiers, sailors, or Marines, they gave up some part of -- or all of -- their lives for what somebody thought was the greater good. They did what we as an electorate ordered them to do. Nearly all did so honorably.<br><br>Today is a day to remember the sacrifices made by young men and women who served us and the sacrifices also made by their parents, spouses, partners, and children. But while you are remembering veterans’ sacrifices, you might give some thought to what we should do for them. And a light bulb just might go on: A Starbucks moment is minuscule in the big picture.</span><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/19801522013-11-03T15:47:46-08:002017-01-13T16:30:25-08:00Monster Mash 2013 -- What a Difference a Year Makes!<div class="captioned justify_center"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/3eeee3a6523c13451e6e518c420df93bec55157a/large/img-3062.jpg?1383520962" class="size_orig justify_center border_" alt="" /><p class="caption">Sneaky Tikis and Pups Together Again</p></div><br><br><span style="color:#000080;">One week ago, our annual pre-Halloween graveyard smash came to the historic Capitol Bowl. Monster Mash 2013! was an afternoon of costumes, kids, bowling, contests, eating, drinking, and -- above all -- fun.<br><br>Comparing last year’s Monster Mash to Monster Mash 2013 probably is not very enlightening. This year, we had more adults and kids over the course of the afternoon. This proves that the print media are not dead yet; the event made the top 8 gigs in both the <em>Bee</em> and the <em>News & Review</em>. Last year, more people came in costumes. We learned that fewer Halloween parties were attended the night before the 2012 Mash; being both vertical and in costume after a party the night before was asking too much. This year, we had many more bowlers. The lanes were full; maybe people finally have figured out that bowling is relatively inexpensive family entertainment. Last year, we had more dancers. Of course, that relates to how many people are in costume. Once you put on a costume, you are anonymous or at least somebody else. This year, we had better hula hoopers. Had we not declared a tie, our winning hula hoopers still would be going today -- a week later. <br><br>The bottom line, however, was that this year and last year ended up in a dead heat on the fun quotient! And I got to wear a wig, a different outlandish coat, and a garish -- actually, extremely garish -- simulated rhinestone skull ring. My costume was Amadeus meets Mark Lindsay at the Pirates of the Caribbean ride.<br><br>The big difference between last year and this year was that the Rockabilly Love Cats, Sneaky Tikis, and Lava Pups are a year wiser. Practice and gigging made for three bands that knocked the ball out of the park. A baseball metaphor is appropriate because the World Series was still underway. All three bands still are perfecting their schticks. Over the course of a year, some of us had learned what works and what does not.<br><br>In the “nothing teaches like playing live” department, the Kool Kat and I learned that we are not very good a impromptu standup. "Suck" may be a better description. The Rockabilly Love Cats were done. The Sneaky Tikis had played. Our hula hoop and costume contests were finished, and prizes awarded. The Pups successfully pulled off “Ghostbusters.” We were on a roll.<br><br>And then . . . and then . . . . Sue broke a string. As I was about to launch us headlong into “Rumble,” the Kool Kat exclaimed, “Wait! Wait!” What? Sue was off to grab her back up guitar -- 6 strings, not 4. While she and the Kool Kat fiddled with tuning and disabling 2 of the strings. I gabbed into the microphone. Becky ran her hand across her throat to indicate “shut up, fool.” But Sue and the Kool Kat were still fiddling around. What was I to do -- just stand there in stunned silence?<br><br>The Nagging Little Voice, which had been silent for awhile now, decided to join Becky. “Shut up or come up with something funnier.” I answered back -- inaudibly, thank goodness -- “stuff happens. You shut up.” <br><br>Finally, we were ready to play. We did. The crowd had fun. We brought the Sneaky Tikis up to close out the show. Monster Mash 2013! was in the books. And, as hoped, it was a graveyard smash.<br><br>As we packed up, somebody asked, "Why didn't you do the 'Monster Mash'?" My response was, "We got behind. Come back next year, and we will sing it just for you."</span><br><br> <div class="captioned justify_left"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/224fed5abf48f8f48b7e0df2662e931974a0ba84/medium/img-2994.jpg?1383522225" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="Jillian - Kid's Costume Winner" /><p class="caption">Jillian - Kid's Costume Winner</p></div>
<div class="captioned justify_right"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/3c8034759d2631d1a097657258f8c6023e3d7f84/large/img-3012.jpg?1383522364" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="Adult Finalists" /><p class="caption">Adult Finalists</p></div>Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/18890632013-10-23T19:13:42-07:002017-01-13T16:30:25-08:00Who You Gonna Call?<div class="captioned justify_center"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/09b78a770c22284e497626041411e9360677406c/original/gkwnwcki3a-urt53hkya7tfud0jighr9gduvd7chy9w-iviunl6ffopwgtjhbx-qeprt2xevmnuapb-qmwcjxa4-qojuiplg413xayrvgxcbl4qyxz96nwvnb6adbhrlrba.jpg?1382580505" class="size_orig justify_center border_" /><p class="caption">Photo by Sean Flansbaum</p></div><br><br><span style="color:#000080;">“Who you gonna call?” That surely is not grammatically correct. Does “whom are you going to call” sound better? But lyrics are not intended to survive <em>Strunk & White</em> scrutiny. After all, lyrics seek to convey feeling, emulate daily speech, reflect trends, or maybe create a new idiom.<br><br>On Saturday at Safetyville’s Halloween Haunt, we heard “who you gonna call” several hundred times. The Lava Pups had the privilege of being the live band for the event. More than a thousand children and parents came to wander Safetyville’s streets, participate in games, show off their costumes, and be entertained by the Rappin’ Ratz, Trevor the MC and Magician, and the Lava Pups.<br><br>In between the scheduled entertainment, Safetyville’s public address system belted out a Halloween CD, which included the “Monster Mash,” the “Addams Family,” “They’re Comin’ To Take Me Away,” and “Ghostbusters.” After five hours, the “Ghostbusters” refrain -- “Who you gonna call? Ghostbusters!” -- was firmly implanted in our brains. It will not be eradicated easily.<br><br>Safetyville’s compilation included at least four versions of the “Monster Mash,” one of which reminded me of the Flying Lizards. The Flying Lizards? They were a New Wave one hit wonder with their monotone, non-garage version of “Money (That’s What I Want).” But no Google search attributes any “Monster Mash” variant to them.<br><br>The Kool Kat says, “Nothing teaches like playing live.” This may be some kind of musician’s zen. Or a euphemism for “don’t get too comfortable, stuff happens.” At 10:30, the sun already was blazing as we set up on the stage in front of the Capitol -- Safetyville's reduced size replica. Nothing shaded the stage on this unseasonably hot October day.<br><br>When we took the stage at noon, my first thought was whether our amps and effects had melted. A rag placed on the seat saved Glenn from third degree burns to his buttocks. A tee shirt draped over my pedal board and wireless receiver meant that they could be touched. The bright sun made any lights nearly unreadable. Kneeling over the pedal tuner shaded it enough to read dots but not letters. Tuning was reduced to hit a string and turn a peg until a red light showed.<br><br>By the second song into the set, we realized that I was out of tune. “Technical difficulties.” Kneel over the tuner. Red light. Start again. Still out of tune. Robert shaded my pedal tuner this time. We barely could make out the letters. Oh . . . I had tuned my G-string to G sharp. Yes, indeed, stuff happens.<br><br>The sun was unrelenting. The heat -- and it was only in the mid-80s -- caused our instruments to go out of tune. Despite avoiding burnt buttocks, Glenn could not grab his cymbals to mute them. They were too hot to touch!<br><br>But we were learning. As the Kool Kat said, “nothing teaches like playing live.” The audience really did not care. And once we overcame the G sharp issue, the audience was oblivious to whatever else was happening to us. Kids were dancing. Some were fully costumed. Others had stripped away parts of their costumes to find relief from the heat. The kids knew the moves to make during “Miserlou.” They were too young to be inhibited. They felt the groove and danced.<br><br>Everybody was having fun. In true Pup style, we were not about to be outdone by any recorded version of “Ghostbusters.” We were ready for the Halloween Haunt. I announced, “Here’s one that you can help us with!” Sue started up. Robert and Glenn came in. Then my guitar. We were breaking out of our comfort zone. The audience participation was not rousing. But by the end of the song, I could shout-say, “Who you gonna call?” A few folks joined Robert and Sue in responding. “Ghostbusters!” Who you gonna call? . . .</span><br><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/18899322013-10-20T21:08:39-07:002017-01-13T16:30:25-08:00Plugging the Rockabilly Love Cats<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/0f5f03c9d0bced2ce62efc95c7b1c5e779d72ace/medium/lovecat.jpg?1382321704" class="size_m justify_right border_medium" alt="" />With Monster Mash 2013 a week away, the Rockabilly Love Cats deserve a plug. The combination of Ivan, Lucas, and Rob is a family affair of sorts. Ivan and Rob are father and son. Lucas and Ivan are cousins -- 15 to 20 years apart. I am not sure what that makes Rob and Lucas other than they are related and closer in age.<br><br>As the band name makes clear, the Rockabilly Love Cats play rockabilly music. Like many of the early rockabilly performers, the band relies on percussive bass and guitar for its underlying rhythm and beat. No drums required. Lucas plays bass. Rob handles the electric guitar duties on a Gretsch hollowbody -- the essence of rockabilly style.<br><br>Ivan sings and does duty on an acoustic electric. As the frontman for the Rockabilly Love Cats, he is engaging and mischievous. With a twinkle in his eye, Ivan will announce, “Good evening, we just flew in from Hollywood.” Hollywood? Get real. Ivan, Lucas, and Rob are from Grass Valley.<br><br>Ivan also has the “look” -- that is, rockabilly style. Flaired sideburns precisely cut at the bottom. Neatly combed and pomaded pompadour. Skinny tie and narrow lapeled jacket. Black slacks. Blue suede shoes. An occasional snear.<br><br>Ivan’s look and personality define the band. Rob and Lucas are the perfect sidemen. Rob, who usually plays lead in the Sneaky Tikis, is a precise and creative picker on the big box Gretsch. He moves easily up and down the guitar’s neck. His licks and double stops compliment Ivan’s singing and also provide fills between verses.<br><br>Lucas -- rhythm guitar for the Sneaky Tikis -- is perfect for the Rockabilly Love Cats’ music. He provides the bottom and keeps the bass line moving. Rockabilly bass requires an active player. Single notes do not work. Walking lines do. Lucas’ surf rhythm sense serves the Rockabilly Love Cats well -- percussive and substantial.<br><br>Rob’s and Lucas’ musicality provide the foundation for Ivan’s vocals. His voice is perfect for songs made famous by Johnny Burnette, Gene Vincent, and Carl Perkins. Ivan takes on Elvis Presley songs without the lower range found in much of the King’s work. By doing that, Ivan makes those songs his own. But traditional rockabilly underlies every song the band performs.<br><br>Despite Ivan’s large personality and style, the Rockabilly Love Cats are a work in progress. Their line-up finally is settled. Rob and Lucas just are beginning to work into their roles. Ivan kept his love for performing contained for years.<br><br>Fortunately, the cork now is out of the bottle, and we are all better off for that. Check out the Rockabilly Love Cats when they join the Sneaky Tikis and Pups for Monster Mash 2013!<br><br>We bet that you will glad you did.</span><br><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/18530522013-10-15T06:30:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:25-08:00Monster Mash 2013: To Wig or Not To Wig<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/56142100ea53dae2df2c010f4f4e71334646c36e/medium/paulrevere.jpg?1381808258" class="size_m justify_right border_medium" alt="" />Are you bored yet? This wig saga is taking more space and time than it deserves. In real time, It was testing my low patience quotient. Finding a frigging wig should be easy.<br><br>Immediately in front of Evangeline’s, Becky was waiting in the car. The windows were down for her to enjoy a beautiful Fall morning. She was texting, emailing, and doing iPhone things. She looked out the passenger side window and asked, “Did you find something?” I gritted my teeth and gave a terse reply, “No. I need to come up with a new idea.” <br><br>Time was running out. Promoting the gig was taking a second seat to figuring out what to wear. Practicing was taking a second seat to figuring out what to wear. All of this time was being spent on something that should be simple and readily available . . . a frigging wig.<br><br>During the five-minute drive to the Doghouse, a new vision came: Mark Lindsay. You may ask, “Who is Mark Lindsay?” Actually, given the passage of time, almost everybody probably will ask, “Who is Mark Lindsay?” So it is a fair question that deserves an answer. Mark Lindsay was the frontman for Paul Revere and the Raiders.<br><br>Paul Revere and the Raiders? Don’t ask. The answer might send me off on some tangent that would end up including a repeat of our Louie Louie posts from March of last year. For the wig saga, all that you need to know is that Paul Revere and the Raiders wore colonial soldier costumes with three-corner hats. That might be pretty cool. Plus, I could add a white wig for the soldier-statesman look.<br><br>On my return to Evangeline’s Costume Mansion, I was directed to the Saloon and a rack of colonial costumes. I worked my way through the rack. Ben Franklin. George Washington. Colonial gentleman. Aha, colonial soldier. Blue coat with white lapels, a bit of red trim, and gold buttons. It could have been stolen from Paul Revere and the Raiders. “Do you have any size other than an adult large?” “I don’t think so. Just give it a try” After I struggled to get the coat around my shoulders, Becky looked at the back and said, “too small.” Alas, she was right. So much for that vision.<br><br>The clerk could see the dejection on my face. Plus, my imagination was frustrated and exhausted. Why conjure up a vision just to strike out? The clerk said, “Maybe you can find something in the Renaissance Room.” In a lowered voice, I asked, “Do they have costumes for fat people in there?” The clerk kindly said, “You’re built like my dad. Not fat. Just big.”<br><br>Off we went to the Renaissance Room. “Do you carry anything for big people?” The clerk charged with overseeing the Renaissance Room replied, “Let’s look. We might have something.” As she led us past togas, I thought, "Oh, oh, this could be a scene out of <em>Animal House</em>." She then gestured . . . .<br><br>To find out how this ends, you will have to attend Monster Mash 2013! at the Capitol Bowl on October 27th.</span><br><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/18439252013-10-13T08:53:06-07:002017-01-13T16:30:25-08:00Wigs: Too Tall, Too Soft, Too Small . . . .<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/8a36808a2d4e8cd92c4ad896da362d4d81517e9e/medium/badhairday.jpg?1380500885" class="size_m justify_right border_thin" alt="" />How about bit of a recap? The Pups are one week away from the Safetyville Halloween Haunt. Two weeks away from Monster Mash 2013. Last year’s wig is beyond styling. Worst of all, it stinks from the combination of hair glue, hair spray, and paint that did not provide enough holding power to last an afternoon.<br><br>No suitable wig was readily available on the Internet. A visit to the upscale -- and hip -- hair salon (and spa) near the office led primarily to being identified as a suspected cross-dresser. And to the suggestion to go to Evangeline’s Costume Mansion.<br><br>Evangeline’s is an Old Sacramento institution. Originally, the store occupied the street floor of the Howard House on K Street. It was a store that offered hard to find, trendy, generally inexpensive kitsch merchandise. If you needed a joke gift, racy cards, or something different, Evangeline’s was the place. The store found its niche quickly and has remained true to that.<br><br>In the early years of Evangeline’s, Old Sacramento was the center of Sacramento’s nightlife. Every night, young professionals, lobbyists, and others arrived to participate in the alcohol-fueled, worry-free hedonism that pre-dated STDs, AIDS, and MADD. That scene eventually changed; after all, the young and cool generally are fickle.<br><br>Now, Evangeline’s occupies the entire Howard Building and the Lady Adams Building next door. The store’s niche business is on the street level. The basement that once housed a law office and Sacramento’s coolest hair salon provides storage and staging for the retail operation above. The Costume Mansion occupies the top two floors. In the halcyon days of Old Sacramento, D.O. Mills was there -- two bars and a restaurant that buzzed with loud conversation and music.<br><br>The wig counter is on the third floor. I described my vision. Hair standing straight up with an angled or flat top. “We have a fade but it probably won’t hold its shape.” The clerk then showed me last year’s model. “Nope, tried that. You are right. It doesn’t hold its shape.” <br><br>After scanning the selection displayed on the back wall, a potential choice was identified. “How about the mega afro?” “Do you want to try it on?” “Sure.” “That will be 25 cents.” I paid my quarter and was handed an under-wig cap. The mega afro was too tall. <br><br>“How about a beehive?” Too soft. “How about Frankenstein’s wife?” Too small. With that, we had exhausted the possibilities. “Can the beehive be styled?” “Not really. But you can go on Youtube and see how to dye it.” That would make it black and gray but too soft.<br><br>I left the wig counter wigless. On the second floor, Evangeline’s owner asked if I found what I wanted, and we discussed my vision. “I don’t know where you can get that around here. If you had more time, I know somebody in L.A. that could come up with exactly what you want.” <br><br>If you had more time . . . . Oh, well.<br><br>The time had come to conjure up another vision, and the saga continues . . . .</span><br><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/18390302013-10-11T19:33:40-07:002017-01-13T16:30:25-08:00Wig Tales<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/4c7f985b677217be6e1bd4d591875199a3ef8f26/medium/10-27-13.jpg?1381038291" class="size_m justify_right border_" />Suddenly, Monster Mash 2013 is less than three weeks away. October 27th is approaching faster than I thought. October 19th -- an afternoon of playing for kids at Safetyville -- is even sooner. Yikes, that is less than two weeks away. What originally seemed like lots of time really isn’t. Time flies when you are not paying attention.<br><br>The wig search began in earnest last week. Earlier resolutions to solve the Halloween hair problem sooner rather than later were not kept. October was here already, and the toxic mess from last year was all I had. But it was not going back on my head.<br><br>As I passed an ostensibly upscale hair salon -- it has to be upscale because it has a spa -- near the office, some wigs on a shelf caught my eye. Additionally, a couple of days before, I noticed a stylist working on a wig. Could this be a fortuitous solution? Were the wigs there for decoration? Or to advertise “wigs for sale”? What would be the harm of asking?<br><br>So I walked in, approached the two young women behind the counter, and asked, “Do you sell wigs?” The answer was direct and immediate, “No.” <br><br>As the follow-up question passed my lips, the looks on their faces suggested that they might be misunderstanding the nature of my inquiries. Of course, what look would you really expect when a grown man wearing a stylish tie snugged at the neck and sport coat says, “I’m looking for a wig that can be styled into a bouffant”?<br><br>Yeah, the looks on their faces told me that they were envisioning a 6’2” middle-aged man sporting a Dusty Springfield beehive wig, falsies, fake eye lashes, and a spaghetti strapped gown. As they were hipsters managing a salon -- and, don't forget, spa -- catering to enlightened professional women and the young and the chic, they did not cut me off. Rather, they were going to help, “Are you looking for real or synthetic hair?”<br><br>With that, I could feel that this was leading to some suggestion that was beyond my price point. But before going there, they needed to be disabused on their initial impression. “Oh, I’m in a rock 'n roll band and need something for Halloween gigs.” With that, they knew I was not working on a costume for an upcoming LGBT event and, despite my button-downed appearance, was semi-cool enough to play in a band.<br><br>“Well, I want something that is relatively inexpensive.” My other criteria then followed: capable of styling and restyling, will not fall apart when teased a bit, holds its body, and can be colored to blend with my natural hair. “You’re not going to find that easily. Maybe you should just look for a costume wig.” <br><br>No fortuitous solution came of this. That meant a trip to Evangeline’s Costume Mansion in Old Sacramento was on the horizon.<br><br>The saga continues . . . .</span><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/17393762013-09-29T17:29:01-07:002017-01-13T16:30:25-08:00Monster Mash 2013 - Another Bad Hair Day on its Way?<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/cae3fdaf4a088a847e897d276d1c7202f3e1b8a8/large/img-2589.jpg" class="size_xl justify_center border_medium" alt="" /><br><br>Dear Loyal Readers (and Not-So-Loyal Readers),<br><br>The Monster Mash is coming back! We’re shooting for something bigger and better than last year’s inaugural pre-Halloween party. We are not so pretentious that we will use Roman numerals. “Monster Mash II” clearly is not our style. But we have high hopes that the historic Capitol Bowl will be rockin’ again.<br><br>Costumes, prizes, music, fun - all for free admission. If you part with a few dollars here and there, you have food, drink, and bowling. You even might dance. Last year, more than a hundred revelers joined the Sneaky Tikis, Rockabilly Love Cats, and the Pups. Cash Bobby Dickson, a professional musician, helped sing “The Monster Mash.” The afternoon truly was a graveyard smash.<br><br>Last year’s Monster Mash marked the debut of the Hawaiian tux. At the Battle of the Surf Bands, the Kool Kat described it as made of couch fabric. But we all know that nobody would put that pattern on a couch. How could you decorate around it?<br><br>Last year, I donned a wig - cheap and synthetic - that had been teased out and saturated with hair glue and hair spray. The goal was for the hair to stand straight up - stiff like a soldier at attention. Some touches of silver paint were added to reduce the contrast between the pure black of the synthetic “hair” and my formerly black natural hair. The whole look was rather outlandish.<br><br>But it was a Halloween party. If you cannot dress up for that, you are destined for a buttoned-down life.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/8a36808a2d4e8cd92c4ad896da362d4d81517e9e/medium/badhairday.jpg" class="size_m justify_right border_thin" alt="" />The hair glue, hair spray, and paint lacked true holding power. Maybe varathane or shellack would have helped. By the end of the afternoon, the wig had lost its body. I was having a bad hair day. Moreover, the combination of hair glue, hair spray, and paint emitted a less than pleasant smell - a noxious odor that persists even today. I cannot set up the PA at the Doghouse without wondering if the wig is toxic and threatening the Pups’ longevity.<br><br>With the upcoming Monster Mash 2013 and fears of poisoning my scalp, my thoughts recently turned to a new wig. Last year’s wig most likely is beyond styling. Even though spray lacquer might yield a desired result, my real hair might not survive.<br><br>So the search has started. The search criteria are not very complicated: capable of styling and restyling, will not fall apart when teased a bit, holds its body, can be colored to blend with my natural hair, and . . . relatively inexpensive. Despite those simple criteria, a google search drew blanks.<br><br>Am I destined for another bad hair day? Stay tuned.</span><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/16883222013-09-23T20:57:15-07:002017-01-13T16:30:25-08:00If Lightning Does Not Strike, It Must Be Okay<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/30bdda225ab7ffad5218e9ca74cdb7f4d62624ce/medium/equinox-5-2.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_medium" alt="" />As I walked to the stage, somebody in the crowd asked, “What’s that?” A touch of scorn spiced the question. This was a knowledgeable group so I knew that the question was not directed to the Hawaiian-print yoked cowboy shirt that I was wearing. In a musical genre that revolves around Fender guitars, my gold top Schecter was the object of that mildly apparent contempt.<br><br>I was about to take my chances with the surf music gods on Shine’s stage. We were following The Funicellos, who featured Johnny Funicello on a Jazzmaster. Fender Jazzmaster! On the way to the stage, I passed members of the Funicellos, Retronauts, Sneaky Tikis, and Pyronauts -- folks who play Jazzmasters, Jaguars, or Strats. Fender guitars one and all! Would playing the Schecter be an act of sacrilege? Would it be so offensive that the faithful would be outraged by this affront?<br><br>Except for its body shape, the gold top Schecter pays no homage to Fender. The P-90 pickups owe their being to Gibson. The neck is not bolted on. The tuners grace both top and bottom of the headstock. The body has a carved top. Schecter makes no pretense of following Leo Fender’s prototype or in his footsteps.<br><br>A week before at the Black Dragon Brewery, members of a less discerning crowd -- that is, people who are not instrumental surf music aficionados -- simply marveled at how good-looking the Schecter is. It is so pretty that their question was, “Is that the favorite guitar that you write about in the blog?” Of course, asking what is your favorite guitar is like asking who is your favorite child. Nonetheless, I answered truthfully. “No, this is my second favorite. My ocean turquoise Jazzmaster is number one.” <br><br>But the ocean turquoise Jazzmaster had been on the sideline for awhile leaving a place in the line-up for the Schecter. One day while cleaning the Jazzmaster up after a gig, I noticed that a screw was missing from one of the bridge saddles. Fortunately, fingernail polish had held the bridge together, and it had not exploded while on stage. That meant going to Guitar Workshop for more dependable bridge saddles and maybe something to keep screws in place other than fingernail polish. The task morphed into working on worn frets. Etc. Etc. Etc.<br><br>Even though the ocean turquoise Jazzmaster was ready, I decided to stick with the Schecter through Shine. Knowing the skepticism that was brewing up in the audience, I took the stage and announced, “Okay, it’s Schecter. Let’s hope that the surf gods won’t be too offended.” I donned zebra-striped dark glasses in the hope that the surf gods might not recognize me. We started to play Penetration. The throaty sound of the P90s filled the room. The Lava Pups rocked, and the crowd had fun. <br><br>Nobody walked out muttering, “Bill’s headed to Surf Guitar Hell for that.” Deep down I knew the Schecter would win over the skeptics. After all, on the last day of Sierra Surf Music Camp, Dave Wronski -- the best surf guitar player in the world -- looked at the Schecter. “Nice guitar. P90s.” After a few notes, he said, “Great tone.” The Schecter had the Dave Wronski stamp of approval.<br><br>The surf gods must have known that that night at Shine. Lightning did not strike me down. The gold top Schecter had passed the test.</span><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/16585602013-09-19T08:36:03-07:002017-01-13T16:30:25-08:00The Funicellos and the Pups Together At Last!<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/90ff0b812b4ce1059c5bfbc0cc4e9249240b9083/medium/Funicellos.jpg?1375982949" class="size_m justify_middle border_none" alt="" height="266" width="355" /><br><br>Do you remember Frankie, Annette, Eric Von Zipper, and the Beach Party movies? That sounds a bit like the beginning of a Ramones’ song. If you do not, you really did not miss much. The movies were not cinematic masterpieces by any stretch of the imagination.<br><br>Annette Funicello starred in the Beach Party movies. She was the dream girl of a whole generation of young boys. She gained fame as a Mouseketeer on the Mickey Mouse Club. She matured, and pre-teen and early teen boys noticed. Putting her in a bathing suit meant kids in the seats at the theater.<br><br>“The Funicellos” thus certainly would be a natural name for a surf band -- risky, but incredibly clever. Just how seriously should we take a surf band named “The Funicellos”? Yet, at the same time, you keep asking yourself, “Why didn’t I think of that?”<br><br>I first learned of The Funicellos when somebody handed Paul the Pyronaut a business card after one of our gigs in the Mall. Paul asked, “Have you ever heard of The Funicellos?” I replied, “No. Why?” He handed me the card which I kept. At the time, my thought was, “What a clever name.”<br><br>Some time later, the time came to check out the Funicellos. The bottom line is that they are much more than a clever name. They are talented and experienced musicians who play some really nice surf and retro rock with a sprinkling of Latin as a three piece. Like the Ramones, each is a “Funicello”: Johnny Funicello on guitar; Tony Funicello on drums; and Robby Funicello on bass. Of course, like the Ramones, those are pseudonyms. <br><br>Through ample reverb provided by a Fender Twin Reverb, emphasizing middle and lower tones over treble, and chords shimmered by a Tuna Melt pedal, Johnny Funicello plays lead and rhythm guitar at once. He also sings -- a bit of Jimmy Buffet and a bit of BoDiddley. <br><br>Johnny has played guitar since college in the 1980s. Like many of us, he was a closet guitarist. He took the plunge into a band in 1996 -- as an adult 17 years ago. Since then, Johnny has played in bands. Even though they formed in 2003, the current iteration of Funicellos started up in 2008.<br><br>Tony also is a seasoned musician. He has “several decades” -- whatever that means -- on the drums under his belt. Talent always is in demand. So Tony has played in many bands covering a wide range of genres and styles. That suits the Funicellos perfectly.<br><br>Robby has played professionally for more than 30 years. He majored in music. Since college music programs do not offer degrees in rock ‘n roll, he performed in jazz and symphonic groups. He is a catholic (a universalist) and an eclectic in his musical tastes.<br><br>Given their musical proclivities, The Funicellos felt like a natural fit for an evening of rock 'n roll Pup style. After months of coordinating schedules, we will celebrate the equinox together -- surf style. Yes, indeed, it is a match made for the beach. And -- in the OMG department -- Donnie Funicello (aka Don "Jet Blue" Bazinet) will play bass.<br><br>Come on down on Saturday, September 21st, and join the fun at Shine. Wow! We hardly can wait.<br><br><img src="//content.sitezoogle.com/u/33659/90506e379be2a6c4b6e8639c5c2aaee1722fbb15/medium/funicellos-9-21-13.jpg?1378070978" class="size_m justify_center border_medium" alt="" /></span>Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/15203642013-09-01T18:24:13-07:002017-01-13T16:30:25-08:00The Generation Gap: Annette Who?<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//content.sitezoogle.com/u/33659/eb1a2af9351187d126f9f579eaecbe442cde969c/medium/annette-5.jpg?1378084429" class="size_m justify_right border_thin" alt="" />Fame is fleeting. Icons come. Icons go. They are generational. How often does fame span more than a couple of generations? Somebody who was an icon in 1985 may be unknown in 2010. Fame in 1965 might not endure through 1990.<br><br>We all know the story of two teenagers who were standing in line at Starbucks and saw a Paul McCartney solo CD. At the time, the CD was critically acclaimed with the accompanying hype. One of the teenagers turned to the other and asked, “Wasn’t he in a band before?” The other responded, “Yeah. It was pretty famous -- Wings.”<br><br>Given the cycle of fame and iconic status, the humor of that story may be lost on some people. But it actually shows generational differences and how icons come and go. Mention Morrissey to a room full of 20 somethings and be prepared for blank looks. Similarly, mention Beach House or Vampire Weekend to a room full of 50 somethings and be prepared for blank looks or questions about where those movies are showing.<br><br>If you were asked to name a famous Disney “girl,” your answer most likely would reflect your generation. Would you name Miley Cyrus, who has spent the last week in headlines for her less than Disney-like antics? Britney Spears, the former Mouseketeer who careened off the tracks in the mid-2000s? Hilary Duff? Christina Aguilera? Demi Lovato? Jennifer Love Hewitt? Lindsay Lohan? <br><br>A bunch of older folks might name Annette Funicello, an original Mouseketeer who went on to star in a series of beach movies. Like Cher and Madonna after her, she was known by her first name. Annette never went to rehab or bared it all. Instead, she was the girl next door who “matured” -- to the delight of millions of pubescent boys. Her biggest crisis was being rejected by Paul Anka. She survived that, made some movies, released some records, and disappeared to raise a family. When she was stricken with MS, she started a charity. Earlier this year, Annette died in Bakersfield at the age of 70.<br><br>To the unhip in the post-War and Boomer generations, Annette represented the female side of California beach life. Therefore, when the Funicellos agreed to team up with us for a show at Shine, the first idea for a poster that popped into my mind was something based on a “Beach Party” type poster. “Muscle Beach Party” really did not seem to fit us. A buff Pup just was way off the mark. <br><br><img src="//content.sitezoogle.com/u/33659/90506e379be2a6c4b6e8639c5c2aaee1722fbb15/medium/funicellos-9-21-13.jpg?1378070978" class="size_m justify_left border_thin" alt="" />But the poster for “Bikini Beach” had potential. Annette and the Pup. A woodie and blanket. That combination hit the old kitsch button!<br><br>Taking the poster around SacTown, however, dampened that enthusiasm. The generation gap and fame cycle became evident. Maybe the poster was kitsch in an unexpected way. “Is that a Dalmatian print swim suit? Interesting, a dog in a Hawaiian shirt and . . . .” The parody on the “Beach Party” movie posters was lost. Even her death earlier this year did not bring Annette into the consciousness of non-Boomers.<br><br>Upon hearing “that’s Annette,” the response was, “Annette who?” That was an object lesson: Who is an icon is in the memory and the generation of the beholder. So is humor.</span>Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/14983862013-08-28T19:54:02-07:002017-01-13T16:30:25-08:00It's a Conspiracy!<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//content.sitezoogle.com/u/33659/3c78b1dd4d5e96737bf6604abd77b676c516b53f/medium/skateboarding-1.jpg?1377744774" class="size_m justify_right border_medium" alt="" />At what age is a person too old to do something? Reaction times lengthen with age. As we get older, we get slower. I may be admittedly impatient and walk fast. But young folks still pass me by with ease.<br><br>Deep down, we all are afraid to share the road with some octogenarian who barely can see over the steering wheel. As a matter of self-preservation, we secretly do not want to be passengers with our parents after a certain age. Doesn’t each of us have a tale of a white-knuckle, nerve-wracking ride with a parent or grandparent doing 50 in the fast lane and complaining about tailgaters, but then asking, “Why do they keep giving me the finger?”<br><br>Recently, I started to contemplate hand-painting skateboard decks -- skateboard art. Wouldn’t that just be too cool? Cruising the internet for blank decks brought back memories of plowing hell bent on destruction down the hills of Berkeley or above Pearl City on boards mounted on clay roller skate wheels. Those memories shifted my search from blanks to longboard skateboards.<br><br>Of course, the question rattling around in my brain was, “Am I too old for a skateboard?” So, at lunch one day, I visited a local skateboard shop. Coat and tie assured that I looked truly out of place. <br><br>The visit, however, was information-filled. If your longboard is too long, you are not welcome in stores because it is unwieldy. Wheels vary depending on the surface. You do not want too many bearings because your board might be too fast or too squirrelly.<br><br>“That’s very informative, but what about being too old for a skateboard?” “Dude, I’m 35. I’ve slowed down some but I’m still riding!” Thirty-five is old? Tony Hawk is 45. Is he ancient? “I need to think about this some more.”<br><br>When the idea was broached to Becky, her response was instant. “No skateboard. You know how many old people survive broken hips?” What -- skateboarding is a death sentence? Of course, that was the expected response.<br><br>The thought of being a closet skateboarder and keeping a board at work or hidden at the Doghouse occurred. But before undertaking something so clandestine, I needed to find support beyond the assurances of the 35-year old proprietor of the skateboard store who called me “Dude.”<br><br>So I turned to one of my daredevil friends. He had surfed. Driven too fast. Rode clay wheeled boards down the hills of Berkeley. Been a downhill skier. Now he certainly should appreciate my harebrained thought. His response, however, was unexpected and immediate. “Are you crazy? You’ll break something. I wouldn’t do that on a bet! Envision yourself parallel to the asphalt two seconds before beginning run over by a bus.”<br><br>That should have put the kibosh on the idea. Nonetheless, last week, Becky and I had dinner with our nephew. He was an avid snowboarder. And a skateboarder at one time. I sprung my idea. His response, however, was unexpected and immediate. “Are you crazy? You’ll break something.” How did Becky get to him?<br><br>It’s official. We have a conspiracy here.</span>Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/14729312013-08-24T16:14:54-07:002017-01-13T16:30:25-08:00Returning to Our Roots<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//content.sitezoogle.com/u/33659/b251e02e9f1901c0f77a6f8fe25dea291d25b984/medium/sept15.jpg?1377385384" class="size_m justify_right border_thin" alt="" />Long before we were rock ‘n rollers, my sister Sue and I spent our formative years in Woodland, an idyllic agriculture-centric town in the Sacramento Valley. Even though it was 20 miles away from Sacramento, Woodland was in another world. Two routes to Sacramento existed, and one was underwater part of every winter. <br><br>When we were young, we went to Sacramento to buy school clothes. By the time Sue and I were teens, we shopped for clothes in town -- no shopping trips to the big city for us. Woodlanders went to Sacramento for high school athletics, the circus, the State Fair, and “culture.” As part of my acculturation and probably to the chagrin of their parents, I would round up some friends and head off to the big city on occasion to see Ray Charles or James Brown.<br><br>Woodland was like any number of Valley towns. That is “Valley” as in California’s Central Valley -- not the San Fernando Valley of <em>Valley Girl</em> fame in the 80s. The Central Valley was, and for the most part still is, flat and agricultural -- flanked to the west by the Coast Range and to the east by the Sierras. It is separated from Los Angeles by the Tehachapi Mountains. US Highway 99 ran down the middle of the Valley -- from Redding to Bakersfield. Actually, Highway 99 ran from Blaine, Washington, at the U.S.-Canada border to Calexico at the U.S.-Mexico border.<br><br>Like many other Valley towns, Woodland was built around a Main Street. In our youth, a good number of Woodland’s teens could be found on Friday and Saturday nights “cruising Main.” The route was east on Main Street to the A&W drive-in where people turned around to make the trip west to the J.C. Penny’s/Stop ‘n Shop parking lot. This was truly a social event as gas was cheap and kids hung out car windows to talk, yell at each other, or flip somebody off.<br><br>American Graffiti could have taken place in Woodland except we did not have an airport, a radio station with Wolfman Jack, or Suzanne Somers in a ’57 T-bird. Of course, neither did Modesto -- the Valley town on Highway 99 where George Lucas was born and which was the backdrop for the movie. In reality, Woodland was not all that different from Modesto.<br><br>The A&W was where I first heard “Roadrunner” by the Wailers. It was on the jukebox. Despite being a Valley town and quite provincial, Woodland never banned Link Wray’s “Rumble,” which we heard on one of the two Sacramento AM radio stations -- KROY and KXOA -- that played rock ‘n roll. Both Sue and I were gone from Woodland when the Kingsmen released “Louie Louie.” But the Sacramento AM stations played “Louie Louie” and “The Witch” by the Sonics. My introduction to and love for garage music -- primitive and simple -- began in Woodland and “matured” in Sacramento.<br><br>By now, you are asking yourself, “Has senility finally taken him back in time?” The answer is, “No. This post has currency.” <br><br>The Pups will bring their instrumental garage surf rock to Woodland on Sunday, September 15th. It will the day after the “All 60s Reunion” of Woodland High School. A decade’s worth of middle-aged to old folks will gather to renew acquaintances, swap stories, and probably talk about grandchildren and maladies. The next day, Sue and I will return to our roots and rock whomever shows up at the Black Dragon Brewery.<br><br>Is that cool or what?</span>Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/14286362013-08-17T21:04:03-07:002017-02-02T03:05:24-08:00Meeting the New Pup - Literally<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/32a978f36d71216ded2ab399cb6a4d8c1b173237/medium/tiki-8-17.jpg?1376798486" class="size_m justify_left border_medium" alt="" />Ever felt that you were on reality television? For awhile, a bit of our lives engendered that feeling. The show could be called “Finding Tiki.” Or “Middle-Aged Empty Nesters of Sacramento” -- that leaves room for spin-offs.<br><br>The show would begin with Becky and me at the vet’s emergency room six months ago. That day, we lost Darby. For those of you who are new to Pup Posts or unfamiliar with our history, Darby was our Bichon Frise -- white fluffy dog -- who inspired much of our “artwork” and the band’s name. Cancer got him. Fortunately, the cancer was fast-growing and any accompanying pain short-lived. Unfortunately, nothing could be done.<br><br>The cameras roll as we say our last good byes, try to help each other through the sorrow, and deal with the loss in our individual ways. Becky carefully packed and stored Darby’s bedding, toys, crate, and other doggie paraphernalia. I resorted to the keyboard of the Mac to write his <strong><a contents="eulogy" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://lavapups.com/blog/blog/brightstar-sweet-darby-scot-november-21-2001-february-3-2013" target="_blank">eulogy</a></strong>. <br><br>As middle-aged empty nesters, we were not going to be dogless very long. Within a few days, Becky said, “I’m not ready yet, but I know that Darby would want us to have another dog.” Several days later, the camera might catch her: “I miss the click of toenails on the hardwood floors.”<br><br>So the search for a new pup began. The criteria were clear. Bichon Frise -- won’t shed, and Becky is allergic to other breeds. Reputable breeder -- no puppy mills, no backyard breeders. Good lineage -- no genetic diseases or dogs needing braces. Preferably male -- leg lifting is cool, Dude! A pet -- we saw the movie “Best in Show” (the Christopher Guest and Eugene Levy tour de farce or mocumentary) multiple times.<br><br>The cameras roll as Becky googles breeders and calls her friends and contacts in the Bichon Frise Society. Simultaneously, she researches diseases and doggie medical studies. She turns to the camera and asks, “Do you know that the School of Veterinary Medicine at UCD found a link between early spaying or neutering and several cancers?” The camera records her on the phone with a breeder. “What no puppies?” Or with the breeder from whom we got Darby, “Oh my, you do not plan on breeding anymore, but your dogs were so good!”<br><br>In a new segment, Becky finds a breeder -- in Oregon. Two females will be bred soon. Emails and text messages follow. “Drew Summer’s blood this morning, and her hormonal levels are rising.” “Summer is in season.” “She was bred yesterday.” The show could cut away to an announcer talking about the modern science of dog breeding. Your parents’ the bitch is in heat is way passe.<br><br>The cameras capture Becky at her computer jotting down potential names. “How about Abe? Zeus?” Ultimately, the name comes from a corner of the Doghouse. Tiki. “You know that can be unisex.” So much for the male criterion. More emails and text messages. “Summer is beginning to show.” “Next week is the X-ray, but they can’t tell the sex.” Becky could turn to the camera, hold up her iPad, and say, “This is Tiki’s mom. Here’s Tiki’s dad.” She then announces the due date as both she and the breeder have calculated out the gestation period.<br><br>Sometime after 11:00 p.m. on June 25, Tiki was delivered by C-section. Becky researched the effects of C-section deliveries on dogs. Isn't the internet cool? Despite her concerns, she proudly posted pictures of Tiki on Facebook. When she did not get photos, Becky worried. Additional email and text exchanges. More pictures and postings. Videos. Soon, Tiki had his own Facebook page.<br><br>The next episode will be called, “Let the buying spree begin.” As the UPS packages rolled in, I realized that middle-aged empty nesters either have too much disposable income or too much time on their hands or both. Becky displayed the latest -- and very-highly rated, crash-tested -- doggie seat for the car. You read right. Crash-tested -- with dog crash test dummies no less! Her friends in the neighborhood -- also middle-aged empty nesters -- began to discuss a puppy shower. Holy crap!<br><br>Our reality show fast forwards to August 16 -- my late Dad’s birthday. Becky and I boarded a flight to Portland. An hour and half flight and an hour drive, and we were at the breeder’s door to meet Tiki. I assured Becky, “You look great. No, you don’t have a hole in the back of your hair.” I then asked, “What if he does not like us?”<br><br>Before Becky could answer, the door opened. We looked past the greeting party of ten barking Bichons and saw Tiki. He was wagging his tail. And Becky rushed in to meet the new Pup.<br><br>I asked, “How long before he can listen to rock ‘n roll?” Becky was oblivious as she held him. Her wait was over as was this season of our reality show.</span>Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/13961302013-08-14T20:36:17-07:002017-01-13T16:30:24-08:00Sometimes You Just Got To Take It Live!<span style="color:#000080;"><img src="//content.sitezoogle.com/u/33659/3efc1f05f8c1786c62c1fd31a35f3086047620c7/medium/8-11-1.jpg?1376537397" class="size_m justify_right border_thin" alt="taking it to our friends at the Doghouse" style="margin-top: 5px; margin-bottom: 5px;" /><br><br>Time has been slipping away. For middle-aged folks, missing a week or two can be almost like dog years. We had not played live in front of audience since June. We have performances in September. But, in the meantime, the Nagging Little Voice started asking, “Are you going to be a deer in the head lights come September? After all, your range of talents is very narrow.”<br><br>Okay, Nagging Little Voice, do you have any suggestions? That silenced the Nagging Little Voice temporarily. I assumed that the silence meant it was working on some snarky comeback. Instead, the Nagging Little Voice came up with something helpful. “How about a barbecue, open house, and practice? Get back to the friendship, food, and fun times.”<br><br>The Nagging Little Voice, however, could not resist at least one little dig. “Quit taking yourselves too seriously. Have fun!”<br><br>Wow, Nagging Little Voice, that is great idea. Bribe them with food and they have to listen! And even if the Nagging Little Voice did not intend to provide sage advice, it did. We probably have been taking ourselves a bit too seriously lately.<br><br>Short notice invitations -- about one week. Nothing overwhelming. Just straight talk. “We need to get in front of folks and test out some new stuff in an open practice.” Provide a hook. “We’ll grill hamburgers and hot dogs.” Keep it informal. “Bring your own libations, and we’ll supply earplugs.” Becky, Sue, and Jean took over from there.<br><br>Suddenly, being at the Doghouse felt like old times. A roomful of people of all ages who came and went as they pleased. Conversation. Beer. Wine. Soft drinks. Barbecue going. Frivolity. And above all, fun!<br><br>The Pups played. We nailed some songs. We flubbed a few. When we did, we played again. After all, this was an open practice. When the battery on my wireless died, that was the sign to report for barbecuing duties. Before we could start up our second “set,” soap and water were needed to take the grease off my glasses.<br><br>“Okay, you got your food. Now, you have pay for it by listening to us play some more.” We joked. Our friends laughed. We played. Our friends applauded. We experimented. Our friends were forgiving. When we said, “That’s it.” Our friends asked for more. We played some more. Then more conversation, laughing, and communing.<br><br>Yes, the Little Nagging Voice was right. Sometimes, you just got to take it live! . . . And, when you do, make sure that you have fun. We did.</span><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/13561382013-08-07T11:44:57-07:002017-01-13T16:30:24-08:00Almost Anybody Can Do That, But . . . .<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/27e64b7406068eda30994ba8dedf24055e740eae/medium/Pup3-legjpg.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_bottom border_thin" alt="" height="281" width="350" /><br><br>
The other night was a very “un-Pup” kind of night. A 10-year old Pinot Noir instead of a north coast amber or brown ale. Vegetables as appetizers instead of pigs-in-blankets. Salmon instead of a cheeseburger. Engaging conversation. Relaxed, but refined. Very sophisticated by Pup standards.<br><br>
Given history, you probably are thinking, “Did the Lava Pups intrude into what sounds like a delightful evening?” Or “what Pup-style comedy of errors happened?” Fret not, Loyal Readers, nothing Pup-ful happened. In fact, the Pups were not even there.<br><br>
This is not a Pup story. It is about music and musicians. We spent our evening with a couple of musicians -- real musicians. Musical talent? They were born with it. Music theory? They know it. Experience performing? They have it. Music studies? They did it. Play multiple instruments? They do it. Sing? They can.<br><br>
Eventually, an otherwise erudite discussion of music devolved to the Pups and my musical deficits. “We came in second to a band that includes Beach Boys covers for a corporate event.” Perhaps fueled by the disappointment of losing out on the gig or by a couple of glasses of luscious Pinot, sacrilegious words crossed my lips. “Maybe we should add singing.” <br><br>
Silence. Had I insulted our hosts? The proverbial social faux pas? Finally, one of them broke the silence, “Then it is not surf music anymore.”<br><br>
But some of the First Wave bands sang -- The Astronauts, The Pyramids, and The Trashmen. Dick Dale -- the King of the Surf Guitar himself -- sang then and sings now. The Pyronauts fool around with singing every so often. And Drifting Sand sang at the KFJC Battle of the Surf Bands. Yes, you read that correctly: Battle of the <i>SURF</i> Bands.<br><br>
Soon we shifted from debating whether singing defiles the purity of surf music. One of our hosts announced, “Almost anybody can sing. It is just a matter of finding out if you can mimic a note played on an instrument. If you can, you can sing. You then have to figure out your range.” That was intriguing until Becky revealed the cold, hard truth, “I’ve heard Bill try ‘Surfin’ Bird,’ and that was awful!” Her words tumbled around in my brain for a few moments along with the thought that the few people who said they liked “Surfin’ Bird” must have been really drunk that Sunday afternoon.<br><br>
Before I could defend my honor, our host responded. “Even though almost anybody can sing, you should not put it in front of an audience until you really have your singing together.” In other words, almost anybody can sing but not everybody should . . . .<br><br type="_moz"></span>Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/13309232013-08-04T11:15:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:24-08:00Random Thoughts and a "Sharp Dressed Man"<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/c71fa9dccea1c33b84536dfd9dfcbae3ed3cbf93/medium/man_suit.jpg?1375722061" class="size_orig justify_right border_thin" alt="" height="374" width="234" />“They come runnin' just as fast as they can<br>Coz' every girl's crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man.”<br><br>After a certain age, those lyrics from ZZ Top no longer apply. For me, that age line was crossed many years ago. Nonetheless, even if they are not crazy about him, folks occasionally respond to a sharp dressed man.<br><br>Friday morning, a new wave of Jehovah’s Witnesses inundated the Convention Center. This was the fourth consecutive weekend. But unlike the previous three weekends, the disruption in our lives had passed. Maybe that bit of peace showed in my demeanor as at least three groups of the faithful came up and asked for directions to the Convention Center during the short jaunt from the parking lot to Starbucks and then to the office. <br><br>Maybe wearing a suit made me look like one of the faithful. But I did not have a cardboard sign in hand like others. That begged the question of have you ever seen a Jehovah’s Witness in an Italian suit and $100 tie. As I walked down I Street, however, that was all in the rear view mirror. <br><br>Farther back in the rear view mirror were the previous three weeks. They were filled with news for the Pups. In fact, we were bombarded with news. At some point, I hardly could contain myself. But our usual Thursday evening practices got out of kilter. <br><br>First, Lisa -- Robert’s companion -- went to the emergency room for a pinched nerve. Her health was more important than practice. Then, Glenn’s birthday dinner with the Wiki Weekend Warriors fell on a Thursday. Neither Glenn nor I could say to our wives and friends, “Sorry, no birthday celebration because we have band practice.” <br><br>So, I sent out an email suggesting a Wednesday. Maybe a prior Outlook check would have been a good idea. Sue responded, “That’s our Mom’s birthday.” You got it. Sue and I could not say to our Mom and sister, “Sorry, no birthday celebration because we have band practice.”<br><br>How did all of these commitments sneak up on us? We had news to share with each other. Suddenly, people seemed to be interested in the Pups and four middle-aged folks playing instrumental surf music with a dose of Link Wray edge and bit of punk irreverence. Maybe four middle-aged folks playing music is not as far-fetched as it sometimes seems. <br><br>We needed to plan -- to know to what we would commit or not commit. For a stretch there, I thought I was going to explode! As I walked down I Street, I was relieved that that was behind us.<br><br>That feeling of relief was interrupted as a car pulled up and the driver rolled down the window. “Sir, how do we get to the Convention Center?” Oh, the curse of being a sharp dressed man.</span><br><br><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/man_suit-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/13059752013-07-31T12:15:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:24-08:00Writer's Block: Blessing or Curse?<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">This month, the dreaded writer’s block parked its imposing presence smack dab in front of me. The effect was measurable: 31 days; 4 posts; 2 of them repeats. For some, that might be a blessing. For somebody who writes either for fun or as part of a day job, it is a curse.<br><br>Writer’s block not only keeps anything from getting onto “paper." You non-Luddites can think the cloud, the blogosphere, or wherever cyberstuff goes. Writer’s block also suppresses thought and creativity. A cartoon would portray it as some muscle-bound bruiser making sure that ideas remain locked up. I am so plugged that I cannot even draw that cartoon. Nothing similar to Metamucil or Ex Lax is available for writer’s block. Quick (and gentle) relief generally does not exist.<br><br>For the last couple of weeks, writer’s block was the only obstacle to posts. After all, we had an abundance potential subjects. Disruption from our normal routine presented humor and irony as well as an opportunity to whine. Living in a hotel in Downtown Sacramento for two weeks meant spending two weekends with thousands of Jehovah’s Witnesses. Young and old, they began lining up at 7:30 in the morning outside the Convention Center to wait patiently and politely for whatever they would hear during the day. Was it how to be one of the 144,000 who will survive Armageddon or how to go door-to-door on Saturdays and respond to rude remarks and doors shut in their faces with a pleasant “thank you”?<br><br>One morning brought strange juxtaposition of symbolism, the faithful, and the faithless. Families of the faithful had to walk by a homeless man who is spewing expletive-laced rants -- all while pacing back and forth in front of the Methodist Church on the corner of 15th and J. Did the families see that as a test? Your guess is as good as mine. All that I know is nobody stopped to give him the current issue of the “Watchtower.”<br><br>One evening, we sat in overstuffed chairs in a corner of the bar at the hotel drinking IPAs -- I am convinced that IPA is an acquired taste. A very fit man in his forties sat at the bar nursing Ketel One over and eating a hamburger -- another strange juxtaposition of contrasts. Soon the three of us were exchanging stories of workout regimens (I was only a listener), Becky’s travel adventures, Sacramento basketball stars who went bust, and “oldsters” who use their wiles to teach young folks athletic lessons. Eventually, we learned that he was part of a team that “escorted” the rich and famous -- in an earlier time, his team would be called body guards. Becky gave him first aid advice including how to perform an emergency tracheotomy with a pen. That earned us another round of IPAs as he moved on to The Mix.<br><br>Before he left, Becky handed him business cards for the Lava Pups. Maybe some of his rich and famous clients need an instrumental surf band for a party.<br><br>So much fodder but so little meat. No matter how you may see it, I am sure that writer’s block is a curse!<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/af1cd547549511431aefc2dde3ef990634db7021/medium/businesscardbjb.jpg?1375406886" class="size_orig justify_bottom border_thin" alt="" height="204" width="350" /></span><br><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/12139762013-07-17T12:35:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:24-08:00Getting Our Groove Back<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/e31d2ff07cb94a623eb654aaa5d54047ecd4c603/medium/Shine2-161.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_middle border_thin" alt="" height="215" width="360" /><br><br>
Do you ever wonder why getting off course is so easy? Actually, procrastination is the easy part. Why do today what you can put off until tomorrow? A couple of weeks of that and, suddenly, you are a month behind -- a lost month.<br><br>
When we last left the Pups, I was loading guitars and couple of amps into the back of the Prius while talking about guitars with an hobbyist luthier at the Davis Beerfest. The heat and chaos of the day had taken their toll snuffing the flames of my passion for playing to a smoldering ember.<br><br>
That combined with “we’ll see how things are after camp” was the beginning. “We’ll look for a gig next week” followed. Even the Nagging Little Voice was not telling me to get off my duff. And -- lo and behold -- June was gone. Unfortunately, whatever we worked on for July did not pan out. One lost month rapidly became two lost months.<br><br>
But the eternal optimist kicked into gear -- as in the glass is half full. The two gigs for July that did not work out brought back a desire to feel the exhilaration that comes from playing in front of a crowd. The prospect, even though unrequited, breathed some air into the smoldering embers. The fun of practicing and working with Glenn, Sue, and Robert on new songs injected pure oxygen. The fire was back for me.<br><br>
The fire must have been back for Sue too. Within a couple of days, she had visited some prospective venues, pimped the Pups, and lined up something for September.<br><br>
We had moved from procrastination to action. Practicing! New Songs! Gigs! Wow! <br><br>
We are getting our groove back!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Shine2-161-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/11246622013-07-13T00:00:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:24-08:00The New Pups - One Year Later<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Yep, I have been neglectful . . . again. A list of excuses exists. They run from A -- anticipation of a new puppy -- to Z -- zealous pursuit of profession. In between, we had the three Cs: Calamity, chaos, and comedy. Potential gigs fell through as we juggled the real world’s surprises and demands. Nothing too heavy dropped on our heads. This may not be good news to you, but my fingers are back on the MacBook’s keyboard.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/3755406b877eb20331a545deb90891a6dfaa344e/medium/doghouse_wall.jpg?1373757997" class="size_orig justify_right border_thin" alt="" height="338" width="240" />The posters on the Doghouse's walls bring the realization that the “new” Pups have been together for one year. July 22nd is the anniversary of the first gig of our current line-up. That afternoon, Sue and Robert were ensconced behind the safety of music stands as we found our way through 14 songs. Even when we stumbled, we made sure that the 70 or 80 people who showed up believed that we knew our stuff. <br><br>When new folks showed up and asked that we play longer, our choices were to say, “no,” or to replay some of the 14 songs. After all, we were beginning to take down our equipment. We said, “Sure, we’ll play.” And we played the five to six songs that we knew best again, and everybody had fun. The reality was that we had practiced only 14 songs.<br><br>That day was the first step in defining the "new" Lava Pups as a band. I no longer could look to Paul the Pyronaut to bail me out and cover up my playing deficits. The surf classics that were in Paul’s and Don’s memory banks and quickly under their fingers were foreign to Sue and Robert. On July 22, we took a step towards finding a new identity when we said, “Sure, we’ll play” as we played with abandon and pushed our tempo up a notch or two.<br><br>“Sure, we’ll play” almost became a band mantra. It compelled us to get better and find our way. When we were asked to open for Aloha Radio, our response was, “Sure, we’ll play.” We fastened together a set, promoted the gig all over town, put some fun out for the audience, and pulled it off. When we were asked to open for Dick Dale, our response was, “Sure, we’ll play.” We enlisted Rikki Styxx on drums, added some fun, looked a crowd of 300 right in the eye, left a lot of sweat on the stage, and pulled it off.<br><br>From the beginning, we added fun to every performance. We also realized that taking ourselves too seriously was not very congruous for a band named the “Lava Pups.” We played music our way with our idiosyncracies. What evolved was garage surf played with an edge and a bit of irreverence. Robert thinks of our music as having a punk twinge.<br><br>One year later, we have become our own band -- not hemmed in by the boundaries of traditional surf music. Along the way, we learned some lessons. The Pup schtick only can go only so far before it breaks. Do not do anything that has not been practiced. Do not eat anything new to your diet before playing. Hair spray in a wig stinks and does not hold. No matter how talented musicians are, they have to promote a show. And the biggest lesson of all is “stuff happens"; smile and move on!<br><br>This last year has been an absolute blast for me thanks to Glenn, Robert, and Sue. But we want to send a huge thank you to each of you -- every person -- who came out to see the Lava Pups play. You made our year an incredibly pleasant journey. Each of us knows that without you, there would be no live music and certainly no Pup music.<br><br>Come and see our next show. We are working on it right now!</span>Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/10812112013-07-07T01:04:35-07:002013-07-07T01:04:35-07:007-7-07: Dusty Watson's Big Five-0<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Six years ago tonight, Suzy's in Hermosa Beach was the venue for an amazing event: Dusty Watson's fiftieth birthday! I was novice to the "surf scene" and was in SoCal after finishing Guitar School, where I was a “surf, rockabilly, and psychobilly” student. Three nights later was Dusty Watson’s birthday gig at Suzy’s in Hermosa Beach. Here is a revised version of what I wrote that night.<br><br><br><br>
School ended, and I headed to Hermosa Beach to catch my wits, rest for couple of days, and see Slacktone.<br><br>
That Saturday night was the perfect end to a week of music. One week before I had the opportunity to see Billy Boy on Poison featuring nephew Dash on lead guitar. The band was very good – not necessarily my taste but still very good. Because I am not really in tune with current music, I cannot categorize the band. Girls seem to like it. And isn’t that what rock and roll is all about?<br><br>
Saturday was to my taste – a night of straight ahead surf music. No frills – few effects – lots of reverb. <br><br>
I had time – a couple of days. So, upon my arrival in Hermosa Beach on Thursday, I scoped out the venue – Suzy’s. It was a small restaurant and bar in a shopping center a 10-minute walk from the hotel. The online reviews of Suzy’s were fairly consistent: poor service, mediocre food, and great music. Slacktone and other bands on Dusty Watson’s fiftieth birthday undoubtedly would qualify as great music!<br><br>
The event did not disappoint. It was truly electric. Loud, often fast, and always melodic. Glissandos and tremolo picking galore!<br><br>
The night started with a drum circle – an exhibition of drumming and Dusty Watson’s amazing skill.<br><br>
The Pyronauts then played. They were energetic, entertaining, and talented. I believe that they represent the future of surf music in Northern California – maybe all of California. The Brett Cole wore a tiki mask for part of the set. As big as he is, that conveyed an ominous feeling of the monster tiki coming to pillage the community – sort of a “Surfinstein” image. Paul was on and off the stage – into the crowd – his energy exciting the patrons and his personality and banter engaging them. Bob Bitchin’ pushed a driving rhythm while often looking like a metal head banger. They played tight – the result of touring, back-to-back gigs, the core’s time together, and tremendous talent. They also played a mix of their interpretations of older songs along with songs that they wrote. They were well-received by the crowd.<br><br>
Dusty Watson joined The Pyronauts to play “Wipe Out.” He appeared to truly enjoy himself. An easy-going onstage repartee existed between him and the band. <br><br>
Next came the Longboards, a trio from Spain. The guitarist played a Mosrite. The drum kit was moved to the front of the stage, and a tiki head with red light-up eyes graced the stage. All three performers were in a line. The bass player and guitar player moved back and forth anchored by the drums in the center. They were like pistons. Occasionally, the guitar player leaned into the drums. The Longboards played fast and loud. Their English left something to be desired. But they could say clearly, “We have tee shirts for sale. We have to get back to Spain.”<br><br>
The Detonators followed. They were a South Bay band – a local group with a local following. Their groupies danced about as they played cover after cover. Their repertoire was classic surf tunes. Dusty Watson played with them too. <br><br>
Then . . . the headline act . . . Slacktone! Dave Wronski played effortlessly and quickly. His fingers glided up and down the fret board. He was truly amazing – in modern terms, “awesome.” <br><br>
Dusty Watson’s fiftieth birthday required some history – after all, it was 7/7/07. In terms of South Bay surf music, what would put history into perspective? Paul Johnson joined Slacktone on stage. They played a Slacktone piece: “Rosarito Three Day.” He began by announcing that he plays rhythm which Slacktone does not need. Then, “Squad Car” – Paul Johnson on the lead line of a classic which he wrote. Interestingly, Eddie Bertrand, not the Belairs, is known for the tune. As Paul Johnson was walking off stage, Dave Wronski said, “You know this one,” and started “Mr. Moto.”<br><br>
Like Dave Wronski, Paul Johnson’s playing was effortless. He demonstrated an economic style where his fingers did not move all over the fret board. They finished “Mr. Moto,” and one of the founders of surf music left the stage.<br><br>
Slacktone finished with “Tidal Wave.” I almost can play it half speed. Can I ever get to three quarters speed? Dusty Watson knocked over his drum kit, and the band left the stage. Dave Wronski’s amp was humming.<br><br>
Encore! Reassemble the drum kit. “Surf Party.” “Misirlou.” The Detonators’ groupies danced, as did many of the guests.<br><br>
The Spaniards videoed Dave Wronski’s hands on the guitar. They had their pictures taken with Paul Johnson. Maybe they recognized the historical proportions of the evening.<br><br>
The night finished up at 1:30 a.m. What a night! I felt like I had watched the past, present, and future of surf music perform. This was magical and exciting. As with playing at school, my adrenaline was flowing as I walked back to the hotel. I had to be up early to get on the road. I moved my goal for leaving from 6:30 a.m. to 8:00. <br></span>Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/10652772013-07-03T15:30:31-07:002017-01-13T16:30:24-08:00July 4, 2013: Please Remember that Life's Too Short<b><u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Editor's Note</span></u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">: </span></b><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)">For the last two years, we have run a version of this post. When you read it, you will understand why that post is being updated and rerun.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/40c6758c902539e008a60ffcdf79f79e6d3f53e9/medium/Dad17-4-12.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_top border_thin" alt="" height="364" width="350" /><br><br>
If you read the inside jacket of <i>Into the Flow</i>, you observed that we had one side headed “Thank You To.” Perhaps you were wondering what brought about the thank yous.<br><br>
Before giving some answers, I will digress a bit. Today is the Fourth of July -- Independence Day for those of us in the United States. 237 years ago, thirteen colonies declared their independence from England. Our “founding fathers” wrote in the Declaration of Independence: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”<br><br>
Those are lofty truths. But this blog is not about political or social comment. You can go to any number of blogs which call Democrats “socialists” or “Communists” or Republicans “fascists.” The “blogishere” is filled with political vitriol, hate, jingoism, racism, xenophobia, homophobia, extremism, ignorance, intolerance, misinformation, and too many more “phobias” and “isms” than we have space to list.<br><br>
The people listed on the CD jacket have not fallen or did not fall prey to the purveyors of “phobias” and “isms.” The people listed on the CD jacket all helped or inspired us in some way. Some of that help or inspiration is very personal to me.<br><br>
Many are alive. Their support and roles have been regular parts of our blog. Some of the people listed are iconic and need no introduction or discussion.<br><br>
Some are dead. They are the ones about whom I am thinking the last few days. Art Traugh mentored me professionally. He was a good friend and confidant. He had an insatiable curiosity, diverse interests, an infectious laugh and keen eye for the truth. He also had pure pitch and a wonderful and natural ear for music. I have a bagful of harmonicas, which I cannot play a lick, to keep up his memory. He played them by ear. But his inspiration and help have little to do with music. Instead, they are part of my everyday life. I cannot say how many times I have thought, "What would Art do?" <br><br>
Sharon Patalon was Becky’s best friend. Like Art, she had a wide-range of interests and ready and willing laugh and quip. She was dealt a horrible hand when it came to her health. She died young. But she never complained about her fate. Rather, she made sure that she enjoyed each moment and that she shared that enjoyment with others. She was a natural musician and, despite her weakened health and hampered dexterity, joined us for jams. I had the privilege of hearing her when she was strong and dexterous. I wish that others could have had that privilege. Again like Art, her touch has little to do with music.<br><br>
Byron Blackburn was a man whom I never got to know as well as I would have liked. Like Sharon, he died young. He gave freely of his time to me whenever I approached him. He was a jazz musician who had the humility to remember when he played blues or rock ‘n roll. He encouraged people to play music and promoted the importance of having a vital live music scene in Sacramento. I never saw him turn away an aspiring musician who had questions or sought guidance.<br><br>
Tommy Van Wormer was a regular on the Sacramento improvisational jazz scene. But he was no longer a performer. He kept a visual history through thousands of photographs. He was a walking encyclopedia of music and a fount of other information -- important to arcane. He approached everything that he did with passion but maintained enough cynicism to avoid becoming a zealot. He encouraged people to follow their muses. He too died young.<br><br>
Sharon, Byron, and Tommy encouraged me to play despite my limitations. Each was inspiring both in words and in example. The CD jacket is correct: “We miss each of them every day.”<br><br>
The last line on the inside of the CD jacket thank you page is “our Dads for letting us find our own way.”<br><br>
That line has a particular resonance to me on the Fourth of July. Five years ago on the Fourth of July, my Dad died. He was inspirational and an example. He truly let me, Sue, and our other sisters find our own ways. But this is not the place or time to redo his eulogy. Once I took up guitar in my old age, he was encouraging. Even though he was wheelchair-bound, he attended a Christmas “recital” by the East Sacramento Guitar Orchestra. When I think about that, I chuckle a bit. Even though I was past 60, I was happy to have my parents at a “recital.” My Dad helped make me feel like a schoolboy again -- nervous and hoping to be lost in the orchestra but proud to be there. I am lucky that he was alive for that.<br><br>
On this Fourth of July, in addition to thinking about what independence means to you, please reflect on those who have gone before, those who died too young or too soon, and those who inspired or encouraged you to do whatever you do or be whatever you can. That reflection gives meaning to the oft-repeated "life's too short." <br></span>Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/10038232013-06-23T23:15:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:24-08:00Sierra Surf Music Camp 2013 No. 10: Final Thoughts and Goodbye<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/99c174cfb797157843402e848a4c43646c02d261/medium/SSC2013DJ.jpg?1372172029" class="size_orig justify_right border_thin" alt="" height="345" width="230" />Two weeks ago, the campers, instructors, and families said their goodbyes for 2013. They broke camp, packed up, and headed down the dusty road back to the demands of their daily lives. Those demands will be softened by fond memories of this year’s camp. The memories will rattle around in our minds for a year and create anticipation for the third iteration of camp. Defender Jon, who performed duties as the camp photographer, made sure that we will have photos to jog those memories.<br><br><br>
Each of us left with new friends, more ideas, and an even greater appreciation for the surf music and its community. Over the first two years of camp, we communed with the founders and major torchbearers of the music that we love. We heard the history from the history makers. We saw the history in <i>Sound of the Surf,</i> which was produced by John Blair -- history maker and historian.<br><br>
Mixed emotions reigned on Sunday morning. Saturday’s Steelhead performance was encouraging as it brought the realization that, despite deep talent deficits, I could pull off a new, but familiar, song with less than three hours of practice on bass. Of course, the Nagging Little Voice quickly suggested that the glass was half empty: “You know now that an hour and a half is not enough time to learn a new, unknown song on the bass or any instrument.”<br><br>
Excitement -- and a bit of trepidation -- came from knowing that a one-on-one half hour with Dave Wronski remained on my schedule. Crossing from the lodge to the store building with a gold top Schecter -- clearly not a surf weapon -- tucked under my arm, I wondered if zealots, true believers, or pilgrims who are granted an audience with the Pope or face time with the President or a meeting with the Godfather experienced the same feelings as I. Taking a cue from the Mastercard ad, that half hour turned out to be priceless. In his quiet and thoughtful way, Dave shared how full chords muddy the mix while three-note chords do not and how different variations of the introduction to “Lava Hopping” -- my song in progress -- could be the foundation for three different songs.<br><br>
Upon finishing the half hour with Dave, the Nagging Little Voice let me know the time had come to leave. “Say goodbye. Don’t dawdle. You need to get to internet connectivity to check on that project at work!” Not wanting the experience and fun to end, I paid little heed. That just agitated the Nagging Little Voice. By the time that I took one last look at Jim Lee’s project and congratulated him on it, the roar of the Nagging Little Voice succeeded in bringing me back to the reality that camp was over and that the demands of my Day Job required being on the Valley floor.<br><br>
Walking past Paul and Cherie’s Airstream brought the memory of how the night before Dusty tossed a drum stick at Paul, who carefully and quickly put it in the Pyrovan as his souvenir of Sierra Surf Music Camp 2013.<br><br>
Becky had packed the Prius. I threw the guitar in the back and shut the hatch. That marked the official end to our camp. As we drove out, Becky enthused over the last three days and how she already was looking forward to next year. She asked, “What did you learn?”<br><br>
“Ann says my bass was the best color for a guitar last night. It matches her new kitchen sink. The color is Palermo Blue. So we now can refer to it as the ‘Palermo Blue Chinese Cheapie Pup Bass.’” Becky laughed. <br><br>
“Thank you, Ann and Dan Beatie, for hosting another wonderful year” was my thought as the Donner Mine Camp disappeared in the dust behind us.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/bbfadd745dbb635d45aed35d26e92d79b9d0c1a2/medium/SSC2013Paul.jpg?1372172030" class="size_orig justify_bottom border_thin" alt="" height="270" width="360" /><br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/SSC2013DJ-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/9986462013-06-23T02:55:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:24-08:00Sierra Surf Music Camp 2013 No. 9: Zen in the Art of Escaping the Heat<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/79cdbc8ac299cdc6df95e720f39d0566c2896dda/medium/SSC2013Noll4.jpg?1372006418" class="size_orig justify_bottom border_thin" alt="" height="270" width="360" /><br><br>
Dusty Watson -- the best surf drummer in world and camp co-director -- introduced the Saturday night festivities with a joke. “This year was the hottest in the history of the Sierra Surf Music Camp, and last year was the coldest.” Even if not grammatical correct, it was funny in that the Camp’s history was only two years. And, in those years, we experienced a 50 to 60-degree difference in temperatures.<br><br>
With unseasonably high temperatures in the 90s, 2013 required finding escapes from the heat. One refuge was the Changing Station Building. I thought about calling it the “Bath House.” But West Coasters and particularly San Franciscans of a certain era remember the hey day of “bath houses” in San Francisco. Many stories of San Francisco bath houses still abound today. They dropped off the radar when people realized that the hedonism of the bath house was a part of the AIDS epidemic that ravished the City. <br><br>
The Changing Station at the Donner Mine is constructed on thick-walled concrete. It now is a bunk house. When the mine was operating, it was the first stop once miners emerged from the mine. There, they stripped and passed through a narrow passageway where they were checked to assure that they were smuggling nothing from the mine. They then took a communal shower. At the same time, they washed their clothes. After a shower and another inspection, the miners changed into clothes stored in lockers and hung their recently washed work outfits from the ceiling. The thick walls insulated the Changing Station from the winter cold and summer heat -- or unseasonable spring heat. Fortunately, the Changing Station was the designated practice area for Steelhead.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/6500437005298fc6fe47b1216b5f60a2dbd15d9c/medium/SSC2013mine.jpg?1372006651" class="size_orig justify_right border_thin" alt="" height="307" width="230" />Jim Lee’s art instruction took a turn because of the heat. He had his equipment. Becky brought her equipment. But her efforts at painting were detoured. First, she opened her container of TomToms (painting pens). The combination of heat and altitude caused them to explode. After cleaning up, she went outside and found her painting spot. That was short-lived as yellow jackets decided to reclaim the spot as theirs. Rather than fight Mother Nature, Becky gave up on art. She and Jean escaped the heat by moving chaise lounges from Paul’s Airstream to the mine entrance. There, the Mother Lode’s natural air conditioner spewed out 55 degree air. Soon Becky and Jean were moving again to escape from the cold! <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/0c195f14b014d63eb512b0efbaad18922181d975/medium/SSC2013Noll2.jpg?1372006652" class="size_orig justify_left border_thin" alt="" height="180" width="240" />Meanwhile, freed from his teaching duties, Jim Lee began painting a scene on 10’ Greg Noll surf board that Defender Jon brought to camp. Jim worked in the shade of the lodge. At the end of the first full day of camp, he had the sky in place. By Saturday evening, a beach and palm trees. On the morning of the last day, he put some sealer on it so that he could continue the job at home. Last week, a photo of the finished product appeared on Facebook.<br><br>
The unseasonable heat required improvisation and working in the moment to find respite. Except for Steelhead in the Changing Station, the Surf Band 101 bands searched for shade and air movement. Sweat and heat would be their lot except when they were absorbed in the moment of their music.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/SSC2013Noll4-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/9796482013-06-19T22:55:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:24-08:00Sierra Surf Music Camp 2013 No. 8: Okay, It's a Toss-Up<u><b><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Editor’s Note</span></b></u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">: Last year, our camp posts seemed to drag on for an eternity. This year, we are working on being less ponderous. Is that better? You make the call.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/f398c848502aee9abbdc36f25c2a1f0fdf3b31cd/medium/SSC2013Slacktone2.jpg?1371733181" class="size_orig justify_bottom border_thin" alt="" height="236" width="360" /><br><br>
Saturday night's festivities continued with Slacktone. Smoke from a few twigs -- last year, logs, this year, twigs -- kept the mosquitos at bay. An evening breeze helped. The elements were cooperating as the best surf band in the world set up to play. <br><br>
What can I write about Slacktone that I have not written before? Of our 333 previous Pup Posts, several include Slacktone performances. The band makes all surf musicians -- both real and wannabe -- feel inadequate, talent-deficient, or just plain lame. Slacktone combines musicianship, tone, sound, composition, and pure talent to take instrumental rock to a new level. It sets the bar; according to our blog, it is -- quite fitting for the Donner Mine -- the “gold standard.”<br><br>
Suffice it to say, nothing about Saturday’s night performance changed previous assessments. The same superlatives apply. Slacktone remains the best surf band in the world. Only this performance was special. Whether it was a couple of days of camp and the mountain air or spending time with campers and their families or being surrounded by folks who just love the music or whatever, Dave Wronski was at ease and relaxed. He truly seemed to be having fun.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/ac5329891d7aab64119099b672ad7fc4c849052b/medium/SSC2013Slacktone4.jpg?1371732587" class="size_orig justify_left border_thin" alt="" height="241" width="230" />On Friday afternoon, the campers gained some insight into why Dave is the best surf guitarist on Earth. We sat enthralled as Dave told us about the precision and preparation that guide him as a musician. Speaking softly, he had the attention of each of us. He started out by demonstrating how to set up a Jaguar. He covered the precise distances for the strings to be above the frets and pickups, adjusting the truss rod and bridge, and making the lock on the tremolo work. Listening to him made clear the depth of his genius as every adjustment was tied to achieving perfect tone or action. <br><br>
As I listened, I realized that my efforts at solidifying the bridge on the Jazzmaster with nail polish were amateurish in comparison with Dave’s preparation. “Know your measurements; check them out before a gig; don’t guess.”<br><br>
Then Dave turned to the sonic differences in bands. The two guitars in a band should play in different audio zones -- complement each other. To play with Jon & the Nightriders on Friday night, Dave's amp and guitar differed from those he uses with Slacktone. His goal was to make sure that his tone and sonic zone did not intrude upon John Blair’s. That was just downright other worldly.<br><br>
As Slacktone played on Saturday night, the precision and preparation were evident. The best surf guitarist just does not plug in and play. He does not rely solely on his amazing talent. He plans. He knows measurements and settings. He makes sure that his setup is absolutely right. Knowing that plus Dave’s demeanor made Saturday night unbelievable. Did it top the screening of <i>Sound of the Surf</i>? In retrospect, it was a toss-up -- yes, two spectacular nights in a row!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/SSC2013Slacktone4-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/9623252013-06-17T23:00:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:24-08:00Sierra Surf Music Camp 2013 No. 7: The Sneaky Tikis One Year Later<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/d4e6fb4d70908b381504b075cf2a970a9c179c98/medium/SSC2013ST3.jpg?1371560329" class="size_orig justify_bottom border_thin" alt="" height="179" width="360" /><br><br>
Could Saturday night top Jon & Nightriders and the rough cut of <i>Sound of the Surf</i>? So far the evening had been pretty special with two original songs from the Surf Band 101 bands. The night promised more music and fun to come. <br><br>
Next up were the Sneaky Tikis -- Paul’s prodigies from last year’s camp. Little did we know then that one year and week later that they would have 26 gigs under their belts. Those gigs included appearances on the same shows as Slacktone, Dick Dale, the Aqua Velvets, and the Pyronauts. They pimped the Sierra Surf Music Camp on Channel 31’s “Good Day, Sacramento” -- the Pyronauts’ old haunt. And they got twelve minutes of fame at the KFJC Battle of the Surf Bands. They even made some money playing music.<br><br>
For some, that would have been a musical career. The Sneaky Tiki’s trajectory had been nothing but spectacular and straight up. No dips. No stalls. No lulls. Immense talent plus a solid support group of family, friends, and some professional musicians created a mix to put the Sneaky Tikis many years ahead of bands of comparable age and experience.<br><br>
Their talents were on display again during their set for their second Sierra Surf Music Camp. Fast. Energetic. Playing music as hot as the weather!<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/86c9e92533f1945b9df0f454bfd8a46cbdbfebad/medium/SSC2013ST2.jpg?1371560331" class="size_orig justify_left border_thin" alt="" height="198" width="230" />Like the bands that influence them -- the Pyronauts and Jon & the Nightriders -- the Sneaky Tikis derive much of their underlying energy from the power of their drummer and rhythm guitar. Lucas on rhythm guitar is totally in charge of his Jazzmaster exhibiting a strength that stands out. Lukas combines metronomic precision and pure power on the drums. Their unyielding rhythm establishes a foundation upon which Rob on lead and Greg on bass can build the intricacies of songs of the Pyronauts, Jon & the Nightriders, or Dick Dale or put their energies into some surf classics.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/3f124b40e4207f2e41c890bb0310dea454508060/medium/SSC2013ST1.jpg?1371560520" class="size_orig justify_right border_thin" alt="" height="173" width="235" />As they showed Saturday night, the Sneaky Tikis still are four precocious prodigies. What will be next on their upward flight remains to be seen. Having just finished final exams, Greg hopes to go on to the University of Washington. Lucas is talking of going back to school to study music. Lukas and Rob face high school. Fortunately, they have a full array of mentors -- and supportive parents -- for guidance.<br><br>
But on this Saturday night at camp, nobody was thinking about what the future holds for the Sneaky Tikis. Instead, as we watched them play, we knew that we were being treated to something special that had grown from last year. Veteran campers thought about how far the Sneaky Tikis had come while new campers dreamed about being that good next year.<br><br>
As the Sneaky Tikis finished their set with the Pyronauts’ “Sifaka,” Paul bowed in tribute while the audience gave them a standing ovation. This marked a fitting anniversary -- of sorts -- for four youngsters who were put together to play surf music at the first Sierra Surf Music Camp.<br></span>Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/9539222013-06-16T23:20:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:24-08:00Sierra Surf Music Camp 2013 No. 6: Surf Band 101 - Part II<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">The evening breeze was beginning to take the edge off of the heat. The crowd gathered at the Donner Mine amphitheater was ready for the next two Surf Band 101 bands. And all of this was a prelude to the Sneaky Tikis and Slacktone.<br><br>
I rolled on some more bug repellant and opened a Downtown Brown, which like Paul’s and John’s duet was brewed up on the North Coast.<br><br>
Bob Bitchin’ supervised his students’ setting up. Bob and Paul grew up together and are the only original Pyronauts left. Bob’s playing combines power and strength delivered with grace and humor. His rhythm guitar plus Tim’s drumming gives the band its underlying energy. In many ways, Bob is the pragmatist who serves as an anchor for the Pyronauts. How he plays is how he approaches life. His insight and direct approach mean you get the truth quickly when you ask a question or seek his advice. No frills. No spoonful of sugar to make the medicine go down. But somewhere in that truth will be a pinch of humor or empathy to sweeten the news a smidgeon.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/5b5a4dc1689683e53da104f4c940813761d9736e/medium/SSC2013Logger.jpg?1371488576" class="size_orig justify_bottom border_thin" alt="" height="162" width="360" /><br><br>
Bob’s band on this Saturday night was named the “Loggernauts” reminding us that we were in the Sierras. Made up of camp veterans, it featured a heaping portion of talent blended with various amounts of experience. Lukas on drums and Greg on bass brought a ready-made and gig-tested rhythm section; after all, they have played together for a year in the Sneaky Tikis. Joe -- Carla’s other half -- is a rock solid rhythm guitarist. This year, Robert moved over to lead. The set started with the Pyramids’ classic “Penetration,” which is a great song for getting your feet on the ground and nerves in check. The set concluded with “Midnight Mai Tai” -- an original that Robert had written to make its public debut. The crowd expressed its appreciate with rousing applause.<br><br>
And we were down to one Surf Band 101 band. The audience was eager to hear what experienced musicians tutored by Dave Wronski and Danny Snyder had to offer. Anticipation was building. Yes indeed, Tyler, Rob, and Lucas were next. Jim Lee, who has played a bunch in bands, was on drums. They were introduced as Penguin Riot.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/22354be7b71cb316e8444e4572c20a318b745e1b/medium/SSC2013LucasRob.jpg?1371488576" class="size_orig justify_left border_thin" alt="" height="160" width="230" />As readers of our posts know, Rob and Lucas are the guitarists for the Sneaky Tikis. They are cousins and have played together for some time -- the other half of Paul’s prodigies from last year’s camp. Tyler or T.J. is a seasoned guitarist. Spend a few minutes with him, and you know that he knows his stuff. His resume includes playing jazz in the San Francisco bay area on a regular basis.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/9bbceb2dbbca454a97e0b8d3a4746e1798ff9712/medium/SSC2013TJ.jpg?1371488576" class="size_orig justify_right border_thin" alt="" height="296" width="230" />Penguin Riot’s mini-set was entertaining, energetic, and extremely well-played. It included “Depth Charge” -- fittingly, a Jon & the Nightriders song. For the finale, Danny Snyder picked up a bass. And Tyler with two rhythm guitars to provide counterpoints capped off Penguin Riot’s performance with an original of his own. Penguin Riot managed some choreography among the three guitarist. As Tyler finished up, he announced in the mic, “I think I’ll call that ‘Sierra Surf.’”<br><br>
The crowd applauded and cheered. They had witnessed steel drums in a three percussionist band, a 9-year old lead guitarist, and the debuts of two original songs. The Surf Band 101 bands for 2013 were history, and more was on its way!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/SSC2013Logger-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/9504752013-06-16T00:00:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:23-08:00Sierra Surf Music Camp 2013 No. 5: Surf Band 101 - Part I<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">In the minds of many of the campers, nothing was going to top the Jon & Nightriders reunion and showing of <i>Sound of the Surf </i>on Friday night. Camp director Paul surely intended to give it a run for its money with the Saturday night show -- Surf Band 101 performances, a few songs from the Sneaky Tikis (last year’s prodigies), and Slacktone (the best surf band on Earth). <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/187561b3059bff9772afd63278afbd366959b7e0/medium/SSC2013PJ.jpg?1371488315" class="size_orig justify_right border_thin" alt="" height="213" width="240" />But before that bill, Paul was going to whet our appetites with something that he has been brewing up on the North Coast. John and his daughters now live 45 minutes from Ferndale. He and Paul have been working on something new. They gave us a glimpse by performing as a duet with Paul on guitar and John on steel drums. <br><br>
Paul then announced, “We’ll take a few minutes to set up and start up Surf Band 101.” Applause. Despite the heat, families, friends, and some surf music fans had made the trek to the Donner Mine and joined the campers.<br><br>
Steelhead's gimmick of steel drums was not going to be a big surprise. But we still had our other percussionists -- Glenn and Elia. And we did not have to wait long; we were first up. As I hooked up the light blue Chinese cheapie Pup bass, the realization struck: I still have no real feeling of familiarity with “Our Favorite Martian.” An hour or so of practice was not enough. Matt checked to see if we were ready. We said we were. He introduced Steelhead. Glenn started up with the classic tom-tom intro. We ended with Elia on bongos and then Glenn on cymbals. A few rough patches but we got through “Apache.” <br><br>
John moved to the steel drums. Matt said something into the mic. Glenn counted off and hit the drum intro. I came in on bass. From there, it was a blur until the time came for a bass glissando in the bridge -- a glissando we added during practice. Oh, oh, I practiced with a pick but was finger-plucking. What? Fake it! As we returned to the verse, I reached in my pocket, pulled out a pick, and looked to Carla to see where we were. The song felt like it was racing by. Elia ended the song with a hand drum flourish, and our six or eight or whatever minutes were done.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/bea3740671cbea552a7e0624d841cad5e5d1d221/medium/SSC2013DD4.jpg?1371488316" class="size_orig justify_middle border_thin" alt="" height="240" width="360" /><br><br>
Next up were Don and the Deltones. Playing a cherry red guitar nearly as big as he was Don, a new camper. His willingness to play in front of others was well beyond his 9 years. He was not a deer in the headlights and showed no stage fright. Instead, he displayed the desire to play and entertain. How many of us were that sure of ourselves at 9?<br><br>
The Deltones were Ivan, Steve, and Greta. Ivan and Greta were veterans from last year. Like Don, Steve was a new camper. He and Ivan would be rhythm guitarists for the band. Greta would provide the bottom for the Deltones on her raspberry pink bass. Paul had double duty with Don and the Deltones. He with help from John Blair was the band’s instructor. But he also was a Deltone as the band’s drummer. <br><br>
Don and the Deltones ripped through their set of “Peter Gunn,” “Pipeline,” and “Wipe Out.” Three classic songs -- all featuring Don on lead and Paul’s spirited drumming. Don and the Deltones finished and were rewarded with enthusiastic applause.<br><br>
We were half way through the Surf Band 101 bands.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/9f14b79adbd8ae18c0fc2030e656a58d8cfcfa6f/medium/SSC2013DD3.jpg?1371488314" class="size_orig justify_bottom border_thin" alt="" height="240" width="360" /><br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/SSC2013DD4-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/9478562013-06-14T22:55:00-07:002021-09-13T13:28:27-07:00Sierra Surf Music Camp 2013 No. 4: Movie Stars Among Us<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><u><b>Editor's Note</b></u>: Like last year, the lack of internet connectivity and the need for sleep prevented us from posting real time missives from the Sierra Surf Music Camp. We are getting some out -- albeit belatedly -- now that the Mac has a signal.</span></span><br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/a5d7b10366c8b9782a032b4c66b28dda982fc83c/medium/SSC2013JN.jpg?1371299849" class="size_orig justify_middle border_thin" alt="" height="240" width="360" /><br><br>Friday night was special. The weather still was hot; the mosquitos potentially relentless. That meant Downtown Browns and heavy-duty spray-on insect repellent as we gathered for Jon & the Nightriders and a special showing of <em>Sound of the Surf</em>.<br><br>On our way to the Donner Mine Camp amphitheater, Matt and I crossed paths. I asked about how practice had gone with Jon & the Nightriders. He responded with a note of caution, “The Steelheads are playing ‘Apache,’ and we’re doing that tonight. And Dave Wronski just nails it!” Oh, really. Dave Wronski just nails everything that he plays. I replied, “That’s not surprising. ‘Apache’ was on one of Jon & the Nightriders’ albums.” The good news was nobody in camp was going to compare the SteelHeads with Dave Wronski -- the gold standard of surf guitar.<br><br>After the campers, families, friends, and remaining instructors were comfortably seated and a gentle breeze was giving them some respite from the heat, Paul introduced Jon & the Nightriders. We were primed to hear the band that started the Second Wave. The Beatles and changing times brought the end of the First Wave of surf music. In 1979, John Blair brought together a group of musicians to record a 4-song 45 of instrumental surf songs. His recruiting spiel was, "Let's play fast and energetic instrumental music like the original bands -- not the lame sound associated with the Beach Boys." Dusty Watson and Dave Wronski signed on. Then they were asked to open a show at the Santa Monica Civic. From there, Jon & the Nightriders went on to play of the same bills as some of the seminal LA punk bands of the time. An instrumental band playing loud and fast fit right in. <br><br>On night two of camp, Dusty and Dave joined up with John Blair for a Jon & the Nightriders reunion of sorts. Matt Quilter filled in on bass. They rocked the Donner Mine Camp with one energy-filled song after another. Between songs, John wiped his head down with a towel as the breeze did not seem to reach the floor of the amphitheater. The band slowed down for only one song -- “Apache.” As Matt predicted, Dave Wronski knocked it out of the park!<br><br>Jon & the Nightriders closed out their set. While John toweled off, Paul queued up and adjusted the video. Dusk gave way to darkness. John introduced <i>Sound of the Surf </i>-- a history of surf music on which Tom Duncan and he collaborated. Tom Duncan was the cinematographer and director; John served as the music historian, protagonist, and star of the Second Wave. After all, the movie's theme was his search to see if Jimi Hendrix was right -- "Then you'll never hear surf music again." The movie was seven years in the making. John advised us that it is not ready for prime time as it requires conversion into high definition, work on audio track, and licensing of music and archival footage. <br><br>The content, however, was done. As an artist -- musician and writer -- John knows where to stop - to say, “that’s it” -- to stop polishing. We were treated to Sound of the Surf - the Rough cut. We were wowed. Interviews and classic film. Icons. Kathy Kohner -- Gidget. Greg Noll -- Da Bull. Dick Dale -- "I invented surf music." Paul Johnson -- writer of Mr. Moto (the first surf song that I heard). Eddie Bertrand -- maybe the best guitarist of the First Wave. Richard Delvey -- the Belairs and then the longest lived First Wave Band, the Challengers. Bob Spickard -- wrote Pipeline. Kathy Marshall -- the unrecorded "Queen of the Surf Guitar." General disdain for Beach Boys and beach party movies. The focus of Second Wave was Jon & the Nightriders. Dusty Watson appeared in multiple bands. Meshugga Beach Party and Los Straitjackets were shown as costumed Third Wavers. <br><br>As the movie ended, we all stood and applauded. Wow! Four from<i> Sound of the Surf</i> were among us -- John, Dusty, Dave and Dan Snyder of Meshugga Beach Party. Movie stars! The amphitheater was buzzing. Becky looked over at Dusty and asked, “Just how many of those bands were you in?” He laughed. She turned to me and said, “It’s pretty amazing how many of the folks who represent the history of surf music that we have met.” Reflecting on that good fortune, I smiled.<br><br>The buzz of the movie would carry over for the remainder of camp. On the second night of camp, we had one wonderful history lesson!</span><br><br><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/SSC2013JN-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/9399082013-06-13T23:04:57-07:002013-06-13T23:04:57-07:00Sierra Surf Music Camp 2013 No. 3: The Steelheads<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Early Thursday evening, the instructors selected and posted the bands for Surf Band 101. Our band meet and greet was on Friday. Three camp veterans and a newbie. The veterans were Glenn and I, whom you know all too well, and John, who like last year brought his two daughters. Over the year, they moved to Trinidad on the California north coast. That probably shortened their drive time to camp to a mere 7 hours; they rolled in late on Thursday night. Carla was a new camper. She came to camp with Joe, who returned from last year.<br><br>
Our instructors were Matt Quilter of the Reventlos and Tim Stephenson of the Pyronauts. As “luck” would have it, both John and Carla had lessons with Matt earlier in the day. Their lessons included “Apache.” Do you think that was a coincidence? So “Apache” would be one of our songs featuring John -- unbelievably on an Ocean Turquoise Jazzmaster -- on lead guitar and Carla on rhythm guitar. <br><br>
Her instrument was a double cut gold sparkle Gretsch Duojet with a Bigsby. She had won it at a “Gretsch Round-up.” Upon hearing of her good fortune, the Nagging Little Voice squelched any thoughts of envy. “Hey, you once won a golf club-shaped soap dispenser so don’t be jealous.” Before her lesson with Matt, Carla had neither heard nor played “Apache.” “I don’t know any surf songs.” She, however, proved to be an amazingly quick learner with a natural ear for music and rhythm guitar.<br><br>
Matt -- with some help from Tim and Dusty Watson -- worked Glenn and me through the drum and bass parts for “Apache.” Glenn, of course, caught on quickly as he had played It once with the Pups and, every so often, at jam sessions over the years. Thus, as usual, I was the potential weak link since I had not played anything but lead on the song. The good news was that I at least knew the melody and structure. So all that was required was to dumb it down enough for me to muddle through on the blue Chinese cheapie Pup bass. <br><br>
After two hours, we had a workable version that we could play as a band.<br><br>
John brought steel drums to camp; Carla a lap steel guitar. With “Apache” under our belts, we attempted to figure out a song that allowed us to use those instruments. We went for the obvious first: “Do you know ‘Sleepwalk’?” “No.” Well, that was the end of any ideas. John suggested “Our Favorite Martian.” “It basically has two chords -- A and G.” Even though only John knew the song and none of the other band members had heard it before, we agreed to try it out Saturday -- our next and only practice session before the performance. <br><br>
We would feature John on lead steel drums. Lead steel drums!<br><br>
We jettisoned the idea of lap steel -- too much to figure out in too short of a time. Overnight, we added Elia -- John’s younger daughter -- to the band. “What do you play?” “I’m a percussionist.” With Tim’s and Paul’s aid, we came up with hand drums -- bongos and a djembe -- and shakers. Now, all that we had to do in our one remaining practice session of two or so hours was learn “Our Favorite Martian,” polish it and “Apache” up, and feel comfortable enough to get through them at the Surf Band 101 performance.<br><br>
Oh, yeah, we had to come up with a band name. Quickly and cleverly, Carla suggested “Steelheads.” Thumbs up around. We had a name and gimmick. The rest . . . ?<br type="_moz"></span>Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/9213132013-06-10T22:55:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:23-08:00Sierra Surf Music Camp 2013 No. 2: The Pyronauts and Fun<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><u><b>Editor's Note</b></u>: Like last year, the lack of internet connectivity and the need for sleep prevented us from posting real time missives from the Sierra Surf Music Camp. Stand by for some now that the Mac has a signal.</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><br></span><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/998775aa3bbdc1b0adc375f0afd4425fec2555e2/medium/SSC2013Pyros.jpg?1371052468" class="size_orig justify_middle border_thin" alt="" height="270" width="360" /><br><br>
As evening of the first day of camp set in, a slight breeze came up. It provided only a bit of relief from the unseasonable heat that was forecast to be with us for the entire Sierra Surf Music Camp.<br><br>
Gathering at the lodge in anticipation of 7:00 dinner, campers and families studied the listings for Surf Band 101. Earlier in the afternoon, the instructors concocted bands made up of campers. Like the inaugural camp, the process was not transparent. Fifty years ago, it would have happened in a smoke-filled room. In any event, four bands were created to perform on Saturday night. <br><br>
This year, no apparent fix was in. The Sneaky Tikis were split in two: Lukas and Greg would be the rhythm section of a band under the watchful eyes of John Blair and Bob Bitchin’; Lucas and Rob were together under the tutelage of Dave Wronski and Dan Snyder. Glenn and I were going to be a rhythm section -- yes, I decided to give my light blue Chinese cheapie bass an opportunity to redeem itself -- for fellow campers, John and Carla. Matt Quilter and Tim Stephenson would be our instructors.<br><br>
After dinner, we headed out to the Donner Mine Camp amphitheater. No camp fire was needed. The breeze had not knocked the temperature down much. The evening heat brought out the mosquitos and the need for bug repellant. Campers, families, and instructors were in for a treat. The Pyronauts were setting up to perform.<br><br>
As we waited, I recalled how important The Pyronauts were in the rock ‘n roll fantasy that I often am fortunate enough to live out. Several years ago, my search for surf music took us to Cooper’s in Nevada City. There, we heard a band and met a young guitarist. That night on the walk back to the hotel, I was enthused and thought: “Surf at last.” This was the end of blank looks, shoulder shrugs, and the questions that were like finger nails on a chalk board, “Surf, huh? Is that like The Beach Boys? The Ventures?”<br><br>
The band was The Pyronauts and guitarist was Paul the Pyronaut.<br><br>
Paul’s banter into the mic interrupted my rumination. The Pyronauts then were playing. Since Paul and Cheri’s move to Ferndale, we had not seen much of the band. I almost forgotten how good they are and how much I love their sound and their songs. Not much rust showed -- probably because they are four tremendously talented musicians. And they have played together for a long time. Paul recounted it to group sitting in the amphiteheater. Bob and Paul for 15 years; Brett for 11; Tim for 8. That longevity in part is a tribute to the chemistry that they have. And the ability to work through differences of opinion, maturing from care-free but driven teenagers to young adults finding their ways to full-on men with businesses to run, family responsibilities, and the day-to-day travails of life. <br><br>
Their talents and chemistry allowed them to write songs that hold together. Their chemistry also included a sense of humor; their seasoning taught them to move on past playing errors or lapses. On the first night of camp, The Pyronauts needed that as they do not play together regularly anymore. They had no pre-agreed or practiced set - just a list of songs at Paul’s feet. <br><br>
“Let’s play ____.” “Okay” or “No, not tonight.” When Paul introduced a song by describing how it was written, the other band members asked, “What are we going to play?” <br><br>
As their performance came to an end, the crowd applauded and cheered. The Pyronauts had opened camp with a bang. Energy. Humor. Musicianship. Fun. Good music. We now were primed for Friday and getting our camper bands ready for Saturday night. And I was taken back for a bit to a night at Cooper’s some years ago.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/SSC2013Pyros-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/9055332013-06-09T08:37:17-07:002013-06-09T08:37:17-07:00Sierra Surf Music Camp 2013 No. 1: What a Difference a Year Makes<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Last year was the inaugural Sierra Surf Music Camp. As we dropped into the Bear River Valley from Emigrant Gap, we drove through snow flurries, rain, and bit of hail. The thermometer in the Prius measured the outside temperature at 36. Campers huddled around the fireplace in the lodge. Flannel shirts, long pants, and sweat shirts were absolutely necessities.<br><br>
What a difference a year and one week make! No snow flurries. No rain. No hail. Just bright sun. The temperature registered in the Prius while dropping into the Bear River Valley? 86 -- 50 degrees difference! Good thing that we packed shorts sandals, and tee shirts.<br><br>
Last year was coffee and red wine weather; this year -- bottled water and Downtown Brown. Of course, as set in my ways as I am, augmenting the bottled water and Downtown Brown are coffee and red wine.<br><br>
As veteran campers, we used the afternoon as an opportunity to catch up with prior acquaintances, unpack, unwind, and walk around the Donner Mine Camp. Less excitement. Less novelty. No readily noticeable changes except for the instructor line-up. Missing: Paul Johnson -- a founding father of surf music -- and Ferenc Dobronyi -- the longstanding leading light of the San Francisco surf scene. New: Dave Wronski -- the best surf guitarist in the known world -- and Dan Snyder -- an active torchbearer for the San Francisco surf scene.<br><br>
With a year under our belts, we were here for a new experience, to be immersed in and relax with the music that we enjoy hearing and playing, and to see if any budding guitarist, bassist, drummer, or band would bloom this year. We were looking forward to another adventure.<br><br>
The question for the first day was how the instructors would shuffle the deck of players to create bands for Saturday’s night performance. Would they break up the Sneaky Tikis? Would they spawn another band of youngsters? Who would be under Dave Wronski’s tutelage? What did the instructors have up their collective sleeves to equal or surpass the success of the inaugural camp?<br><br>
News -- and tacos -- at 7:00.<br type="_moz"></span>Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/8810802013-06-04T23:15:00-07:002017-02-01T22:40:45-08:00Rerun: Sierra Surf Music Camp - Packed Up and Ready to Go<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/fbfc5d703a9cfa2f5456a59624ff90d2ecd1bff9/medium/camp2.jpg?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_middle border_medium" alt="" height="233" width="308" /><br><br>
Sierra Surf Music Camp starts tomorrow afternoon. It will feature Paul the Pyronaut and Dusty Watson -- the best surf drummer on Earth -- as camp directors. The sweet sounds of reverb, electric guitars, and the surf beat will interrupt the idyllic Sierra serenity of the Bear Valley. To paraphrase a line you may have heard somewhere or sometime, the valley will be alive with the sound of music. <br><br>
In the collective minds of the campers communing at the Donner Mine, that will put everything right with Nature. We only can hope that the bears, coyotes, and other creatures of the night feel the same. Doesn't music soothe the savage beast?<br><br>
Becky is excited to go. She made that apparent when she started a list of items to take to camp. Soap. Paper towels. Shampoo. Towels. Linens. Art supplies. She confirmed her excitement when she asked me what to add to her list. Generally, when we travel, I do not have much input. My suggestions, however, were staples for a long weekend of music: Beer, wine, coffee, and snacks. <br><br>
Armed with her list, Becky went to Trader Joe’s and then brought her purchases to the Doghouse. She boxed them and laid them out for later. “We’ll pack up and leave from here.” <br><br>
She also went through our home office and garage cabinets looking for her art supplies. “I know that my travel water color kit is here somewhere. Where did I put my travel sketch book?” Eventually, she found everything that she wanted. That saved us from a trip to University Art, which is like Costco or Home Depot for impulse buying.<br><br>
Becky plans to study Tai Chi and surf art at camp. She will get to know Jim Lee -- surf artist and Tai Chi practitioner -- well. Reading is on her agenda as is watching the instructors and music campers perform. She is looking forward to a restful and entertaining Memorial Day weekend.<br><br>
In addition to beer, wine, coffee, and snacks, my list -- mental, not physical -- included the stuff from which music is made. Guitar. Bass (maybe I will learn how to use the thing for something more than decoration) and practice amp. Cords. Tuner. Picks. Ear plugs. The list could go on -- and on <i>ad infinitum</i> -- except that most of the items were already ready to go. How is this really any different from going to practice or a gig?<br><br>
I stacked my camp essentials alongside what Becky previously laid out. A beer change was made: Downtown Brown -- brewed in Humboldt County -- in homage to Paul’s upcoming move. The stack was not quite as nice as in our Pup animation. Still, except for clothing and linens, we were ready to go. <br><br>
Maybe we are ready too soon. Wouldn’t some last minute scurrying about add some tension or confusion? Not necessary. After all, we already have waited long enough and getting to the Bear Valley will seem to take “forever.” <br><br>
If I was not driving, I would be asking, “Are we there yet? What’s taking so long?” Yeah, just like a little kid!<br><br>
P.S. - Check out our <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mf53Cu4nFVQ" target="_new"><b>“The Pup Is Ready for Camp”</b></a> animation.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/camp2-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/8640882013-06-02T22:55:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:23-08:00Time To Rejuvenate - Is Camp the Fix?<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/981fefb2426860ee3488f325a94b19404302d953/medium/beerfest2LP.jpg?1370264411" class="size_orig justify_middle border_thin" alt="" height="263" width="360" /><br><br>
Maybe rock ‘n roll is for the young -- not those who are only young at heart. That thought occurred to me more than once before, during, and after playing at the Davis BrewFest. Massive Delicious and ZuhG are bands with younger -- and extremely --talented musicians. They did not seem to be the worse for wear after lugging equipment out of the ZuhG trailer to the stage less than a half hour before the scheduled 2:00 start.<br><br>
Then again, once the basic stuff was on stage, the time was pushing 2:00. The Pups still had to set up to play. No time for rest. Two amps. Instruments. Plugs. Cords. A dead battery in my wireless -- or at least no signal. A short in Sue’s connection to the PA. No time for real fixes. I pulled out the fluorescent yellow cord and remembered this time to plug it into the guitar. We unplugged Sue from the PA and ran her into one of ZuhG’s amps.<br><br>
Sweat was dripping off my face and head. Robert was feeling woozy after departing from his healthy eating regimen for a brat during the wait for the ZuhG trailer. Until the amp change, Sue would hit a few notes followed by spitting and fizzing through the PA speakers. In the midst of this chaos, Glenn had adjusted the drum kit to his liking and was waiting patiently for the rest of us.<br><br>
The temperature did not live up to the forecast -- a mere 97 and not 102. But it was hot. Fortunately, the event was not out in the open sun. Instead, the stage was set up under an overpass, which provided shade for us and the more than 1,000 folks in attendance. Breweries were serving their hand-crafted beers in an area crowded with people eager to taste. The heat and close quarters fueled their thirsts.<br><br>
When the siren sounded to start the BeerFest, hundreds of people were still out in the sun and in line. And the picayune problems that piled up pushed our start time off. Earlier in the day, I looked forward to an orderly set up around 12:30, sound check at 1:30, collecting my thoughts, and coming in after Glenn, Robert, and Sue in “Penetration” shortly after 2:00. <br><br>
Well, you know what happens with best made plans -- or expectations. We started at 2:10, which was not bad considering that the back line was still in the ZuhG trailer at 1:30. Minimal sound check and no time to collect my thoughts in the face of feeling the effects of the heat. Trimming our set as we played to finish by 2:50 or so -- our designated ending time.<br><br>
Despite the heat, the chaotic set-up, changing our set on the fly, a crowd more interested in beer than four middle-aged folks playing music, and whatever else seemed to happen between 1:30 and 2:50, we had won over some young adult -- twenty-somethings -- fans. “Hey, that was great!” Exchange fist bumps. “Man, we love that sound and energy!” “Where can we hear more of that?” And in homage to the average age of our band: “Music has no age barriers.”<br><br>
As I loaded guitars and couple of amps into the back of the Prius while talking about guitars with an hobbyist luthier, I realized that I was exhausted. My thoughts wandered off to the need to be rejuvenated -- to rekindle the fire for playing -- to return to the invigorating pure fun of playing.<br><br>
Whether the heat or the chaos generated those thoughts, Sierra Surf Music Camp is less than a week away. That probably is the perfect prescription at just the right time!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/beerfest2LP-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/8579052013-05-31T23:35:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:23-08:00Your Back Is Soaking Wet<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/4743379892fcac62585ffabf991a7d336bdaa118/medium/Beerfest11x17.jpg?1369108782" class="size_orig justify_right border_thin" alt="" height="356" width="230" />At Thursday night's practice, sweat was dripping off my forehead, into my eyes, and on to my glasses. Big sweat rings radiated from my arm pits to half way down my side. The Nagging Little Voice stated the obvious, “You’re wearing a long sleeve shirt and long pants. What did you expect?” My immediate thought was that French blue was a bad shirt color choice.<br><br>
I looked back at Glenn. His Wiki Weekend Warriors tee was soaked through. “Do you want the fan on?” “No, it wouldn’t do any good. Besides, I’ve got a beer.”<br><br>
The Nagging Little Voice then began to whine, “Turn on the air conditioner.” The whine became a beg. “Please.” No, we were not going to do that. It would put another noise in the room and interfere with our sound. Plus, we need to get ready for the Davis BeerFest.<br><br>
Meanwhile, Sue and Robert seemed totally acclimated. Maybe they were getting some breeze from the three fans that were running in Doghouse. They certainly did not need an air conditioner blowing down on them.<br><br>
As I sought relief with a Lost Coast Great White, the Nagging Little Voice had decided that I was a wimp. “It’s only 80 now. If you’re sweating like this now, just think what will happen on Saturday when the forecast is 102. You’ll melt. Ha, ha. You wimp!”<br><br>
Yes, the Nagging Little Voice maybe had a point. The week began in the 60s and was to peak on Saturday by breaking the century mark for the first time this year. The Pups will be outdoors in the sun and the heat -- another new playing experience.<br><br>
Whether than contemplate that my pedals might melt, I kept hearing the words of James Brown’s “Oh, Baby, Don’t You Weep”: “You’re screaming your heart out ‘til you back is soaking wet now.” I may not be screaming but certainly should expect that my back will be soaking wet. Sweat and rock ‘n roll -- don’t they seem like they should go together?<br><br>
As I wiped my forehead on my shirt sleeve, a thought came to mind. Fashion reminder for Saturday: Don’t wear French blue.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Beerfest11x17-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/8288812013-05-27T22:25:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:23-08:00Davis BeerFest: Supporting a Worthy Cause<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/4743379892fcac62585ffabf991a7d336bdaa118/medium/Beerfest11x17.jpg?1369108782" class="size_orig justify_left border_thin" alt="" height="371" width="240" />I recently ran into a friend whom I had not seen for several years. When asked “how are you doing,” she responded, “Fine, but I’m looking and getting older.” We agreed that getting older beat the alternative. <br><br>
The myth of not getting older led Ponce de Leon to Florida. His quest is the foundation for the cosmetics industry for both women and men. And how about cosmetic surgery? How many advertisements for cosmetic surgeons did you count when you last flew on Southwest or read the “medical” issue of Sacramento Magazine? <br><br>
Trying to avoid the effects of old age drives folks to hair dyes and a bunch of creams sold by infomercials. Big Pharma does not want to miss out on our obsession over aging by promising us, among other things, gleeful sexual relations forever.<br><br>
Like Ponce de Leon, we endlessly search for the mythical fountain of youth. But, deed down, we know that no fountain of youth exists. Modern chemistry has not come up with a capsule, pill, jell, cream, lotion, or other potion to keep us forever young.<br><br>
The simple fact is that we age. Statistically, we will live longer than our parents, and our children will live longer than we do. Longevity presents new challenges. Our friends, our parents, or their parents confront maladies and obstacles that come with aging to which we never gave much -- if any -- thought. <br><br>
I may joke that I cannot “get air” on an attempted jump while on stage or can get up only gingerly -- and clumsily -- after trying to play a guitar from my knees. Those signs of my age are nothing compared with what some of my friends face daily in worn out knees and hips, diabetes, dementia, renal failure, liver and heart disease, or being tethered to a walker or a wheel chair.<br><br>
The reality of aging makes playing at the Davis BeerFest especially compelling for us. All proceeds go to Citizens Who Care, a Yolo County nonprofit organization that offers social support and services to older adults and their family caregivers. Trained volunteers, with the assistance of professional staff, provide an In-Home Respite Visiting Program, a Convalescent Hospital Visiting Program, and Time Off for Caregivers. The mission of Citizens Who Care is to improve the quality of life for the elderly and their caregivers.<br><br>
The unfortunate truth is that each one of us knows an older adult or family caregiver who can benefit from what Citizens Who Care and similar organizations do. Fortunately, Citizens Who Care is there for some -- and with our and your support maybe more -- of those people in need.<br><br>
That is why the Pups are particularly proud to play at the BeerFest on June 1st at the Sudwerk in Davis. BeerFest! How cool is that? You can taste more than 100 hand-crafted beers, eat brats, listen to three bands (including the Pups), and support a worthy cause. Designated drivers get a price break. <br><br>
Just remember the day that you may need what Citizens Who Care gives is not as far away as you may think. After all, getting older sure beats the alternative!<br><br>
For more information visit the Citizens Who Care website at <a href="http://%20http://www.dcn.davis.ca.us/go/care/Beer.html." target="_new">http://www.dcn.davis.ca.us/go/care/Beer.html</a>. We hope to see you at the BeerFest on Saturday.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Beerfest11x17-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/8195722013-05-25T10:20:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:23-08:00Choreography -- Isn't that for Broadway Productions?<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/0597f2c70bee5ca43a31dc7d66fd61d0087ec1f0/medium/Knees.jpg?1369527325" class="size_orig justify_middle border_thin" alt="" height="208" width="370" /><br><br>
During the penultimate practice preliminary to the KFJC Battle of the Surf Bands, the Kool Kat appeared to be looking over the “living room” of the Doghouse and our practice space. He then walked to the kitchen area, grabbed a handful of almonds, and on his way back, surveyed the area again. Clearly, he had something percolating under his mane of white hair.<br><br>
As I was congratulating the Pups for being within the KFJC Battle of the Surf Bands time limit, the Kool Kat began shaking his head. That jogged me from any feelings of relief; my thought was, “Oh, oh, what’s going on?” <br><br>
The Kool Kat stood rubbing his chin and said, “We don’t practice like we play live. For our next practice, we need to move the furniture, line up how we line up on stage, and play.” Sue joined in immediately, “Yes, that is absolutely right. We need to do that for our next practice.” <br><br>
Hearing no objection from Glenn, I knew what was in store for our next practice -- and possibly every future practice. Multi-tasking! Didn’t I flunk Multi-tasking 101 once already this year? Rather than repeat the course, we agreed to do all things in moderation -- including moderation -- for awhile.<br><br>
The next practice came. The furniture was moved. We lined up like we might be on a stage. I had switched back to a cord -- fluorescent yellow -- as visions of airport tower and radio talk coming across my wireless system filled my imagination. “This is November six-five on approach, over.” Squawk. Urp. ZZZ. “What’s your zulu? Over.” Squawk. Urp. ZZZ!<br><br>
Alas, tripping over a cord would be better than that. Then again, maybe I just should have a cord at the ready and simply risk a Spinal Tap moment.<br><br>
We played. Robert perfected several well-timed jumps. No jumps for me. Grabbing air no longer is in the cards. Actually, not much was. When I went to my knees to play, Robert started laughing. He knew that the odds were against my arising with any aplomb at all. He was right! <br><br>
After that move, he joked, “You need to have Becky come out a put a cape over your shoulders, hand you a cane, and start to lead you off stage. Then you can throw the cape off. You know, like James Brown!” Yeah, maybe some day after we practice that a bunch. And maybe I can learn to do the Chuck Berry duck walk. Fat chance!<br><br>
In the end, we did not come up with any slick choreography. No coordinated leg kicks. No playing leaning against each other. Nothing at all other than proof positive that choreography is for Broadway productions. <br><br>
Instead, we will stick to a healthy dose of moderation. And that probably is best for . . . . After all, didn’t I already tube multi-tasking badly?<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Knees-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/7901812013-05-21T12:06:52-07:002017-01-13T16:30:23-08:00KFJC Battle of the Surf Bands - Pup Style<b><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">EDITOR'S NOTE</span></b><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">: The photos in this post are coutesy of Leslie Bialik.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/b8a907e47b35891a40ef91fa8aba544730cca1bf/medium/KFJC.10LP.jpg?1369187928" class="size_orig justify_absMiddle border_thin" alt="" height="256" width="360" /><br><br>
You read earlier that the KFJC Battle of the Surf Bands made for a perfect afternoon. With the back line in place, wired, and sound-checked for radio purposes in advance, the entire production ran like a well-oiled machine. The show started right on schedule at 1:00 with Ferenc Dobronyi and his band, Frankie and the Pool Boys. While they played, members of North of Malibu gathered their instruments. At 1:12 or so, Frankie finished, and the transition was on. At 1:15, North of Malibu commenced its set. It finished within the allotted 12 minutes. Once the precedent was set, every band followed course -- 14 more times. Aloha Screwdriver finished at 4:57, leaving three minutes for Ferenc and Mary McDonald -- the KFJC dj in charge -- to thank the crowd, the bands, the Surf Spot, and each other.<br><br>
Of course, as you might expect, the Pups were not a well-oiled machine. If we were, we no longer would be pups. We would have graduated to dogs, canines, mutts, or hounds.<br><br>
My day began at 5:30 after a night of fitful semi-sleep that resulted from a cup of coffee at 8:00, visions of disaster, and raging rants by the Nagging Little Voice. “Why did you have a cup of coffee at 8:00? Between the caffeine and getting up to pee, you won’t sleep at all!” Every time the Nagging Little Voice rested, Ray Davies’ words from “All of my Friends Were There” came to mind. Then, when I got up pass some coffee, the Nagging Little Voice started again, “See, I told you so.”<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/5ac3ba636e2822c63c8c9e833d5b9e8b08e42688/medium/KFJC.8ST.jpg?1369188084" class="size_orig justify_right border_thin" alt="" height="347" width="230" />By 10:30 or so, Sue, Glenn, guitars, bass, pedal boards, merch crate, and I were on the road to Pacifica. Robert texted earlier that he and Lisa were going to enjoy the coast and planned to leave around 10:30. He inquired about the name of the venue. “Surf Spot on the PCH in Pacifica. Next to the bowling alley.”<br><br>
Every time traffic slowed down, the thought that flashed was, “What if the traffic is like this from here on out?” Fortunately, it never was. After taking the wrong exit in Pacifica, getting directions from a mail carrier, and making another wrong turn, we arrived with time to spare.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/d216ff315a44a88424263423a1f5a2ba031d6ca6/medium/KFJC.6GK.jpg?1369188084" class="size_orig justify_right border_thin" alt="" height="347" width="230" />Despite a couple of wrong turns, this was going very smoothly. Maybe too smoothly considering the potentially ominous text to Sue’s cell from Robert as we merged on to Highway 1. “When do we go on?” We debated, “Do we tell him 2:00 or 1:45?” We voted for the truth.<br><br>
After Frankie and the Pool Boys played, Ferenc put on his producer’s hat and came over to see how we were doing. “Fine, except we don’t have a bass player yet.” As North of Malibu finished its set, still no Robert. We were two bands -- 30 minutes -- from our assigned slot. In the middle of the Buzzy Frets’ set, I started contingency planning. <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/636da56c740e04c447accbd91c9397a53ae05692/medium/KFJC.7RK.jpg?1369188247" class="size_orig justify_left border_thin" alt="" height="347" width="230" />But rather than “what if” the thing too much, I dialed Robert on the cell. “Where are you?” “We’re just coming into Pacifica. Where’s the venue? How’s the parking?” I looked out at the lot, and it was nearly full. At least, they were only five minutes away unless they took the circuitous route that we had.<br><br>
As the Buzzy Frets finished and EL84 took the stage, Robert walked in. Whew! Simultaneously, Ferenc walked up. “Are you going to be ready?” “Yes, our bass player has arrived.”<br><br>
I slung my guitar over my shoulder, adjusted by Hawaiian tux jacket, and grabbed my pedal board. EL84 was wrapping up. Our three minutes to get on stage and set up began. After plugging my fluorescent yellow cord and other cords into the pedal board, I looked back at Ferenc, who then turned up the volume of the amp. I hit the strings. Nothing! What? Then I looked at my guitar. Flustered or just plain inexperienced, I had not plugged anything into it. Duh!<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/9869b0ee8ed022027f6a1330b90ded4bcc711278/medium/KFJC.9BT.jpg?1369188574" class="size_orig justify_right border_thin" alt="" height="153" width="230" />Ferenc moved to the mic, engaged in a little banter with the crowd and Robert, and asked me if we were ready. “We’re ready.” Ferenc announced, “And now the Lava Pups. I hope they play as loud as Bill’s jacket!”<br><br>
“Thank you. This is off of our CD.” We launched “Link Man.” Any jitters were gone as, in short order, I realized that I only could hear me and the drums. What Sue and Robert were doing was an audio mystery. “Squad Car.” Robert motioned to me to turn up the volume. I certainly was not going to do that on the fly. So I hit the boost pedal. Between “Squad Car” and “Lava Tube,” Robert asked me to turn up the volume. As I headed back to the amp, somebody from the production crew said, “Don’t touch that. The sound’s fine.” Okay, we were going to do this by working off of Glenn’s drums and watching each other’s hands -- a totally new experience.<br><br>
We finished the Link Wray Medley. Our 12 minutes were done. A number of people said that we sounded great and congratulated us. Robert and Sue repeated over and over, “We couldn’t hear anybody else.” But the folks kept saying that we sounded good and were right on time and in sync as a band.<br><br>
Even our fans in D.C. -- Becky, my daughter, and friends -- who watched the streaming video, texted that we sounded great.<br><br>
Practice had paid off. We knew the songs and each other well enough that we could play under new, unexpected conditions. That meant we were one step closer to being a band. But I needed a beer. The time had come to relax and enjoy the rest of what would be a perfect afternoon. <br><br>
Why do things easily when you can do them Pup style?<br type="_moz"></span>Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/7744812013-05-19T07:05:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:23-08:00A Perfect Afternoon: KFJC Battle of the Surf Bands<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/ba4fd744bb51e0c2af0020e18f6a8d16fae7e55b/medium/KFJC.1.jpg?1368997493" class="size_orig justify_middle border_thin" alt="" height="263" width="350" /><br><br>
For this wannabe surf guitarist, the formula for a perfect afternoon is simple:<br><br><b>Perfect Afternoon = Music + Venue + Weather + Fun = KFJC Battle of the Surf Bands</b><br><br>
As any reader of this blog -- whether casual or semi-regular -- knows, our posts are never that concise. You are going to get the long form version.<br><br><b><i>Music</i></b>. Sixteen bands presenting sixteen different adaptations of what we loosely call surf music. Enough time for each band to convey its style and show off its talents. Sonic diversity to refresh and vitalize the audience’s senses. Visual variations to engage and entertain the audience. Never so much of any one band, sound, or schtick as to overwhelm. Each band leaving you wanting more. A surf sampler of sorts.<br><br><b><i><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/68669667dfd26c26205bb3c4fcfee651dfb3920b/medium/KFJC.2.jpg?1368997497" class="size_orig justify_right border_thin" alt="" height="173" width="230" />Venue</i></b>. Bring the sixteen bands together at an aptly-named venue, the Surf Spot, across the PCH -- Pacific Coast Highway for those not given to our West Coast shorthand -- from the ocean in Pacifica. The outdoor stage is nestled into an embankment leading up to the highway. The stage shelters performers and audience from the onshore breeze and eliminates any highway noise. A hill to one side and a restaurant to the other combine with cabanas and a grassy play area opposite the stage to create a bowl where an audience can sit at picnic tables or on the grass. Intimate, yet open. No overpowering volume required. Add ample parking, excellent and reasonably-priced food, beer, and margaritas, and you have an ideal all-ages venue for surf music.<br><br><b><i>Weather</i></b>. Play and listen in the sun. Two myths prevail about California coastal weather. One is that the California coast is sunny and warm day in and day out drawing thousands of tanned, fit, and scantily-clothed bodies to the beach. The other is that San Francisco and its adjacent coastal communities are shrouded in fog day in and day out. The weather in Pacifica did not live up to the myth. Instead, it was sunny, clear, and in the mid-60s -- in a single word, marvelous.<br><br><b><i>Fun</i></b>. A surf music love fest. Sixteen bands welcomed to the stage and supported by other musicians and fans who share a love of surf music. Members of different bands communing with each other. Band members and audience members communing with each other. People exchanging fist bumps, hand shakes, and hugs. Eagerly anticipating the next band while wondering where did he get that suit, the paint job on that guitar, or that color guitar. <br><br><b><i><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/3aeb99d6d151c58d70bf735035c3859bfb29f8b0/medium/Meshugga.1.jpg?1368998130" class="size_orig justify_left border_thin" alt="" height="213" width="230" />More Fun</i></b>. The bands’ palpable enthusiasm for entertaining and caring about the audience. Buzzy Frets in tailored black suits and masks. Agency EL84 in sharkskin suits. The Mighty Surf Lords displaying a hot pink bass. Beachkrieg hitting the crash cymbal with a rubber chicken. Brodaddy’s matching shirts with -- my personal favorite -- blue panels. The Gillibillies’ southern surf played on a Gibson flying V. Meshugga Beach Party’s choreographed dance kicks. Trivalve’s rendering of “White Wedding” on a bright yellow guitar. The Tomorrowmen in silver lame. Audience members on stage dancing while Drifting Sand sang “Rockaway Beach.” Aloha Screwdriver in jumpsuits and more silver lame.<br><br><b><i>Still More Fun</i></b>. Seeing the future of surf music in bands with budding young talent like the Deadbeats and the Sneaky Tikis and in young fans. As the Sneaky Tikis blazed through Miserlou, overhearing a father (or grandfather) imparting some history a pre-teen girl, “That’s a Dick Dale song.”<br><br><b><i>Even More Fun</i></b>. Being there, seeing old friends, meeting new people, and feeling the enthusiasm for surf music.<br><br>
Yes, indeed, the efforts of Ferenc Dobronyi, Mary McDonald, and KFJC resulted in the right mix of music and venue. The bands and audience added the fun. You can credit whatever source you choose for the weather. The sum is that the KFJC Battle of the Surf Bands made for a perfect afternoon.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/KFJC.1-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/7427442013-05-14T11:25:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:23-08:00Under Twelve Minutes or Bust!<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/920cfe0c9c844f6f48c00a3f2487a8b7415ea0c6/medium/BillT5-9.JPG?1368581527" class="size_orig justify_left border_thin" alt="" height="337" width="230" />The way to get out of hyperdrive is to rely on Glenn’s drumming and the rest of the band. After all, when timing is left to me, it goes to pieces. Anybody who watches my foot knows that it is not keeping any semblance of a steady beat. Isn’t that why a band has a rhythm section?<br><br>
Undoubtedly, we needed to run through our Battle of the Surf Bands set as a band. On an intellectual level, I knew that with some rearranging we were between 9:48 -- my hyperdrive version -- and 12 minutes. <br><br>
The Nagging Little Voice, however, reminded me that with some drum breaks and bass embellishments we still could be in jeopardy of exceeding 12 minutes. Or a senior moment of trying to remember the name of a song or some meandering babble into the mic could push us over our allotted time.<br><br>
Band practice had to be both banter and playing. From “thank you” at the beginning of the set to “thank you” at the end. We had to rehearse like we were on stage and somebody announced, “And now, the Lava Pups!”<br><br>
Despite the goal of staying out of hyperdrive, I downed on a cup of coffee while waiting for everybody to show up at the Doghouse. This old dog is not about to learn new habits.<br><br>
Once everybody was plugged in, adjusted, tuned, and in place, I said, “Thank you!” And we started. The first time through was a bit dicey. “What are we playing?” “Weren’t we doing [blank]?” “What order are we playing the songs?” Of course, thinking about not forgetting meant I forgot the name of the first song. As we were building up to our big ending, I looked over at Robert and his coat was caught in the strings between the bridge and pickup on the Pup bass. He was trying to free himself from his instrument.<br><br>
“How long?” Becky looked up from her Kindle, did something to her iPhone, and responded, “12:01.” That meant that we were fine. Even with a couple of glitches, we were right on time -- okay, a second over. Nobody will be able to get the hook out that fast. I felt relieved.<br><br>
“Let’s do it again.” No glitches this time. 11:41. That meant we could shift into the no worry posture. Playing the four songs and saying something to the audience probably was going to be under twelve minutes. We had time to spare was confirmed by a couple of more runs through the set -- range 11:36 to 11:45. The relief was real -- exhale.<br><br>
Let’s take a break. The time had come to savor a moment when we were a step closer -- and one worry fewer -- to being ready for the KFJC Battle of the Surf Bands. Oh, yeah, time to savor a Downtown Brown!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/BillT5-9-300.JPG" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/7212942013-05-10T23:10:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:23-08:009:48 - You Better Slow Down!<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/74cfec3c3dc9d5de78fbc3fdf7965d8e54bec81c/original/LarryWilliams.jpg?1368277710" class="size_orig justify_right border_thin" alt="" height="239" width="235" />“You better slow down! Baby, now you’re movin’ way too fast”? No, that was not written by the Beatles or the Jam. It is classic Larry Williams, who, as many may know, did not heed his own advice. He lived fast and died of a gunshot to the head at age 44.<br><br>
At our last band practice, we had our set for the Battle of the Surf Bands down to 12 minutes and 56 seconds. Four songs plus a bit of rehearsed banter with a pretend crowd. The problem was that we were 56 seconds over the allotted time. We considered the “ostrich approach” -- that is, stick our heads in the sand. <br><br>
But the Nagging Little Voice would not have any of that, “The rules are 12 minutes or less. You’ll look unprofessional if you go over.” An impeccably logical response was, “Well, we’re not professionals.” Of course, the Nagging Little Voice never was a big fan of logic and used the slippery slope come back. “If you are 56 seconds over, what will other bands take?”<br><br>
Knowing that the Nagging Little Voice was not going to stop meant that we either had to go with a different set or rearrange some of the songs. The set felt just perfect -- a couple of our originals, a surf classic, and a retro-garage favorite. Importantly, all of the Pups agreed to the set. That left rearranging by carving out something.<br><br>
On Sunday at the Doghouse, I rolled out the rearranged set for Becky. No band mates. Four songs. Full-blown banter. “One, two, three, start.” Becky started the stop watch. “Here’s one from our CD!” I played and talked to the audience of one. She kept time. “We are the Lava Pups. Thank you!”<br><br>
“How long?” “9:48” Wow! Made it with time to spare.<br><br>
“So what did you think?” Becky’s response made me realize that I must have been in hyperdrive -- too much caffeine, too much adrenalin, too much excitement, too much focus on playing fast, too much sounding like a pitchman issuing a disclaimer in television ad.<br><br>
Even though she was a baby at the peak of his career, Becky repeated the words of Larry Williams verbatim, “You better slow down!”<br></span>Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/6985712013-05-07T23:17:38-07:002017-01-13T16:30:22-08:00Mirrors, Anyone?<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/2ab154172815919e5866bda35a3151435efd4076/medium/JimLee1.jpg?1368018988" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="705" width="240" />Saturday, we went to Colfax for a showing of Jim Lee’s recent artwork. Oceanic, surf, Polynesian, spiritual, mystical, ecological, and Buddhist themes dominate his paintings. “Eclectic” probably best describes Jim’s style. He moves easily from using shapes and negative space that define images to creating incredible detail with precise, fine lines. His palette shifts between subdued or muted and vivrant and bright colors.<br><br>
With Sierra Surf Music Camp just around the corner, the showing was an opportunity to catch up on his latest work and renew our acquaintance. Last year, while Glenn and I immersed ourselves in music, Becky and Jean spent good chunks of their camp days under Jim’s tutelage. Those few days and a later bit of serendipity helped Becky sort through the cabinet full of art supplies in the garage and start art classes again.<br><br>
During the hour or so drive back, Becky and I discussed our friends who are real -- as opposed to hobbyist -- musicians and seek to make a living from music. What got the conversation started is hard to say. Maybe it was that nephew Dash recently played guitar with Linda Perry on The Talk. They mentioned his name, and he was caught by the camera a couple of times. No close ups; no full frame pauses; but even a brief pass-by on national television is more than most aspiring artists ever will have.<br><br>
Eventually, the conversation turned to how Paul the Pyronaut had remodeled Ferndale Music to include a stage. His business model includes open mic nights -- the chance for students to perform and for parents and loved ones to see that the lesson money is not wasted. We reminisced about how many of his shows promoted both The Pyronauts and his students. Having fun with music is infectious.<br><br>
The opportunity to perform and stage presence seem to be missing from the SacTown music lesson scene. Does any music store offer the chance to step on a stage and play in front of family, friends, and strangers as part of its lesson regimen? What guitar instructors give lessons during which students sling a strap over their shoulder and play standing up? Where do you learn how to walk out in front of a crowd and not look like a deer in the headlights or somebody trying to pass a kidney stone? Where do you learn that sticking out your tongue looks really stupid? Why should you have to wait until you screw up in a gig to find out?<br><br>
As we bounced these and other questions back and forth, I thought about an observation that Robert “Kool Kat” Kuhlmann made the other night at practice. “We need to start working on how we look. We need mirrors on the walls so that we can watch ourselves!” Weren’t mirrors a staple of dance studios?<br><br>
As I pondered where to buy and where put mirrors, the English Beat’s lyrics came to mind. “Just a thousand reflections of my own sweet self, self, self . . . .” Fortunately, Becky interrupted this flight into frivolity. She shifted the conversation back to Jim Lee’s art. “I really liked his Sea Cliffs Moloka’i.”<br><br type="_moz"></span>Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/6773462013-05-04T23:41:02-07:002013-05-04T23:41:02-07:00Zero - Zip - Nada - Bupkis<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Did you ever get to that point where you just said, “I've got nothing”?<br><br>
Music filled last weekend. Play through our set list on Saturday morning. Dinner at Tuli Bistro followed by fusion jazz featuring the Dave Lynch Group on Saturday night. The Sunday Surf Party the next afternoon chased by a platter of carnitas.<br><br>
By the beginning of Thursday night’s band practice, the afterglow of the Capitol Bowl was nearly gone. It began to wane on Monday morning when a bit of extra stretching was needed to relieve the stiffness from spending a day on my feet. From there, the afterglow continued to dissipate.<br><br>
Band practice required an early arrival to unravel cords, unpack pedal boards, and get the Doghouse back into some semblance of working order. Setting up centered on what was the minimal amount of work needed to ready the Doghouse for practice. The last plug was inserted as Sue walked in the door.<br><br>
Band Practice began with a rapid fire critique of the show. But we quickly moved on to discussing songs for the upcoming KFJC Battle of the Surf Bands. What do we want to play? What songs do we play best? What songs typify us? Are they the same? How many songs can we play in 12 minutes? What songs can we play in 12 minutes? After about 15 to 20 minutes, we were ready to run through the songs.<br><br>
We started with five songs. One right after another. “How long did that take?” “I think 13 minutes.” “Huh? That can’t be because each is around three minutes long!” As perpetual optimists, we played all five again. Even though we really did not keep track of the time the second time through, we knew instinctively what we had to do. “We need to drop one.” <br><br>
Four songs. One right after another. “How long did that take?” “I think 12 minutes.” “Can we time it better than that?” “Hey, my iPhone has a stop watch.” “Let’s try it again. Start the timer.” Four songs. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. No patter. “How long did that take?” “Oh, I didn’t start the stop watch.” <br><br>
Is this a Three Stooges routine?<br><br>
“Again. But this time, start the stop watch.” One, two, three, four, and we were on the clock. Four songs. A little patter. “How long?” “12:56.” “We’re a minute over!” “Not if you round down. Maybe they won’t notice.” We agreed that we would try again next week, switched off the amps, and headed off into the night.<br><br>
As I locked the door to the Doghouse, I felt that every bit of creative juice was wrung out of my body. And that that 56 seconds was going to bug me . . . and bug me . . . and . . . .<br><br>
At that moment, I knew I was done for the week. Nothing was left. Zero. Zip. Nada. Bupkis.<br type="_moz"></span>Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/6566452013-05-01T23:25:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:22-08:00Redefiniton: The Conundrum of Who We Are<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/f217a12cccb67c71fdc7ed6ddb8d222b632fbc2b/medium/KFJC_Poster.jpg?1367298580" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="376" width="250" />Have you ever thought about how to define yourself in a meaningful way in three to five sentences? Would you go with who, what, when, and where? Would you stick to shallow or dive into substance? The Lava Pups pondered this conundrum recently.<br><br>
As a sign of recognition or -- possibly -- an act of desperation, the Pups were invited to participate in the KFJC Battle of the Surf Bands. Recognition or desperation? We really did not care. We felt privileged to receive an invitation.<br><br>
Here’s the deal. Four bands an hour for four hours. That is 16 bands at 12-minutes a band with 3 minutes to get on and off the stage. Plug-in, play the songs that we hope will knock the socks off of the audience, and unplug. Spend the rest of the afternoon eating, drinking, and listening to 15 other bands trying to knock our socks off.<br><br>
We weighed the pros and cons. Three plus hours of road time to and from Pacifica -- con. The opportunity to play in the Bay Area -- pro. Twelve minutes of playing -- con. Not having to schlep equipment to a gig -- pro. Risk of screwing up and forever foreclosing playing outside of SacTown -- con. Strutting our stuff to a bunch of new folks -- pro. The tiebreaker: Having a great time! We signed up.<br><br>
After the lineup for the show was solidified, we received an email addressed to “Band Leaders.” It made a simple request: “Could each of you please send me a blurb about your band. It doesn't have to be very long, 3-5 sentences. Describe your sound, where you're from, what makes you unique, how long have you been together, release history.<br>
This will go in the handbill for the show, and also be used for promotional press releases.”<br><br>
Thinking that the response was a couple of mouse clicks away, I went to our website. The description there was really a non-description -- nothing that made us unique. Nothing to differentiate us from any other surf band in Northern California. Maybe the description on our Facebook page had the answer. Like our website, we were a plain vanilla, nondescript influenced by all of the usual suspects.<br><br>
Shallow was what our descriptions were -- pure pablum. We needed to go deeper and look at the substance of who we are and what we do. Finally, the following emerged:<br><ul>
<li>Start with a traditional surf sound, blend in a healthy dose of Northwest garage sensibility, add a heaping spoonful of Link Wray edginess and a pinch of punk irreverence, and you have the Lava Pups. Formed in late 2010 and hailing from Sacramento, the Pups play a combination of original songs and surf/retro standards. Even though they do not take themselves too seriously, they released their debut CD, “Into the Flow,” featuring 8 Pup originals in 2011.</li>
</ul>
Three sentences. Did they capture the essence of the Lava Pups? Who knows. But a little self-contemplation made us change our website and Facebook. Maybe we all can use a redefinition from time to time.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/KFJC_Poster-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/6353602013-04-29T12:55:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:22-08:00Back with a Bang: Sunday Surf Party<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">We staked out a corner as a “stage” for the return of the Sunday Surf Party to the Capitol Bowl. This was truly going to be a cooperative effort -- VibroCounts drums and bass amp, Lava Pups PA, DI boxes, mic, and lead guitar amp, and Retronauts small amp for rhythm. Of course, that meant more people than usual bumping into each other.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/9fa9f23d5d7b851aa40b29edf8efbfec825f11f9/medium/Pups4-28-13.jpg?1367298577" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="246" width="360" /><br><br>
By the time that Paul of the VibroCounts set up, tuned, and tested out the drums and all connections were set, we were past the 1:00 start. I was still in shorts and a tee. But a quick trip to the Men’s room allowed me to emerge in a truly garish outfit -- yellow shorts, orange and yellow Hawaiian shirt, and wayfarer sun glasses with zebra-pattern rims. Sue was in a bright yellow bowling shirt and colorful spandex pants. The Pups were ready to put a jolt into the crowd.<br><br>
Despite marvelous weather -- suitable for gardening if you like that kind of stuff, nearly every chair and stool in the restaurant was occupied as was most of the seating in the lounge area. We had a crowd that was ready to be jolted and party to surf music.<br><br>
The bands did not disappoint. The Lava Pups filled the room with energy, lots of reverb, and an occasional bit of Link Wray-type attitude. As usual, we engaged in a little foolishness, never took ourselves too seriously, and maintained an easy rapport with the crowd -- all in moderation, of course. Lola -- the nearly 3-year old granddaughter of Weekend Wiki Warrior Carlos -- danced along as we played. This is what surf music is all about -- energy, fun and frivolity. <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/20f876bdb13a96119ee3598a512771348a141db4/medium/Retronauts4-28-13.jpg?1367298582" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="204" width="360" /><br><br>
By the time that the Retronauts brought on their brand of retro rock, Lola had headed home for a nap. Stylistically, they are true artists influenced by the Ventures. Less reverb than the Pups. Music that is all about melody, harmony, and counterpart. Their playing demonstrated a respect for the music. It was a set of tight tunes delivered by four accomplished musicians.<br><br>
The VibroCounts closed. Sometimes reverb-drenched surf. Sometimes retro music bordering on jazz or psychedelic. Always crystal clean and clear. Always astounding musicianship. Cliff Adams provided a bit of history as he introduced songs. Calm and knowledgeable. <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/898a6d784283bf6c113d32dcb09f47c4ae55ca98/medium/Vibro4-28-13.jpg?1367298575" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="240" width="360" /><br><br>
The three bands delivered more than three hours of instrumental music. They presented three different styles of playing. They exhibited three different energy levels. They engaged the audience in three different ways. But, despite their differences, all three bands showed their love for instrumental music with a melody. <br><br>
Importantly, everybody in the crowd walked out of the Capitol Bowl feeling that they had been entertained. They had had fun. They ate, drank, and socialized. Some even bowled.<br><br>
The cap for a day of packing, unpacking, setting up, taking down, playing, and schmoozing was a visit to our neighborhood Mexican restaurant. As we walked in, an older woman -- well, probably my age -- gave my yellow shorts and orange and yellow Hawaiian shirt the once over, scrunched her nose, and leaned over to her friend. She looked to be saying, “Don’t look now, but you ought to see the garish outfit that just walked in.” As her friend tried to turn discretely, she did the “no, no, don’t be so obvious” move. As we walked out, the two of them exchanged looks and simultaneously rolled their eyes.<br><br>
Becky stopped me from leaning over and saying, “Hey, I play in a rock ‘n roll band. Would you like an autograph?”<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Pups4-28-13-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/6214112013-04-27T00:00:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:22-08:00Beer, Bowling and Boogie Tour?<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/6d372ba50b9804c5d7d8dc1de726754bf9ce514c/medium/KKBlueBass.JPG?1367081522" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="255" width="230" />Recently, the Kool Kat has taken to playing the Pup bass -- the powder blue Chinese cheapie, hybrid Jaguar-Jazz bass. Lighter strings. Brighter tone. Thinner neck. A semi-surf vibe.<br><br>The bass is far from a “stock” Chinese cheapie. Before entering the Doghouse, it made a stop at Buzzard’s Bass in Massachusetts. There, it had a makeover of sorts. Level the frets. Shielding. New electronics and bridge. Change the nut. Match the headstock to the body. Tortoise pick guard. The process was more than putting lipstick on a pig. It converted the Chinese cheapie into an overpriced "custom" Chinese cheapie.<br><br>For two years, it mostly sat in the closet. It came out for Sierra Surf Music Camp last year. But, as loyal readers know, it developed a buzz on the low C, which made it useless to me. Back on the floor of the Sacramento Valley, the buzz disappeared.<br><br>A couple of weeks ago, the powder blue (now overpriced but custom) Chinese cheapie came out of the closet again. Robert showed up without his bass and asked, “Where’s your bass?” “In the closet.” “Can I use it?” “If it doesn’t buzz on the low C.” And out it came.<br><br>We hooked a strap -- adjusted for me -- to it. Robert threw the strap over his shoulder. He looked like a punk bassist as the Chinese cheapie hung down around his knees. A trip to my strap collection led to tiki strap which could be adjusted easily. Robert shortened it up, and -- voila -- he was playing away. No buzz on the low C. No chattering strings bouncing off of the pickups.<br><br>Wow. The Chinese cheapie bass actually sounded really good!<br><br>Pressing it into regular -- or semi-regular -- service required taking it to Guitar Workshop for an overhaul. A trip to Guitar Workshop also was an opportunity to talk about music and guitars, bounce some ideas around, and watch professionals at work. <br><br>Any non-lesson time at Guitar Workshop centers around the workbench where Dave and Steve perform their jobs as master technicians and skilled craftsmen. Usually, in addition to run-of-the-mill set-ups, some major project occupies the bench -- refretting a vintage Ric or refurbishing of a vintage Gibson. But they treat a Chinese cheapie bass with the same care and attention.<br><br>Enthusiastically, I promoted the upcoming Sunday Surf Party to Dave, Steve, and anybody else within ear shot. Dave’s response was encouraging, “Surf music, beer, and bowling just go together. You need to take it to bowling alleys all over Northern California.”<br><br>OMG. The Beer, Bowling and Boogie Tour!</span><br><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/5947102013-04-23T14:26:08-07:002017-01-13T16:30:22-08:00In Unison Now: "That Sounds Like S**t!"<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/9479158d094ac04160c68cfa4d1e99d2e71c214f/medium/DIBox2.jpg?1366777738" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="174" width="230" />The big picture items were done for “The Sunday Surf Party Is Back!” We were down to getting what the Pups committed to do in order. Topping that list had to be the PA and the equipment to put sound through it. For starters, playing our instruments into and through our PA is totally new to us -- not done before. In fact, when we met with the VibroCounts and Retronauts, the equipment was on backorder.<br><br>
As they left, the Nagging Little Voice asked, “Were you just a bit too brash suggesting that in the first place?” <br><br>
Fortunately, the equipment arrived. But we needed to test out running our own sound through the PA. After all, we are first on the bill. We are setting the tone for the afternoon. Screw up, and we possibly rain on everybody’s parade.<br><br>
As I was on my hands and knees hooking up mic cables between the recently-arrived electronic gadgets -- aka DI boxes -- to the PA, the Nagging Little Voice started up. “Do you have any idea what you are doing?” It continued, “What if this is a giant failure? Do you really think that miking the amps will bail you out? You really must like the taste of crow!” I muttered something profane -- not even mildly profound, just purely profane -- under my breath.<br><br>
When the first connection was set up, I tried it with the Ocean Turquoise Jazzmaster. The set up worked. The Nagging Little Voice relented a bit, “Maybe I spoke too soon.” That concession, however, was short-lived. When I engaged the highly acclaimed “4x15 simulation,” the Nagging Little Voice and I exclaimed in unison, “That sounds like s**t! Maybe this is not such a good idea.” <br><br>
After a bit of debate, the Nagging Little Voice agreed that the sound was fine as long as we did not push the 4x15 button. I thought, “Good thing these things were relatively inexpensive compared with the bag full of useless pedals in the closet.”<br><br>
The next step was to test this new-fangled gadgetry with the whole band -- at volume with drums. We played, and what we heard was fuller and richer than before. It deepened the tone from Sue’s uku-tar (guita-lele); pushing the 4x15 button provided even more depth. Even the Nagging Little Voice seemed to like her new sound. <br><br>
The Kool Kat, however, kept tweaking -- and tweaking -- and tweaking. “I want to keep pushing the amp to break up the sound a bit.” He would turn knobs on the amp. “I need get the PA to color this.” He would twist knobs on the PA. This went on from 7:30 to 9:30 -- two hours of tweaking. <br><br>
As we called an end to our first practice session incorporating the PA, Robert said, “This is going to take some getting used to. It’s still not quite right.” The good news is we have one more band practice scheduled before the gig. The bad news is that the number of knobs for him to tweak has more than doubled.<br><br>
Will the Kool Kat find THE tone by next Sunday? Come on down to the Capitol Bowl and find out.<br><br><br type="_moz"></span>Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/5745812013-04-21T00:25:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:22-08:00Getting Ready: "We'll give you Pipeline if you give us Surf Rider"<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/0dddcd3efed9b8b2f1c00a0b677171c3a717de55/medium/collagehalf.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="356" width="230" />The Sunday Surf Party is a week away. Three hours of family fun with no admission to pay. No parking to pay. You can spend your money on bowling, food, and drink and have something left over to drop in the tip jar.<br><br>
But three hours of rock ‘n roll just do not spring out of the blue.<br><br>
Are you ready for more of what goes into a show? You probably are thinking, “He doesn’t really care how I answer because he’s gonna tell me anyway.” You are correct. <br><br>
A couple of Sundays ago, we sat down with members of the VibroCounts and the Retronauts to plan for The Sunday Surf Party Is Back! show. Stacks of posters and fliers were ready and waiting. “Take as many as you need. The 11x17s look nice framed. The postcard-sized fliers are great in purses. Give them to your friends and neighbors. Hand them out at the gym and at work.”<br><br>
Over beers, water, Diet A&Ws, and -- a constant for me -- coffee, we sat in the “living room” of the Doghouse, swapped stories, and agreed upon equipment for the show. We will play through small amps and run the guitars and basses through the PA -- something new for the Pups. <br><br>
The rationale was impeccible. “We’re getting older. We don’t need to haul 80 pounds of amp and speakers.” Fender Twin Reverbs and large speaker cabinets are for folks with young and strong backs. Besides we do not need to blow the doors off of the Capitol Bowl.<br><br>
Stage footprint and equipment were easy. We then negotiated the order in which the bands would play. Ego, familiarity, and experience all played a role. Alphabetical order? What the poster shows? Years of experience? Energy level? Showmanship? We finally came up with the Lava Pups followed by the Retronauts and then the VibroCounts.<br><br>
Working out set lists followed with its inevitable “horse-trading.” Who would play which of the surf staples like “Surf Rider,” “Pipeline,” “Wipe Out,” “Penetration,” and “Miserlou"? Retro standards like "Sleepwalk" and "Walk, Don't Run"? The process involved more trading than negotiating. <br><br>
By the time we finished a couple rounds of refreshments, we had put together the logistics, schedule, and songs for the upcoming show.<br><br>
The guys from the VibroCounts and the Retronauts headed off into the afternoon. What lie ahead for the three bands was practicing for and promoting the show. And probably some emails from me the week of the show confirming final, final details.<br><br>
Yes, indeed, three hours of rock ‘n roll just do not spring out of the blue.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/collagehalf-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/5271942013-04-14T00:10:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:22-08:00The Sunday Surf Party Is Back!<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/0dddcd3efed9b8b2f1c00a0b677171c3a717de55/medium/collagehalf.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="363" width="235" />Las Vegas and Rockabilly Weekend are in the rearview mirror along with a hectic week at work. The time has come to turn to being a rock ‘n roller -- actually, promoting a show -- until the next flurry of real world demands comes.<br><br>
Sometime ago, we prepared a show promotion checklist. It expanded as we learned of places to hang posters, websites that allow events to be posted, and media people who actually care about local music. The list contracted as poster-friendly businesses closed or changed their policies or as media workers realized that the print medium is withering away. In some instances, a contact went on to a better -- or a more-demanding -- day job. Our checklist is an ever-morphing work in progress.<br><br>
Our goal is to get the message of instrumental surf music out to as many people as possible. Probably back in Advertising 101, which I took before the internet was invented, some professor suggested that getting your message out would translate into “sales.” With us, we are not making sales; we are hoping to put fannies in the seats.<br><br>
Sitting down with the checklist sparked thoughts of what goes into promoting a show before hanging a single poster, sending a single email, or posting an event on some website.<br><br>
Here is the short version. Come up with a venue, the bands, and the theme for a show. Design and work up posters and fliers -- in different sizes. Get them approved by others on the bill. Print up the posters and fliers. Write copy -- something short but catchy knowing that, without a hook, we are indistinguishable from hundreds of other bands trying to get recognition on any day. Gather photos, logos, and other artwork to accompany the copy. Cross your fingers and hope that you have something that works.<br><br>
Preparing for the upcoming show, this copywriter came up with: <br><ul>
<li>The Sunday Surf Party is back! Surf and retro instrumental rock returns to the historic Capitol Bowl. Three bands will deliver different takes on a classic genre. The afternoon will span the pure garage energy of the Lava Pups through the Venturesque clean sound of the Retronauts to the sophisticated stylings of the VibroCounts. Eat, drink, and bowl in a comfortable and family friendly atmosphere. And listen to some really cool rock 'n roll!</li>
</ul>
My fingers are crossed. Only time will tell if the copy was catchy enough or had a workable hook. <br><br>
Maybe “Show Promotion 101” should be a session at Sierra Surf Music Camp this year. After all, “Guitar Face 101” does not appear to be on the radar.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/collagehalf-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/4800282013-04-06T23:55:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:22-08:00Viva Las Vegas! What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/1cef153d7c15b6334e5b2db14caadf80f99c3aeb/medium/VLV_strato.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_right border_thin" alt="" height="283" width="235" />Last weekend, we were in Las Vegas for an getaway and Rockabilly Weekend. The cab ride from the Orleans back to our hotel was an opportunity to relax and reflect on our brief sojourn.<br><br>Much about Las Vegas is just unreal. You can spend 24 hours indoors under a simulated sky and lose track of what is real day or night. You can visit casinos with themes of cities: Venice complete with gondola rides, Paris with an Eiffel Tower, and New York with delis, neighborhoods, the Statue of Liberty, and a skyline that includes the Chrysler and Empire State Buildings. Some casinos will take you on fanciful trips to Egypt or Camelot.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/b73ed703e0f5789868f1df1a33b07b2e70901d7e/medium/VLV_Cadclose.JPG?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_bottom border_thin" alt="" height="263" width="350" /><br><br>In other ways, Las Vegas is surreal. Elvises, showgirls, and other costumed characters are so ubiquitous that, after awhile, they do not warrant a second glance. At times, you feel that you are in the middle of a carnival. Las Vegas’ citizens and visitors can invent any persona they want, never really look out of the ordinary, and be either anonymous or bigger than life.<br><br>A certain reality of Las Vegas revealed itself during our visit. Abandoned building projects. Vacant lots where casinos or hotels once stood. Older casinos made obsolete by new ones, which inevitably will become obsolete. Ostensibly down on their luck people asking for change. Expressionless folks mesmerized by machines that take their money. They are buoyed by the hope that they will be the lucky ones while knowing that the odds are against that.<br><br>Sometimes, the city is a caricature of itself. Easy, quick weddings and divorces. Wedding chapels seem to be everywhere. Many have drive thrus like fast food chains. You can get married and then go have a Big Mac for a wedding dinner. All without leaving the comfort of an air conditioned car! On the flip side, billboard after billboard stand in vacant lots to advertise attorneys handling, among other services, divorces.<br><br>On Fremont Street and along The Strip, you get a sense of Sin City as a multitude of folks hand out fliers that picture naked or nearly naked women who are available for private entertainment. Newspaper stands offer more of the same. Sign trucks cruise The Strip advertising “Girls, Girls, Girls.”<br><br>Real, unreal, surreal, caricature, or Sin City? No matter what you think, Las Vegas is bound to entertain you in some fashion along the way. <br><br>During the cab ride, Becky laughed as she recounted the story of the couple next door to us at our hotel. <br><br>As we walked by their room, they opened their door and asked, “Do you have a humming sound in your room?” The man continued, “We were in another room. It had this weird humming sound. They upgraded us to here, but we are hearing the same weird humming sound.” The woman motioned to a corner. <br><br>Becky went in and thinking the humming sound was coming from the cold air return, she asked Brett (our son and HIVAC expert) to come in and diagnose the problem.<br><br>Becky pointed to the overhead. Brett listened intently. “Uh huh, I hear it, but it is not coming from there.” He then reached down picked up the couple’s duffel bag, held it up, and said, “There’s something vibrating in here. What’s in the bag?”<br><br>The couple blushed simultaneously. They thanked Becky and Brett and rushed them out of the room with a “please don’t tell anybody about this.” They then avoided us the rest of their stay.<br><br>Yeah, what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas!<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/bac044a45f1d61202c3a9f61ee18d7b1a5e9e825/medium/LV_leaving.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_top border_thin" alt="" height="307" width="350" /></span><br><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/13618282013-04-04T22:50:00-07:002020-06-27T10:17:02-07:00Viva Las Vegas! Rockabilly Weekend (Part 3 - Dick Dale and an Adoring Crowd)<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG_2786-300.JPG" class="size_orig justify_bottom border_thin" alt="" height="231" width="366" /><br><br>
The Rockabilly Weekenders were primed for Dick Dale. At 4:30, the announcer who has his own internet radio program on Live 365 stepped up to the mic: “And, now, Guitar Legend -- the King of the Surf Guitar -- Dick Dale!” Cheers and enthusiastic applause.<br><br>
“The Wedge,” a double-picked, glissando-driven classic, opened the set. Along the way, Dick played “Let’s Go Trippin’,” “Ghost Riders,” “Comin’ Home,” “Fever,” “Pipeline,” and “Twist and Stomp.” Thousands of people danced, cheered, and applauded. They sang along with “House of the Rising Sun” and “Bo Diddley.” Dick Dale closed with “Miserlou” -- the song which Quentin Tarantino included in Pulp Fiction in 1994 and which revived Dick’s career. Pulp Fiction took “Miserlou” from a semi-obscure surf song to an iconic surf anthem.<br><br><img src="//content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/VLV_DD-300.jpg" class="size_orig justify_right border_thin" alt="" height="320" width="240" />As he left the stage, we realized how much energy the cancer, diabetes, and renal failure had sapped from Dick. Those diseases were taking their toll on him, but he kept that from the crowd. After all, the show must go on, and, after Las Vegas, Dick was on his way to Arizona on a tour that ends in Florida.<br><br>
Dick was not the same rock ‘n roll icon whom we saw just four months ago. Rather, he looked tired and like a 75-year old who needed a hug from his wife, Lana.<br><br><img src="//content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/VLV_DDLana-300.jpg" class="size_orig justify_left border_thin" alt="" height="331" width="225" />The chores of fame, however, remained. The line for autographs, a minute or two of conversation with the legendary Dick Dale, and merchandise was four-people wide and 50 feet long. The adoration and admiration of the fans were palpable as Rockabilly Weekenders waited patiently for their short time with him.<br><br>
We spent some time gabbing with Dusty Watson, who is -- altogether now -- the best surf drummer in the world. Becky then said good-bye to Lana. We left the “Arena,” walked through the casino, and joined a line of Rockabilly Weekenders at the taxi stand. As had been the case throughout the afternoon, we appeared to be interlopers as we did not have the “look” even though Becky now owned a parasol -- a limited edition “Viva Las Vegas” model. <br><br>
Once doors to our cab were shut, Rockabilly Weekend was officially behind us. Fortunately, we will have the memory of more than 20,000 celebrating a rock ‘n roll and car rebellion from some 50 years ago for years to come. We headed back to the bright lights, crowds, and cacophony of The Strip.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG_2786-300.JPG">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/4606262013-04-02T00:00:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:22-08:00Viva Las Vegas! Rockabilly Weekend (Part 2)<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/84563fda69205e64db166e5a30ab48d7063c5fb7/medium/IMG_2774.JPG?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_top border_thin" alt="" height="225" width="350" /><br><br>For four days, more than 20,000 rockabilly revelers gathered in Las Vegas for music and vintage cars and to celebrate a youth rebellion from over 50 years ago. Viva Las Vegas! appears to revolve around three main ingredients: Cars, music, and a “look.” Of course, an event sponsored in part by Budweiser and Sailor Jerry involves alcohol.<br><br>The majority of the celebrants had the “look.” Clothes and accessories. Hair. Make-up for the women. Not many civilians were in the vicinity of the “Arena” at the Orleans. When the Rockabilly Weekenders were on The Strip or downtown on Fremont Street, they were readily identifiable by the “look.” <br><br>Even though readily identifiable, they did not necessarily stand out all that much in a city full of Elvis impersonators. In fact, you can go to any number of wedding chapels, and an Elvis lookalike will perform the ceremony. Nonetheless, some entire families had the “look.” From young children to grandparents. Parents and teenagers alike.<br><br>Hundreds of vendors were available to help attain the “look.” Thousands of different tee shirts were available. Dresses, skirts, pants, capris, blouses, hair nets, bandanas, purses, accessories, zoot suits, shoes, pomade, other hair products, and make-up. Vintage and retro-look clothing was big business on Rockabilly Weekend as were tattoos.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/faeaca8b05f4baa59a9ed5a82f154dc53946dace/medium/IMG_2782.JPG?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_right border_thin" alt="" height="180" width="240" />Some celebrants, however, came for the vintage cars. This was not an Autorama with overly customized cars. Instead, Rockabilly Weekend brought thousands of cars -- 1963 or earlier -- that people actually drive. They were for daily or weekend driving. Utilitarian. Not museum pieces. “Gritty reality” might be an apt description. <br><br>Many of the people who were there primarily for the cars did not have the “look.” Rather, they wore denim pants and black tees emblazoned with some auto or hotrod logo or event. Moon. Hollywood Hot Rods. Harley-Davidson (okay, I know, that is not an auto or hotrod).<br><br>When I was young, cars, rock ‘n roll, and a “look” plus alcohol often meant fights. But that was not what Rockabilly Weekend was about. It almost seemed to be a love fest. No sloppy drunks. No belligerent drunks. In fact, the more folks drank, the lower any barriers between them became.<br><br>At 4:00, hundreds of folks began to gather around the main stage of the “Arena,” which really was a fenced parking lot, in anticipation of Dick Dale. They were done checking the wares of vendor after vendor, who were in the parking lot and two ballrooms in the casino. The Weekenders already had perused the hundreds of cars in the Arena area. Some had heard rockabilly bands which played in three or four bars throughout the casino. Some had listened to surf music at the Pool Party. <br><br>The Rockabilly Weekenders converged on the “Arena” and the main stage area. The sun was dropping behind the building providing some relief from the 80 plus heat that had reflected off of the asphalt during the day. A bit of breeze helped even more. Despite an afternoon of free-flowing $2 Buds and the crowd’s pressing the stage, everybody was patiently waiting for the staccato, double-picked delivery of Dick Dale and the energy of his music. <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/8d312dd96b88ea288d11ee757c3f3f1d46a6d507/medium/VLV_Crowd.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_top border_thin" alt="" height="263" width="350" /></span><br> Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/4471662013-04-01T01:55:00-07:002023-03-01T21:29:27-08:00Viva Las Vegas! Rockabilly Weekend (Part 1)<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/21478f2c352841859ff2aa133849a8bf6763cfc5/medium/vlv_1.JPG?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_right border_thin" alt="" height="320" width="240" />What happens when reverb goes to Vegas during Spring Break? This is not some nascent plot for an episode of CSI. Instead, it was Rockabilly Weekend, and the King of the Surf Guitar -- Guitar Legend -- Dick Dale was performing on Saturday afternoon.<br><br>One look at the bus stop on Tropicana Boulevard outside the New York, New York Resort-Casino told us that we were in the right place. Several couples in readily recognizable rockabilly attire were in the queue waiting for the westbound bus. The women wore sun dresses or tight high-waisted pants and cat eye sunglasses; their hair was done in curls or flips with bangs; polka dots were prevalent. The guys dressed in denims, bowling style shirts or tees, chains to their wallets; pompadours and sideburns. Some guys wore fedora hats. Almost everybody displayed ink -- lots of ink.<br><br>We were headed to the Orleans Hotel and Casino for the major event of Rockabilly Weekend -- the car show. Cars (pre-63, no muscle cars, no VWs), vendors, and bands. The headliners on the main stage of the car show were Rockats, Little Richard (no, he is not dead), and Dick Dale. Over the four days of the event, more than 80 bands were scheduled to perform. They came from all over the world including Europe and Australia.<br><br>We joined the line and made our way on to the regional transit bus for the two or so mile jaunt from The Strip across I-15. We really had no idea where we were going. So we followed the lead of our fellow travelers who were in proper rockabilly attire. By the time we completed the walk through the parking lot and the casino and out to the “arena,” the ranks of properly attired had swollen to several hundred, if not thousands.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/5c9d234d79342cdf5799ebffc7efa10bf652f504/medium/VLV_Pink.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_left border_thin" alt="" height="306" width="250" />We certainly were outliers. Cargo shorts, Hawaiian shirt, retro Onitsuka Tiger shoes, and my modified 1962 dry-look surfer hair certainly stood out -- as in out of place! Becky’s skirt was a ‘tweener -- either too loose or too tight or too long or too short. Over the course of the afternoon, few couples, if any, in the 20,000 or so folks at the car show, wandering through the vendor displays, or in the casino matched our combined look. Pin-up contestants and Budweiser or Sailor Jerry girls wore the shortest shorts. The fashionable men in shorts wore Dickies to mid-calf. We were quite out of the fashion of the day!<br><br>Rockabilly Weekend celebrates the beginnings of rock ‘n roll when young people rebelled against the staid society following World War II. The dress, hair styles, music, and fascination with cars of youth departed from the America that their parents had fought to protect. Post-War prosperity and opportunity were beginning. <br><br>Of course and as seems typical, some religious leaders and politicians viewed the changing youth culture and rock ‘n roll as threats to societal order or just plain evil. Communities banned rock ‘n roll music. Elvis’ performance on Ed Sullivan is remembered not only for its ratings but also for the decision to show him from the waist up. Except for a possible lack of inclusiveness, however, that phase of youth rebellion was little different than the Beats before or the Hippies afterwards.<br><br>On Easter weekend, more than 20,000 rockabilly revelers gathered in Las Vegas for music, vintage cars, and a bond shared with kids of more than 50 years ago.</span><br><br><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/vlv_1-300.JPG" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/4421262013-03-30T02:05:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:22-08:00Viva Las Vegas!<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">“Bright light city gonna set my soul<br>Gonna set my soul on fire<br>Got a whole lot of money that's ready to burn,<br>So get those stakes up higher<br>There's a thousand pretty women waitin out there<br>And they're all livin devil may care<br>And Im just the devil with love to spare”<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/9799fe1f8530b51690e0cc4d4a675cb0f1e45df7/medium/Vegas_2.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_right border_thin" alt="" height="320" width="240" />Of course, you recognize those lines which Doc Pomus and Mort Shuman penned in 1964. Elvis Presley sang them first. Many different renditions followed including ZZ Top, Wayne Newton, Engelbert Humperdinck, U2, Dolly Parton, Bruce Springsteen, The Killers, and The Dead Kennedys. Given that diversity of performers, each of us probably has a personal favorite version of “Viva Las Vegas.”<br><br>“Viva Las Vegas” also is the event title for Rockabilly Weekend. In fact, when you Google (is the verb capitalized?) “Viva Las Vegas,” Rockabilly Weekend is the first item that pops up on the computer screen -- at least on this week’s algorithm. The Orleans Hotel & Casino hosts the event each Easter. This is the sixteenth year.<br><br>The Orleans is west of The Strip but not too far. We will have more about that and Rockabilly Weekend later.<br><br>Las Vegas Boulevard (South) is The Strip. To many, it IS Las Vegas even though it is south of the city limits. Mega casinos. Bright lights. Flashing signs. Snarled traffic. Noisy and bustling. Nightly fireworks at the Treasure Island. Water displays at the Bellagio. A semi-replica of the Eiffel Tower. People everywhere. Swarms of people!<br><br>Interestingly, The Strip has at least two distinct feels. The north end, where the Thunderbird, El Rancho Vegas, and Stardust once stood, no longer has much vitality at all. The glitzy casinos upon which Las Vegas was built now are mostly vacant lots. A renovation of the Sahara is to be completed by the Fall of 2014. Circus Circus and the Riviera are antiquated and dwarfed by the newer high rise casinos built to the south. <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/3dc54097a3c16bc4a01d030f7f3a4f79b40b93aa/medium/vegas_3.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_left border_thin" alt="" height="282" width="240" />The Stratosphere more or less anchors the north end of The Strip and is a bit more than two miles away from the bronze shimmer of Wynn towers, which stand on the site of the once iconic Desert Inn. They are the line of demarcation between the old Strip and The Strip portrayed on CSI. In between are souvenir stores, some nondescript non-casinos, the abandoned shells of half-constructed casinos, and buffet-style restaurants for just about every style of ethnic food you can imagine. East Indian. Mexican. Korean. Barbeque. Sushi. Kosher.<br><br>The two-mile walk down The Strip from the Stratosphere to the Wynn allows you to see some of the Vegas humanity. They are not the happy, well-dressed folks who appear in ads or whom the Chamber of Commerce wants to represent the city. They do not seem to be having a good time. Instead, they are people asking for change with hand-lettered cardboard signs expressing their poverty, bad luck, hunger, or need. People looking for a bush or a semi-private place to urinate. Women in form-fitting spandex that accentuates every roll of fat. People handing out fliers for shows, strip clubs, adult entertainment, and restaurant discounts.<br><br>That stretch of The Strip shows the throwaway nature of our society, Las Vegas’ continuing search for the latest and greatest gimmick to draw visitors, and how hard the 2008 recession hit a city built on tourism, gambling, and hedonism. But it was not without humor. One cardboard sign was neatly hand-lettered and read, “Aliens took my weed. I need lots of money to replace it.”</span>Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/4327432013-03-28T08:13:12-07:002017-01-13T16:30:22-08:00Under New Management?<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/0dddcd3efed9b8b2f1c00a0b677171c3a717de55/medium/collagehalf.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="371" width="240" />When we left the debate last week, the Nagging Little Voice was skeptical of the notion of a band manager. “Isn’t that a bit grandiose?” <br><br>
In disregard of that skepticism, the idea was broached to Becky. “How about being our manager?” Her response of requiring a written job description and proposal was unexpected. A written job description! Proposal!<br><br>
Now what? How about the “l’ll get back to you with that but in the meantime” approach? Maybe she could intern or start without a proposal and job description. Or I could give up any control of the situation with “draft up a job description from which we can work.” Will the proposal have to include vacations and holidays? The internal debate was making my head hurt. This was too much like a labor negotiation when music is supposed to be fun!<br><br>
So I rubbed my aching head and, absent a pithy comeback, returned to my whine, “What can you do when you do not have time to do the things that you need to do to do the things you want to do?”<br><br>
Fortunately, Becky did not drop the matter or sit around waiting for a written job description or proposal. After all, she is a woman of action. <br><br>
Within a few days, she confirmed a return to the Capitol Bowl, which had made peace with the ASCAP Police. That meant the return of the Sunday Surf Party. She also started to work on getting the Pups a spot at a charity benefit. In short order, that was scheduled too. Yes, indeed, she was taking care of some of the “band business” that had been neglected. <br><br>
Take that, Nagging Little Voice!<br><br>
Of course, the Nagging Little Voice always seems to manage the last word. “How are you doing on the job description and proposal?”<br><br><br type="_moz"></span>Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/4009092013-03-24T00:05:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:21-08:00The ASCAP Police<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/38a1b1e6193da9e512be3e5150efbb208218f217/medium/ASCAP-Badge.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="282" width="235" />“The dream police, they’re coming to arrest me, oh no.”<br><br>
Even though you may know Cheap Trick’s “The Dream Police,” you may not know the ASCAP Police. Before you scramble off looking for some rare vinyl, this is not about a song or an album.<br><br>
“ASCAP” is the acronym for the American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers, which is a performance-rights organization. It protects its members’ musical copyrights by monitoring public performances -- both broadcast and live -- of their music. ASCAP collects licensing fees and distributes them to its members as royalties. The licensing fees are paid by broadcasters, businesses, and venues that play music written by ASCAP members.<br><br>
The concept is simple. Got music on the elevator, get a license. Got background music playing over the public address system, get a license. Offer live music, get a license. Offer an open mic night, get a license. ASCAP is aggressive in pursuing fees for its members.<br><br>
In fact, ASCAP can be so aggressive that, not so long ago, considerable debate existed about its possibly seeking license payments from consumers for ringtones played in public. That possibility led to action by the federal government against ASCAP and a federal court decision clarifying that playing music in public without any commercial purpose does not infringe copyrights.<br><br>
The ASCAP “Police” periodically visit places where music is played. They ride elevators. Hang out in restaurants. Go to grocery stores. Stop by your local club, cafe, or bar. They are on the watch for non-licensed performances. Yes, the ASCAP Police may be in your town right now.<br><br>
Based on reports from its police, ASCAP demands licensing fees under threat of suit. Many small business owners describe it more as a shakedown. But a little research leads to the inevitable conclusion that the unlicensed public commercial use of copyrighted music is pretty much indefensible. As “songwriters” with copyrighted music, we should receive royalties. But the Lava Pups have not received a penny in royalties for plays of songs from <i>Into the Flow</i>.<br><br>
In the zealous protection of its members -- we are not members -- and as a result of the publicity generated from our promotion of last October’s Monster Mash, the ASCAP Police called the Capitol Bowl. That put the fear that the full force of the federal copyright laws would be brought to bear on a small business owner in West Sacramento. Wide-ranging damages and penalties -- $750 to $30,000 per infringement. Costs and attorneys’ fees. Just for letting some local bands play!<br><br>
So as we packed up after the Monster Mash, we were told that the ASCAP Police had called, that the cost of ASCAP did not fit into the current budget, that action by ASCAP was not a risk the business was willing to take, and that “that was your last show here until we figure out what to do.”<br><br>
To paraphrase Cheap Trick: “The ASCAP Police, they’re coming to arrest me, oh no.”<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/1bf5dcecbbd1931516b28ba81562a52d715af30e/medium/ascap.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="27" width="350" /> Really?<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/ASCAP-Badge-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/3896092013-03-20T12:25:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:21-08:00Of Time and a Band Manager<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">What can you do when you do not have time to do the things that you need to do to do the things you want to do? That purposely was phrased to make you scratch your head. Actually, if you repeat it over a couple of times, it makes some sense. Of course, that assumes that you have the time.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/8b84b72eb3caf86c6824b2fa541a237ab72fbba8/medium/EasterPup12012.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="358" width="240" />Spring is here tomorrow. Easter and Spring Break are just around the corner. The trees already are in bloom in the California Central Valley, which probably is the allergy center of the world. We have had some record high temperatures. That means that the season for good time, no thought surf music is upon us. That, in turn, means somebody should be hitting the streets to promote the Pups. <br><br>
Because I have been a bit derelict, the Nagging Little Voice started up. “You are not carrying your end of the deal. When was the last time that you talked to a venue owner? Or a promoter?” Without waiting for a response, the Nagging Little Voice continued, “Time is wasting. You could be missing out on some opportunities.”<br><br>
Unfortunately, I really cannot argue with the Nagging Little Voice this time. “I’m really busy” will not silence it. “I’m recommitted to my love of work” is not a satisfactory answer. <br><br>
So the Nagging Little Voice just seems to rage on. “If you don’t do something, you’re going to lose this summer. You’re not getting any younger. You’d better act now or . . . .” Obviously, the Nagging Little Voice is leaving me to draw the conclusion that the future is now.<br><br>
Besides if I don’t do something, the Nagging Little Voice simply will get louder and more strident. Loud. Annoying. Relentless. Distracting.<br><br>
Hey, Nagging Little Voice, will you let up if I delegate? How about if we get somebody to do the stuff that is not getting done? Somebody who would be a “band manager”?<br><br>
The Nagging Little Voice found this incredulous, “A band manager? Isn’t that a bit grandiose? Extravagant?”<br><br>
Maybe. Maybe not. Becky, who has been our biggest supporter, is not working right now. She should have some time on her hands. She knows us and our music. She has definite ideas about how, where, and what we perform.<br><br>
So . . . . Over dinner, the idea was broached. “How about being our manager?”<br><br>
After a pause, she replied, “Write up a proposal and job description, and I’ll give it some thought.” A proposal? A job description? This is an endless loop.<br><br>
What can you do when you do not have time to do the things that you need to do to do the things you want to do?<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/EasterPup12012-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/3781552013-03-17T03:00:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:21-08:00Re-Examining My Metronomophobia<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/f3ea37c63c4241f665d4d082238c9ce851340a06/medium/Metroname_Q.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="240" width="240" />Recently, a conservative GOP U.S. Senator from Ohio reversed his opposition to Marriage Equality. The catalyst was that his son came out of the closet. Funny how positions change when fear, dogma, political litmus test, or Biblical interpretation requires a person to hate somebody who is a family member or whom he or she personally knows.<br><br>
Saying “I hate you” or “you’re an abomination” to a loved one out of homophobia must be exceedingly difficult to anybody who has a modicum of intelligence or compassion. Maybe some politicians are not automatons who care only about votes and money.<br><br>
When you hear of changes like the Senator from Ohio made, do you reconsider any of your “phobias” or other life views?<br><br>
I recently had cause to re-examine my metronomophobia. Okay, I hear the chorus now: “Aha, gotcha! You should title post this ‘60s Berkeley liberal inspired by a conservative GOP Senator.’ See, Bill, you never are too old to learn.” Before conceding, a little background might help.<br><br>
Metronomophobia (met∙ro∙nom∙o∙pho∙bi∙a) is an "abnormal fear of metronomes" (metronome + phobia). That phobia probably is not recognized by the mental health community or found in the DSM. Many students or wannabe musicians know that the fear of metronomes is real.<br>
<br>
Of course, this begs the question of whether my fear of metronomes was “abnormal.” As long as I have been taking guitar lessons, some teacher has said, “Make the metronome your friend.” Probably teachers have said that since the metronome was invented or commercially available. <br><br>
I know real musicians who will not practice without a metronome. When asked about how they overcame metronomophobia, they replied, “Just make the metronome your friend.” They clearly had bought into what the music-teaching lobby, union, community, or conspiracy advocated.<br><br>
To my knowledge, nobody in my family was a metronome. My sister, Sue, however, might be described as metronomic in that she can play rhythm with the best. None of my friends is a metronome. Then again, like Sue, Glenn and Robert -- and Don and Paul before them -- can be relentless in maintaining a beat. Yes, they too are metronomic.<br><br>
Was that cause to re-examine my metronomophobia? Is the chorus of ahas and gotchas correct?<br><br>
Well, not exactly. When I presented my two new songs at practice, my bandmates asked, “What is the timing?” I replied, “Four-four.” The unanimous response upon hearing what I had in mind was resounding, “No, it isn’t!” Me: “Want to try five-four for some jazz-surf?” Bandmates: “It isn’t that either! Go back, play it to the metronome and figure out your timing.”<br><br>
Epiphany! Metronomophobia is an obstacle to writing songs to be played with or by others. No 12-step program required. To do something that I love, I cannot be a metronomophobic. Maybe, a 60s liberal learned something from a conservative GOP Senator after all!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Metroname_Q-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/3657392013-03-12T23:05:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:21-08:00Blog Post No. CCC<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/57c79783d3a5ae8e7227b196129380527635b662/medium/Pup_Chair.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_bottom border_" alt="" height="313" width="350" /><br><br>
Did you study the Roman numbering system during the Super Bowl XLVII build-up or simply rely on the overdone media coverage? For today all that you need to know is “C” in Roman numbers is 100. You can deduce the rest.<br><br>
In the 300 -- you had deduced that already -- posts, we tried to take you along on the journey of a musically deficient wannabe guitarist and a support group of friends, family, and musicians. If you followed us somewhat regularly, we know that our writings often meandered off course. Digressions may be a sign of aging as in “why did I go there?” We also sprinkled in tidbits of history and trivia and managed to stay PG.<br><br>
Our blog page was viewed nearly 8,000 times. The reach of the web truly is worldwide. In two years, our website received visits from people in 49 countries located on every continent except Antarctica. We have no idea if the visitors from Bangladesh, Bulgaria, Malaysia, Moldova, Pakistan, Slovakia, and Tunisia read the blog. But the number of countries shows that the love for instrumental music with a melody is universal.<br><br>
Our 19-part series about the first Sierra Surf Music Camp generated the most interest of our posts. During the time that series ran, people visited our blog 700 times. As we think about the upcoming Sierra Surf Music Camp II, we think back on the fun of four days spent last year with surf music heavyweights immersed in the music that we love. You can revisit that if you like.<br><br>
The two other most viewed posts were “Hula Hoops and History” and “Brightstar Sweet Darby Scot (November 21, 2001 - February 3, 2013).” I still cannot read through the eulogy for Darby -- our original Lava Pup -- without feeling his loss and the role that he played in our lives. Nonetheless, writing that post helped me through a very tough day. <br><br>
Over two years, we considered light topics like musical maladies (Metronomophobia and Guitar Face), “Louie Louie,” the need for an official California State Rock Song, Carmageddon, and “Mermaids and Mannequins.” You met the Nagging Little Voice and were privy to conversations with it.<br><br>
We semi-chronicled songwriting, recording, releasing a CD, practicing, and playing live. After all, we started the blog as a story about recording Into the Flow. That morphed into a longer and continuing story that included changes in the Lava Pups and how we play. <br><br>
Along the way, we tried to introduce you to other surf bands. We touched -- we hope without treading on readers’ sensitivities -- upon some of the hypocrisy and myopia of politicians, the media, and the treatment of certain holidays. We attempted to share some of the high points of being an instrumental surf band: Opening for Dick Dale -- the King of the Surf Guitar -- and Slacktone -- the current gold standard of surf music. <br><br>
We also wrote about a few serious matters such as death, addiction, mass shootings, and the public’s short attention span. Even though we tried to keep the posts apolitical, the subjects were hot-button topics for some readers. For the most part, they responded by encouraging us to stick to rock ‘n roll. But we also received some comments that we did not approve for posting.<br><br>
Thank you for reading any, many, most, or all of the posts. Sharing them with you was a privilege for us, and we hope that some of them made you chuckle or pause to think or feel a connection to us. Please stay tuned.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Pup_Chair-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/3558012013-03-09T06:05:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:21-08:00A Tale of Two Camps<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/71efae762a1fdb893c5e19d2487c53d9f89d66b5/medium/jeff_beck.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="103" width="355" /><br><br>
On Monday, my invitation to the Jeff Beck Fantasy Camp arrived by email. “A Once-in-a -Lifetime Experience!” I am invited to go to Rock ‘n’ Roll Fantasy Camp and jam with Jeff Beck and Brian Wilson. Wow, in addition to four days in Las Vegas culminating in a live performance at the MGM Grand, campers get a “specially designed commemorative” t-shirt. Yes, a “specially designed commemorative” t-shirt is one of the listed perks.<br><br>
Does that whet your appetite? T-shirt, Jeff Beck, Brian Wilson, and performing at the MGM Grand. And, if you book now, you can take advantage of the “Early Bird Rate”!<br><br>
I thought, “Jeff Beck, Brian Wilson, and a t-shirt, what a deal!” Scrolling down the screen put the kibosh on this little bit of fantasy. The “Early Bird Rate” is a mere $6,499. Hotel packages are available. For $6,499, you do not even get a hotel room, RV space, or campsite. Breakfasts and dinners are not included. Throw in air fare, and this fantasy is breathing on $8,000.<br><br>
After doing the math and even though the “specially designed commemorative” t-shirt could be really cool, the American Express Gold Card went back in the wallet. The Jeff Beck Fantasy Camp is for lobbyists, surgeons, and investment bankers.<br><br>
Camping season must be near, and, thankfully, the Jeff Beck Fantasy Camp is not only option.<br><br>
A week earlier, an email came from Paul the Pyronaut. The email began, “Howdy Campers!!!” Paul announced that he is ironing out the details for Sierra Surf Music Camp II. His email certainly was not as flashy as the invitation to the Jeff Beck Fantasy Camp. No link to a fancy website. No head shots of instructors. No off-the-chart graphics using multipe fonts and colors. No world-renown Las Vegas hotel. No promises of a “specially designed commemorative” t-shirt. <br><br>
The only promises were the “same idea as last year (+++ ??? your input here),” many of the same teachers, and more reverb! Last year’s faculty was amazing: Paul Johnson, Dusty Watson, John Blair, Ferenc Dobronyi, and others. In the surf music world, they may well be equivalent to Jeff Beck, Brian Wilson, and anybody else at the Jeff Beck Fantasy Camp. And Sierra Surf Music Camp will culminate with a live performance at the Donner Mine Camp amphitheater and campfire.<br><br>
That may not have the glitz and glitter of Las Vegas, but it is much more our style. Plus, maybe this year we will have a Guitar Face 101 class. And, who knows, maybe we will even get a “specially designed commemorative” t-shirt.<br><br>
Get the check book ready for Paul’s next email. We’re going to Sierra Surf Music Camp!<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/11edcf9e62487c0890f1f4921dafb422549b2d06/medium/404406_10151210724705611_554250610_23015303_1895279120_n.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_bottom border_" alt="" height="180" width="355" /><br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/404406_10151210724705611_554250610_23015303_1895279120_n-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/659272013-03-05T22:35:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:05-08:00More We Love Instrumental Music with a Melody: The Funicellos<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/90ff0b812b4ce1059c5bfbc0cc4e9249240b9083/medium/Funicellos.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="266" width="355" /><br><br>
Do you remember Frankie, Annette, Eric Von Zipper, and the Beach Party movies? That sounds a bit like the beginning of a Ramones’ song. If you do not, you really did not miss much. The movies were not cinematic masterpieces by any stretch of the imagination.<br><br>
Annette Funicello starred in the Beach Party movies. She was the dream girl of a whole generation of young boys. She gained fame as a Mouseketeer on the Mickey Mouse Club. She matured, and pre-teen and early teen boys noticed. Putting her in a bathing suit meant kids in the seats at the theater.<br><br>
“The Funicellos” thus certainly would be a natural name for a surf band -- risky, but incredibly clever. Just how seriously should we take a surf band named “The Funicellos”? Yet, at the same time, you keep asking yourself, “Why didn’t I think of that?”<br><br>
I first learned of The Funicellos when somebody handed Paul the Pyronaut a business card after one of our gigs in the Mall. Paul asked, “Have you ever heard of The Funicellos?” I replied, “No. Why?” He handed me the card which I kept. At the time, my thought was, “What a clever name.”<br><br>
Some time later, the time came to check out the Funicellos. The bottom line is that they are much more than a clever name. They are talented and experienced musicians who play some really nice surf and retro rock with a sprinkling of Latin as a three piece. Like the Ramones, each is a “Funicello”: Johnny Funicello on guitar; Tony Funicello on drums; and Robby Funicello on bass. Of course, like the Ramones, those are pseudonyms. <br><br>
Through ample reverb provided by a Fender Twin Reverb, emphasizing middle and lower tones over treble, and chords shimmered by a Tuna Melt pedal, Johnny Funicello plays lead and rhythm guitar at once. He also sings -- a bit of Jimmy Buffet and a bit of BoDiddley. <br><br>
Johnny has played guitar since college in the 1980s. Like many of us, he was a closet guitarist. He took the plunge into a band in 1996 -- as an adult 17 years ago. Since then, Johnny has played in bands. Even though they formed in 2003, the current iteration of Funicellos started up in 2008.<br><br>
Tony also is a seasoned musician. He has “several decades” -- whatever that means -- on the drums under his belt. Talent always is in demand. So Tony has played in many bands covering a wide range of genres and styles. That suits the Funicellos perfectly.<br><br>
Robby has played professionally for more than 30 years. He majored in music. Since college music programs do not offer degrees in rock ‘n roll, he performed in jazz and symphonic groups. He is a catholic (a universalist) and an eclectic in his musical tastes. <br><br>
We caught the Funicellos playing during the Amador Vintners’ “Behind the Cellar Door” event -- a weekend of wine tasting and fun in the Shenandoah Valley. Crowds of folks go from winery to winery. Surf and retro rock fit right in with the frivolity and fun of tasting and buying wines. Some vintners, however, put on an air of high-brow sophistication with jazz combos. <br><br>
The Funicellos’ set included a mix of surf classics like Pipeline, Surf Rider, Endless Summer, and Baja, a western medley -- Ghost Riders in the Sky and the Magnificent Seven along with the Good, the Bad and the Ugly -- and retro standards like Walk, Don’t Run and Last Date. <br><br>
A group of women danced to Miserlou and Tequila. Wine and old-fashioned rock ‘n roll are a great combination to get people moving and smiling. The dancers clearly loved instrumental music with a melody as they shook, shimmied, and strutted their stuff. <br><br>
You know what? We loved the music too and left thinking about how talented musicians make playing look so easy and fun.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Funicellos-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/3382162013-03-02T14:30:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:21-08:00Songwriting Pup Style<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/27e64b7406068eda30994ba8dedf24055e740eae/medium/Pup3-legjpg.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="193" width="240" />If you filled a room with a bunch of monkeys and gave each a computer, would a great novel emerge? A comprehensible sentence? With auto-correct, you potentially would get words out of the random efforts. The only question then is how well those words would hang together.<br><br>
If you read many texts or emails from young folks these days, you might be thinking, “The monkeys could give those kids a run for their money!”<br><br>
Sometimes, I feel that my songwriting style is akin to a monkey on a computer. <br><br>
As you read in our last blog, Ferenc Dobronyi -- an accomplished and respected surf songwriter -- writes songs that include plots and characters. They come to life and play out through melodies, chords, and groove rather than words. Hearing him talk about songwriting summons visions of some story taking place on the top of the three-legged table that he drew on a flip chart.<br><br>
So I have two songs fluttering around in my mind. One clearly has a “stomp” groove. The other is start-up, slow-down, and speed-up again. That is a groove, right? The melodies are reasonably -- not crystal, but reasonably -- clear. Given the grooves and the melodies, some very basic chord structures emerge. They are basic because I do not know anything very complex. I have no idea what a diminished minor 6th or minor 7th is. If the melody starts with an E or a C, I tend to think the chord is an E or a C something. It is all three-chord rock ‘n roll to me.<br><br>
But try as I might, I cannot conjure up some enduring love story, tragedy, mystery, drag race, or whatever. These songs are not the great American novel. They do even rise to the trashy romance novel level.<br><br>
The best I can do for one is something -- a tiki, a mouse, or a Menehune -- scampers across or in front of hot flowing lava and finds a cool place to contemplate the next flow. Its eyes dart back and forth before scurrying off again. For the other -- and this is really weak -- the Lava Pup is stomping and strutting about to the song. He even might be doing a bit of a jig. I am writing a cartoon or an ad, not a story.<br><br>
How much of this is driven by the working titles? “Lava Hoppin’” and “The Lava Pup Stomp.” How much of this is the result of trying to put something on the top of the three-legged table? If you dabbled in armchair Zen at all, you know that trying is not doing.<br><br>
Maybe some of what Ferenc had to say rubbed off. Or am I simply trying to make the monkey on the computer appear to be engaged in some intellectual or creative effort? We may know sooner rather than later. Stay tuned.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Pup3-legjpg-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/3311422013-02-26T22:20:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:21-08:00Songwriting Wisdom from Camp: Songs with Characters and Plots, Huh?<b><u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Editor’s Note</span></u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">:</span></b><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"> This originally appeared as part of a series of Camp Chronicles or Letters from Sierra Surf Music Camp. Because we are working on writing some songs and mentioned Ferenc Dobronyi in our last post, we needed to revisit it.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/54e87a03409aaa525935e65636072f7cf715448f/medium/IMG_2244.JPG?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="263" width="350" /><br><br>
12:00 p.m. -- noon -- meant gathering on the sofas, airplane seats, benches, and chairs in the living room of the Lodge. The living room provided warmth, intimacy and a resting place for the campers. There, Ferenc Dobronyi presented his class on songwriting. It was attended by professionals (real musicians) and us wannabes alike.<br><br>
The attendance was a tribute to his demonstrated skills as both a songwriter and a presenter. He was well-prepared for his recording class on Saturday and even provided a helpful, information-filled, and thought-out handout. If his songwriting class was similar, everybody knew that it would not be on the fly, off the cuff, improvised, ad libbed, or whatever term you might use for unprepared, disorganized babble.<br><br>
A look around the room showed that songwriters like Paul Johnson, John Blair, Paul the Pyronaut, Bob Bitchin’, and Tim Stephenson were interested in another songwriter’s process. Everybody listened attentively.<br><br>
Ferenc began by drawing on a flip chart sized tablet. He analogized a song to a table held up by four legs: Lyrics, melody, chords, and groove. An instrumental song has three legs as lyrics need not apply. The question is where do you start building the table. The upcoming answer was obvious. But it might have been a bit disappointing to some folks in the room. <br><br>
“I can’t tell you. It varies from writer to writer and from song to song.”<br><br>
Ferenc continued. He offered those who cannot write songs a life ring. Some people are great or exceptional musicians, but try as hard as they can, they cannot write a song. Some people are not skilled at all as musicians but can write songs.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/86b429299aefebfed3933a55cd02df9eb2db9e2d/medium/Songwriting_2.jpg?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="173" width="230" />He demonstrated how a song might begin with a couple of notes. With the assistance of Paul the Pyronaut, Ferenc showed how different chords affected the feeling of the two notes. They even threw in a bit of music theory as Paul went through the chords in the diatonic scale. <br><br>
Used a lot of diminished 7ths lately?<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/b4e0c154c8569af1f7f5866aa4d8dadabdf9f432/medium/Songwriting_1.jpg?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="173" width="230" />With the help of John Blair, Ferenc went over his thought process for and what he was conveying in “Ewa at the Beach.”<br><br>
Songwriting for Ferenc is an amazingly creative endeavor. It is like writing or telling a story. He thinks in terms of plots and characters. He portrays them through sound, not words.<br><br>
I thought, “Wow, this is way more complicated than the simple melodies that bang around in my brain.” Then I remembered how Paul described what he got out of the different parts of “Lava Tube.” Was I the blind squirrel or no musical skill guy who lucked out?<br><br>
Ferenc also had a plan for generating wind when in the doldrums. Learn different scales and modes including the Hungarian Scale. Listen to all kinds of music. Explore musical differences. Fill up your smart phone and GarageBand with ideas whenever they come. Walk the dog for the quiet time needed to hear what is playing in your brain.<br><br>
After the class ended, I sat and mulled over what Ferenc said. The hour had been jam-packed with information. Could somebody go out and write a song armed only with what they heard in that hour? Paul Johnson, no sweat. We mortals, probably not. Will I look at those simple melodies differently in the future? Probably. Do I now know why so many songs are better than my “these are catchy and fun” songs? Maybe.<br><br>
Memo to Self: Hey, how about some simple plots and characters in the next batch of songs you write? <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/866260bca72017dd25aee6bd1f2cb1d41f05de5b/medium/IMG_2242.JPG?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="263" width="350" /><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG_2244-300.JPG">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/3258442013-02-23T22:30:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:21-08:00Time for a New Song (or Two)?<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/b9dd7ea85a1dad431ded8ecdaad797291c0f0063/medium/Shine2-163.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="385" width="230" />Last weekend’s gig at Shine should have been the proverbial “walk in the park.” Familiar songs made up our set list. We had practiced them. As usual, we had nothing complicated. Hey, we are the Lava Pups -- not the Symphony or some jazz assemble. Simple, primitive, and raw fit us to a tee.<br><br>
Readers of this blog and anybody who attended the show know that we managed to screw up in every imaginable way. Twice we started songs over. Once was because I got going in the wrong key; once, Robert just did not remember the song. I walked out into the audience and either forgot where I was, lost my timing, or could not see the markers on the fret board. Robert broke a string. The tremolo on the Jazzmaster was out of commission.<br><br>
That is the glass is half empty version.<br><br>
In the glass is half full version, we absolutely knocked several -- actually two-thirds -- of the songs out of the park. We began and ended strong. We performed some of the songs the best that we ever have. If we were major league baseball players, we would be destined for the Hall of Fame with those kinds of statistics.<br><br>
We averted a disaster. We survived the show, and everybody had fun!<br><br>
So things are not as bad in Pup Land as they seemed the morning after the show. Aren’t we always our toughest critics? We simply need to heed the advice of Benjamin Franklin: “moderation in all things -- including moderation.”<br><br>
Realizing that the glass really was more than half full is exhilarating. It stokes up the embers of creativity. We are ready for a new challenge.<br><br>
For a month or so, a couple of ideas for songs have been bouncing around in my head. They probably have been there gestating for some time, but they were pushed into the crevices and dark recesses. Pieces of melody would pop up every so often. They then would disappear. One has a “stomp” feel. The other is double-picked. Until recently, neither had revealed its bridge or a key change. But they are banging harder and harder. Clearly they want out of my head and onto paper, the guitar, or both.<br><br>
Now, if I only can remember what Ferenc taught us about songwriting at Sierra Surf Music Camp last year . . . maybe we can deliver these tunes!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Shine2-163-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/3208012013-02-20T10:20:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:21-08:00Daydreaming of Roadies<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/82db698095c3e472a97b952522be84b5d065e02d/medium/IMG00016-20121006-1240.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="180" width="240" />I cannot believe how much stuff goes to a show. Of course, maybe -- in the words of Becky -- I undertake to do too much. Then again, don’t we all want control of our destinies?<br><br><br><br>
For Shine with the Sneaky Tikis, we provided the entire back line. Drums, cymbals, and hardware. Three guitar amps. Bass amp. Cords. Instrument mics, stands, and backup cables. Plus we had our own merchandise tub and instruments. Surprisingly, just the equipment to make rock ‘n roll music for an evening filled the back of the Prius and a good portion of Sue’s Element.<br><br>
Good thing that our music generally revolves around three or four chords. If it was complicated, we would be too tired to concentrate on the music after loading up at the Doghouse and loading in at Shine.<br><br>
The other night, Robert was lamenting that our songs were so much alike -- structurally -- that he has trouble remembering each one. As I sat in the Doghouse resting before the trip to Shine to set up the stage, I wondered what would happen if we had to learn and remember a bunch of difficult songs. My conclusion was that I would have a meltdown.<br><br>
Sitting, resting, and enjoying a cup of coffee allowed my mind to wander a bit. What if we had roadies? Somebody would load and unload the equipment. Would set up the stage. Might even tune up our instruments. All that we would have to do is show up and play. Wow!<br><br>
Then the daydream came to a crashing halt. Who would pay these folks? Do they get minimum wage? Rest breaks? Meal breaks? Are taxes, unemployment, and Social Security withheld? Are they covered by Workers’ Comp? How high would the expectations for our performance be?<br><br>
Yes, the daydream was over for sure. I guess we will stick with our DIY model. Besides schlepping equipment is good exercise and gives us an excuse for less than stellar play. This sexagenarian certainly can use both!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG00016-20121006-1240-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/3154622013-02-17T10:05:00-08:002023-10-05T16:06:31-07:00Moderation: Oscar Wilde and Ben Franklin Duke It Out!<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/e31d2ff07cb94a623eb654aaa5d54047ecd4c603/medium/Shine2-161.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="209" width="350" /><br><br>
Saturday night’s gig at Shine showed that every time that I try something a bit out of my comfort zone, bad things happen. Once upon time, I was stuck (frozen by fear?) in one place on the stage with a funeral director’s dour expression. Occasionally, the pained look of somebody trying to pass a kidney stone took over. Those expressions certainly did not look like we were having fun.<br><br>
Finally, as the music and being in front of an audience became more familiar, ease entered the picture. And sometimes a smile or a grin emerged.<br><br>
Saturday night, new territory beckoned. Why stick with the familiar or the comfortable? Something said, "Take a risk." And I took the plunge. I tried walking off the stage. Entering the audience. Raising my arm and giving a hang loose sign. I even tried the dreaded sticking out my tongue. <br><br>
Nothing good came of any of this. Each time, I realized, “It’s dark out here and I can’t see the fret markers.” I then wondered, “Why didn’t I remember that?” The results -- usually bad -- varied. Clinkers -- notes that stunk up a song. Losing my rhythm -- something was off. Losing my place altogether -- silence from the lead guitar. No reward was forthcoming.<br><br>
I had stretched the “Pup schtick” past its breaking point -- beyond entertaining to distracting.<br><br>
Multitasking just may not be for me. Actually, the correct phrasing is “extreme multitasking clearly is not for me.” So is moderate multitasking in my future?<br><br>
Somewhere along the line, we have heard, “Moderation in all things.” That quote is attributed to Terence (Publius Terentius Afer), a Roman comic dramatist of the Second Century BC. Benjamin Franklin came up with moderate moderation: “Moderation in all things -- including moderation.”<br><br>
Some of us, however, are not given to moderation. We follow the words of Oscar Wilde: “Moderation is a fatal thing. Nothing succeeds like excess.” We find truth in what Somerset Maugham wrote, “Excess on occasion is exhilarating. It prevents moderation from acquiring the deadening effect of a habit.”<br><br>
Yes, Saturday night was a learning experience. My comfort with playing in a band is not license to step out into some antic that is unpracticed or beyond a limited skill set. In the post-show critique, Benjamin Franklin is beating Oscar Wilde big time.<br><br>
Yes, we will stick with “moderation in all things -- including moderation” for now. Deep down we all know that Oscar Wilde is lurking, and . . . . <br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Shine2-161-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/686892013-02-13T22:25:00-08:002020-07-11T05:28:28-07:00The Big Kahuna?<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Happy Valentine's Day, 2013. Get your loving stuff done before Saturday night. Then you can join us when we rock the Big Kahuna!<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/ea1fa194a483a145ea9d91b805f1c7372f4446e5/medium/Poster2-16-13half.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="371" width="240" />Uh-huh, you are correct, the poster says “rockin’ the Big Kahuna.” We hoped that you noticed that the typeface is smaller than that used for the Sneaky Tikis and the Pups. Both band names are above “rockin‘ the Big Kahuna.” Both band names are arched. “Rockin’ the Big Kahuna” is not.<br><br>
To my artistic eye, “rockin’ the Big Kahuna” is the theme of the show. But maybe the term artistic eye is wrong because the first iteration of the poster had a even bigger “Big Kahuna” -- above the band names. That was changed to prevent confusion. “It looks like the Big Kahuna is the headlining band.”<br><br>
But I was committed to the concept and changed the poster consistent -- I thought -- with that commitment. Maybe believing that a viewer would infer that “rockin’ the Big Kahuna” was the theme of the show was limited to my ego-invested mind and eye. As we know, "committed" sometimes is a euphemism for “bull-headed.” I may not have stepped back far enough from the canvas so to speak.<br><br>
Based on some questions we received, the role of the Big Kahuna is not obvious to everybody who looks at the poster or the flier. “Is the Big Kahuna a new band?” “Does the Big Kahuna play surf music too?” “Do we know anybody in the Big Kahuna?” “Is the Big Kahuna a Bay Area band?”<br><br>
Huh? Huh!<br><br>
Okay for those who asked, the Big Kahuna is not a new band or a Bay Area band. The Big Kahuna is not a band at all. Only two bands -- the Sneaky Tikis and the Lava Pups -- will play at Shine on Saturday night.<br><br>
Of course, this begs the question, “Who or what is the Big Kahuna?” In pre-missionary Hawaii, a kahuna was a priest, healer, prophet, or sorcerer, or an expert in a craft or profession. A Kahuna Nui -- Great Kahuna -- was a master of many powers. Hawaiian culture, however, did not have a “Big Kahuna.”<br><br>
So we really cannot attribute the “Big Kahuna” to Hawaiian culture. Rather, we have to look to pop culture. In the movie <i>Gidget</i>, “The Big Kahuna” led a group of surfers. The later Beach Party films -- universally derided in the surf community -- crowned the best surfer on the beach as the “Big Kahuna.” <br><br>
Sacramento may not have beaches or waves, but this Saturday night may be another stride in building a surf music community. So we are sort of making this up as we go along. If we have a band named “The Funicellos,” why can’t we rock the Big Kahuna? Let's do that February 16 at Shine.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Poster2-16-13half-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/3057462013-02-10T10:05:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:21-08:00The Show Must Go On: Playing Catch-Up<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/ea1fa194a483a145ea9d91b805f1c7372f4446e5/medium/Poster2-16-13half.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="356" width="230" />By the time you live as long as I have, you should be in absolute control of your emotions. After all, you have seen and lived a bunch. You learn how to bite your tongue. How to moderate and modulate your tone. If you have paid any attention at all, you know what filters you need to participate in society. And how to walk away when you know you are about to be overcome by emotion.<br><br>
Experience brings us coping mechanisms. If you do not want to think about or dwell on life’s gut punches, you turn to work. Or other diversions. You learn how to become engrossed in something to keep your mind from wandering back to grief or sadness. <br><br>
Every so often, however, you drop your defenses. And . . . wham! Something reminds you of what you worked so assiduously to avoid. A surge of sadness sinks you.<br><br>
Since Darby’s loss on Sunday, my coping skills have been put to the test. Ten-hour days at the office really helped. Plus we have a show coming up. We should be promoting it. We should be preparing for it. Burning energy. Focusing. Practicing. Unfortunately, for the last week, I have been a little weak at employing the distractions inherent getting ready for a show.<br><br>
Once you get behind the power curve on getting ready, catching up can be difficult. That, of course, arcs up the Nagging Little Voice. Its tactics and tone are wide-ranging. The Nagging Little Voice can be insulting, “Hey, when are you going to get off your fat butt, you weak-minded old man?” It may rely on guilt, “You are letting your band mates down.” The Nagging Little Voice sometimes appeals to a sense of duty, “When a surf show bombs, the entire surf music community suffers.” Or it can be semi-supportive, “This is just another test. Buck up, man!” <br><br>
When it is desperate, the Nagging Little Voice may resort to Winston Churchill quotes, “Everyone has his day and some days last longer than others.” Or maybe motivational poster stuff.<br><br>
After nearly exhausting its bag of tricks, the Nagging Little Voice prevailed. <br><br>
Reaching for my guitar, I responded, “Yeah, you’re right, got to get to catching up. The Original Lava Pup probably is looking down right now and thinking. Get off your butt. The show must go on!”<br><br>
Want to find out how this ends? Join us at Shine on February 16.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Poster2-16-13half-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/3028162013-02-07T11:25:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:21-08:00Tales of the Whammy Bar<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">No joy in NorCal -- the Mighty ‘Niners bombed. Final score: Ravens 34, 49ers 31.<br><br>
What was your favorite part of Super Bowl XLVII? The football? The ads? The halftime show? Foreign television “correspondents” whose cleavage distracts from the banality of their reporting? The press getting at least one homophobic remark from a player -- a ‘Niner no less? Going to the Apple Store or the last day of the Norman Rockwell exhibit without the maddening crowds? Or knowing that Super Bowl XLVII is behind us and all the hype and hoopla are done (until next year)? <br><br>
The end of the NFL season means that some other form of entertainment is needed to put fannies in the seats at bars and restaurants. A big-screen TV and a beer do not have much drawing power once the Super Bowl passes. <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/e7c94c47ea54c1070b95c2ab03e6b7936b8af352/medium/WhammyTiki.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="320" width="240" />Is this an opportunity for a “Surf Sunday” or two? But let’s reserve that for another day. This is about a whammy bar.<br><br>
People who watch the Pups probably do not believe that, given my evident talent deficit, I practice very much. Otherwise they think, I would be a better guitarist and not so reliant on my schtick. Those people are right some of the time but wrong some of the time. I would be incomprehensibly worse without practice!<br><br>
While practicing (contrary to popular belief) recently, my G string unraveled. No, I am not talking about racy underwear. This sexagenarian’s days of racy undies are long gone. I am talking about the G string on the Ocean Turquoise Jazzmaster. <br><br>
That meant time out for restringing and really cleaning up that guitar. It also allowed spending time on a “whammy bar project.” At our last band practice, the monkey eraser which adorned the tremolo bar on the OTJ fell apart. Its head -- which had been superglued to its body -- just went flying across the Doghouse. The headless, orange body that remained was empaled by the bar and had no personality. <br><br>
Before blowing up, the monkey eraser had survived a number of shows. It replaced a skull eraser, which was really cool but was too heavy. The timing of the monkey eraser’s demise was fortuitous. It forced focusing on whether to try something new or return to a white plastic tip.<br><br>
Of course, a “stock” white plastic tip does not fit the Pup vibe. How about a tiki? That question bounced around my head for a couple of years. But the answer always eluded me. <br><br>
That is until a recent trip to Swanberg’s to promote our upcoming show with the Sneaky Tikis. There, my immediate thought upon seeing a display was, “Oh my! Yes. Yes. The tiki on that necklace might work.” I plunked down my money, took the tiki necklace, and went on my merry way.<br><br>
Since the guitar was down for maintenance and the monkey was a casualty, I finally took on the “whammy bar project.” A dowel. Rasping and sanding. Wood glue. Putty. Plastic Wood. Electric drill. Epoxy.<br><br>
And . . . yes . . . yes . . . it works! The next task is test driving this sucker at band practice.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/WhammyTiki-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2973982013-02-03T07:25:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:21-08:00Brightstar Sweet Darby Scot (November 21, 2001 - February 3, 2013)<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">This is not a “Super Sunday” on our end. Today, we lost Darby, our dog who was a big part of our lives for the past twelve years. Writing this might help cope with the feelings of loss that are washing over us.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/573eda06d8e43a35bf8d8576cc12cdf749bf493c/medium/Darby-Painting.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_right border_thin" alt="" height="250" width="250" />Brightstar Sweet Darby Scot was the American Kennel Club registered name for Darby. His father, Buster, won the Bichon Frise breed and non-sporting class at the Westminster show in New York. Of course, we never met his father; show dogs just sire litters.<br><br>Darby was one handsome dude, but, despite his lineage, he was our pet. We wanted a companion, who was free from the stress, politics, and constant breeding rat race of the pure breed dog world.<br><br>We got what we wanted -- a good-natured, fluffy Bichon to be our pet and companion. Darby kept us company through Becky’s bout with cancer, the deaths of our fathers, and other of life’s changes. I am pretty sure that he principally nursed Becky back to health. He came to the office three or four days a week and was featured in a photo on our firm’s website. The first words out of many visitors’ mouths often were, “Where’s Darby?”<br><br>Darby was the original “Lava Pup.” He possessed an independent coolness. He had a Hawaiian shirt long before a guitar was a glimmer in my eye. Smart as whip, he learned to leave the room or hide under a pillow when an electric guitar first came into our household. He emerged from hiding as I improved and eventually grew to enjoy our music. He would wait at the door for Paul the Pyronaut to show up for lessons and sprawl out on the floor nearby to listen.<br><br>Darby inspired much of what I did musically and artistically. At some point, I looked at him and thought “Lava Pup.” I drew a caricature of him. Added sun glasses for fun and to create an air of mystery. Our band “logo” would not be snarling or ferocious “Lava Dogs.” Just a smiling, friendly dog. I put a little spike in his hair to arouse suspicions in a viewer’s mind: Just how good-natured is he?<br><br>We used his caricature on posters, fliers, our CD, multi-purpose disposable bag (AKA "poop bag") dispensers, and elsewhere. Eventually, the Darby-inspired “Lava Pup” spoke in some animations. Most of those ended with him exclaiming, “Cowabunga!”<br><br>Darby knew his importance to the band and the social fun of the Doghouse. He was a consummate host. He greeted friends and band mates. He added an element of cool to the Doghouse. He even contributed a bark for the ending of “The Cruncher” on our CD. Actually, his contribution to “The Cruncher” was much more. “The Cruncher” was not some actual or mythical massive wave or break; it was about the sound that Darby made as he crunched down his food.<br><br>Even though he helped nurse Becky through her cancer, cancer got Darby. A bleeding tumor constricted his heart and lungs. Our house already feels empty and very quiet. We will miss the click on his toe nails on the wooden floors but will feel his spirit throughout the house.<br><br>We were truly lucky to have had such a wonderful dog. Unfortunately, we outlive our dogs. Darby will live on in our memories, hearts, and maybe some of our "art." Somewhere he is sitting in a Hawaiian shirt, watching over us with a smile on his face, ready to nurse us through our illnesses, and preparing to guide us on to our next adventure.</span><br><br><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Darby-Painting-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2964642013-02-01T21:40:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:21-08:00Coffee, Beer, and Fun!<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">We interrupt our regular programing for an important announcement. Super Bowl XLVII is tomorrow. In all the hoopla, have you learned what XLVII is? In any event, Go ‘Niners! Now back to our regular programing.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/c8f630c85c5f143b005d278c1ebfc1453afe4541/medium/Practice3.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="263" width="350" /><br><br>
Sometimes, I forget how much fun and how rejuvenating band practice is. <br><br>
Need a diversion? Let’s have band practice. Need a laugh? Let’s have band practice. <br><br>
The list can go on and on. Need to get away? Need to unwind? Need to burn some energy? Need a lift? Need camaraderie? Need to feel like a youngster? The answer to each is “let’s have band practice.” <br><br>
No matter how tired, frazzled, or expended I may feel at 7:00, band practice will change that. Within a few minutes into practice, a shift happens. New energy. New enthusiasm. New focus.<br><br>
In addition to therapeutic benefits, band practice helps us improve the quality of our act and build a Pups identity. We become more familiar with songs. That, in turn, allows us to experiment -- to put a Pup spin on things. Hey, how about a drum break here? We can reach for new horizons.. Hey, why don’t we try [name a new tune]? We can arrange songs. Hey, do you think that would be better if we took out the last verse?<br><br>
Interestingly, we are moving from just learning to play songs together to putting some creativity and freedom into what we do. What is next? More songs? Writing songs again?<br><br>
Maybe, the time has come to use band practice for a bit of frivolity. Like learning how to climb on a table without the need of a ladder or step stool to play. Or working in earnest on a guitar face that does not look like somebody trying to pass a kidney stone. Or playing guitar and chewing gum at the same time.<br><br>
Yes, indeed, band practice is therapeutic and fun. And . . . (drum roll) . . . it is an opportunity to drink coffee and beer after 7:00 on a weeknight! That is a special treat for this sexagenarian.<br><br>
By the way, Go ‘Niners!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Practice3-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2920092013-01-28T22:10:00-08:002021-04-21T10:07:20-07:00Super Bowl Pup Asks, "Ever Heard of the All-American Football Conference?"<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/c69ba1c5171c56c431eb6eb9a1aff1ccb80fd9d4/medium/Super-Bowl-Pup.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="240" width="240" />Next Sunday is Super Bowl XLVII. How many of us know what “XLVII” is? Are Roman numerals still taught in schools? Once schools taught Latin and the Roman numbering system. When my kids attended school, Latin no longer was offered. I did not pay attention to whether the curriculum included Roman numbering.<br><br>
Maybe the NFL can donate a gadzillion dollars to public education towards teaching Latin (the root for all Romance languages and much of English) and the Roman numbering system (the root of the metric system). Maybe some of that gadzillion dollars could be spent on improving the quality of public education. After all, that would be a small price to pay given that our universities provide the NFL’s minor league system. <br><br>
Of course, some “America First” organizations probably would object to any money being spent on learning something that might contribute to our understanding anything foreign or that dreaded metric system used by “Euros.” Those objections would make the debate, which actually found traction on the floor of the House of Representatives, over whether French fries should be called “French fries” look like a tempest in a teapot. Oh, yeah, that is what it really was. But we should never underestimate the potential for political grandstanding and xenophobia in our 24/7 cable “news” programming.<br><br>
Another question for Super Bowl XLVII is whether you ever heard of the All-American Football Conference, which offered professional football between 1946 and 1949.<br><br>
Super Bowl XLVII features the San Francisco 49ers and the Baltimore Ravens. The ‘Niners are SacTown’s favorite team. They became part of the NFL in its merger with the All-American Football Conference in 1949. Until the advent of the American Football League in 1960 and the Oakland Raiders, the 49ers were the only professional football team in Northern California. Super Bowl XLVII is an opportunity for the ‘Niners’ sixth championship.<br><br>
The Baltimore Ravens originally were the Cleveland Browns, which were moved to Baltimore in 1996. The before-the-move-to-Baltimore Cleveland Browns also trace back to the All-American Football Conference. They were the champions of that conference for all years during its existence.<br><br>
Only three teams from the AAFC survived the merger with the NFL: the 49ers, Browns, and, ironically, the Baltimore Colts. So Super Bowl XLVII features two teams whose origins are not in the NFL. It is the first Super Bowl to pit two former AAFC teams.<br><br>
Surely, you will be bombarded with that factoid and more football history and trivia than you can bear in the lead up to Super Bowl XLVII. If you watch enough television, you will learn what players eat for breakfast, which player is most demonstrative in expressing his religious beliefs, whether the coaches’ parents will watch the game, and, new to Super Bowl hype, which players support marriage equality and Gay rights.<br><br>
Somewhere in the news cycle, you might even hear what “XLVII” is.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Super-Bowl-Pup-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2902842013-01-26T22:00:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:20-08:00More We Love Instrumental Music with a Melody: The Sneaky Tikis<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/55224cd4da410fe598e9883d67905e057c876c86/medium/Sneakies.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="233" width="350" /><br><br>
When we last left the debate, the Nagging Little Voice was winning. It was charging towards a complete victory. Then, the tables turned. Now, hear this, Nagging Little Voice, our next gig is February 16th at Shine with the Sneaky Tikis. That should shut you up for awhile! <br><br>
So sit back, Nagging Little Voice, and, along with others, read the story of the Sneaky Tikis.<br><br>
Last Memorial Day weekend, the Bear River Valley -- specifically the Donner Mine Camp -- was alive with sound of reverb-drenched rock. A bunch of folks ranging in age from 10 to seventy-something attended the inaugural Sierra Surf Music Camp. The faculty consisted of First, Second, and Third Wave stars.<br><br>
On the first day of camp, the faculty divided the campers up into bands. Each band was mentored by a surf music heavyweight. All of the bands, except one, were made up of strangers. That one exception was comprised of four young musicians ranging in age from 12 to 18. All four lived in Grass Valley. Three took lessons from Paul the Pyronaut -- the camp director -- and were among his star pupils. The fourth was a solid bassist. Their faculty mentor was none other than Dusty Watson -- the best surf drummer in the world.<br><br>
Clearly, the “fix” was in. And, on the last night of camp when the bands performed, the four youngsters lived up to the hype. The name that they picked for that performance was the “Sneaky Tikis.” As camp ended, the question was whether they would carry on and fulfill the potential demonstrated that night around a campfire in the Bear River Valley.<br><br>
Over the eight months since that debut, the Sneaky Tikis have grown by leaps and bounds. That growth was natural as each is a focused and innately talented musician. They soak up music like sponges. They enjoy playing and are dedicated to their craft. Their playing remains powerful and energetic and has become increasingly precise. <br><br>
Each Sneaky Tiki has incredible skills. At 13, Lukas Brodie is a drumming prodigy. He is a human metronome combining a unerring beat with flurries of powerful improvised breaks. Greg Trujillo on bass compliments Lukas’ power to provide a solid bottom for the band. He is the oldster of the group at 19. His playing reflects the maturity of a traditional bassist who completes the sound of a band with ease and grace.<br><br>
The guitarists are cousins. Rob Longacre is 13 and a third generation musician. His lead guitar work is stunning and often reflects Dick Dale, one of his influences. Yet, like Dave Wronski, another of his influences, Rob can shift from staccato double-picking to precisely timed chords. In eight months, his style has matured from loud and fast to knowing when sensitivity and softness fit the music. Lucas Kuhn is 18 and relishes his role on rhythm guitar. Solid as a rock, he provides a chunk or thump that combines with the rhythm section to give a foundation for Rob’s lead. When he takes the lead, Lucas shows his versatility and virtuosity. <br><br>
In eight months, the Sneaky Tikis have gone from four youngsters -- but prodigies -- put together at Sierra Surf Music Camp to a surf band that represents the future of the instrumental music which we love. At camp, they were introduced as the beginning of the Fourth Wave. Given their dedication, talents and progress to date, that may not be as hyperbolic as it sounds.<br><br>
If you love instrumental music with a melody, the Sneaky Tikis are a treat. Most of their repertoire is high energy, loud, fast, double-picked, and glissando-ladened rock. But that is an integral part of the surf music that I personally love. Check it out for yourself on February 16th at Shine, and you too will be amazed!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Sneakies-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2857752013-01-21T21:45:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:20-08:00Where Does the Time Go?<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/b3b0dded10ce51002dcc704346ba8c1bd637ff6d/medium/IMG_0236.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="320" width="240" />The Nagging Little Voice started up on Saturday morning. “What’s wrong? You’re not paying attention.” <br><br>
Yes, Nagging Little Voice, you are correct. Nearly two weeks passed between blog posts and one week since our last gig. <br><br>
After being chastised by the Nagging Little Voice, I wondered, “How did that happen? Where did the time go?”<br><br><br><br>
A plethora of general kinds of excuses quickly came to mind. Sometimes, time just gets away from us. Sometimes, whatever else that goes on in our lives monopolizes our attention and takes all of our energy. Sometimes, we undertake to do too much, and that, in turn, leads to mediocrity or neglect. Sometimes, we burn up so much energy doing a task that little is left for other endeavors. Sometimes, it is the dreaded “losing interest.” <br><br>
Another -- often quite true -- is that we just might not have anything worthwhile or creative to say. We used it up at the office. Or at the dinner table. Or at the Saturday morning “stitch and bitch” session with the Wiki Weekend Warriors. Or in light banter with the maitre’d at a restaurant.<br><br>
The Nagging Little Voice was not about to let up. “Nice list! So what?” Better get to specifics to figure this out.<br><br>
On the Sunday morning after Surf Night!, I drove to the Doghouse, unpacked the car, and headed off to SportClips for my triweekly haircut. Old age has not stopped the gray hair from growing. Little did I know that, when I locked the door to the Doghouse at 11:00 a.m., I was shutting down the rock ‘n roll fantasy for a week.<br><br>
No practice. Two electric guitars stayed tucked away in their cases. No drum kit at the ready. The plan to set up the kit on Wednesday evening gave way to 9:00 p.m. at the office. No band practice. Called it off on Thursday afternoon in the face of another late evening at the office.<br><br>
Aha! Did you read that, Nagging Little Voice? No high-minded excuse is required. No creative block exists. The fun of rock ‘n roll is not being abandoned. I was simply too busy to spend time on it. The real world day job took priority for both creativity and energy.<br><br>
Hey, let’s look at the bright side. It was only for one week or so.<br><br>
The Nagging Little Voice’s response showed that no win is possible, “Duly noted. When’s your next gig?” Touche.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG_0236-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2842812013-01-19T06:50:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:20-08:00Getting Warmed Up On A Cold Winter's Night<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Last Saturday night -- a week ago already -- the contrasting styles of the Retronauts and Lava Pups rocked Shine. As a venue, Shine has a certain intimacy that warms an audience. Warmth was a welcome commodity last Saturday night.<br><br>
As we schlepped drums and amps out to the Prius after the show, I thought about the quality of the music and the entertainment value of the evening. Both bands played really well -- on their games so to speak. Even though both played instrumental rock, they were quite different from each other. That prevented sonic overload or auditory boredom.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/4af3d296a07cafa33d025bd84a4bd4f0bb229476/medium/IMG_0220.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="263" width="350" /><br><br>
The Retronauts opened with a 45-minute set of their clean and well-honed Ventures-influenced rock. The musicianship, hours of practice, and focus of the band were evident. Spot-on timing. Rhythm section in synch. Rhythm and lead guitars working together. No gimmicks. No schtick. Just straight ahead classic instrumental rock played by four experienced musicians who play out of love for the music. <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/97262250b8cb6be66d5b32fb03d30c4640d3c066/medium/IMG_0228.JPG?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="284" width="350" /><br><br>
The Pups followed with our energetic, really raw and simple garage “surf.” Robert and Sue were particularly animated. We joked among ourselves and with the audience. We engaged the audience from the start when I took off my hoodie to reveal a classic western shirt with snap buttons, piping, and embroidered roses and skulls. Gimmicks and schtick? Of course, we are the Lava Pups! We had fun as did everybody else in the room. By that measure, we had successful set. <br><br>
As we loaded drums and amps into the Prius, I also thought about the cold -- 26 degrees. Of course, wearing a sweat-soaked shirt and tee without a coat -- I know, stupid -- just emphasized the cold. I then wondered why we scheduled a gig on a Second Saturday when the 49ers’ playoff game began at 5:00. Who would want to brave freezing temperatures when a 50-inch (or bigger) HD television beckons with a NFL playoff game featuring SacTown’s favorite team?<br><br>
The cold winter’s night was much colder by the time everything was loaded. Let’s see. Bass drum, there. Damn, it is cold! Stack the snare on top of the tom. Watch out for the Hula Pig. Wow, it is really cold! Vibrolux, there. Bass amp. Hardware, under the seat. Is it getter colder? Why didn’t I put a coat on? Guitars across the top. Done! Oh, man, this is too cold to be standing out here!<br><br>
The defroster and seat warmer did not seem to help on the way home. Maybe I should have put a coat on over my wet shirt. But listening to Becky say how much she enjoyed the show took away some of the chill. As we drove home, she related how others really had a good time and commented how much the Pups had grown as a band. <br><br>
As we pulled into the garage, the chill was gone. What Becky had to say -- biased or not -- really warmed me up on a cold winter’s night!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG_0228-300.JPG">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2758412013-01-06T10:25:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:20-08:00More We Love Instrumental Music with a Melody: The Retronauts<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/c7b67604c5760c26ce3d348ed01cbf69c6a080d3/medium/band_photo_web.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="281" width="350" /><br><br>
Sometimes having to get a number of tasks done in less time than usual provides a much needed kick in the butt. The Pups agreed to play at Shine on January 12 -- then only a couple of weeks away -- and committed to find another band to round out a “Surf Night.” Our proposal was for something in late January, but January 12 was what was available. <br><br>
Oh, well . . . c’est la vie. Beggars can’t be choosers. Just balance the day job with the rock ‘n roll fantasy. Blah. Blah. Blah. <br><br>
Going around Midtown to promote the show on Saturday made me realize how fortunate we are that the Retronauts agreed to join us at Shine. Bill: “Their sound is the closest to the Ventures that I have heard for a long time.” Proprietor: “That should be cool.” Bill: “You’ll see quite a contrast in styles.” Customer: “Wow, that sounds like a fun show.”<br><br>
We first saw the Retronauts four years ago. Back then, the Lava Pups were some kind of Walter Mitty-esque day dream. The Retronauts, on the other hand, were bringing their dream to life. Over the years, we watched them find their sound and evolve into a band.<br><br>
Amazingly, the genesis of the Retronauts is a “musician wanted” ad on Craigslist. Rob Jones and Mike Gabaldon met through the ad, jammed, and -- voila -- said, “Let’s form a band.” Even though he had owned a guitar since he was a teenager , Rob did not begin to play “seriously” until he was in his 50s. Unlike the kids of today, Rob waited until he was 60 to join a band. Mike took up guitar in his 30s.<br><br>
The “let’s form a band” idea came to fruition through two steps. First, the Retronauts added a bass player and a drum machine. Then, they became a real band by firing the drum machine and adding a drummer. <br><br>
Terry Malone and Jerry (“Garsh”) Garcia -- not the dead Dead guy -- play bass and drums respectively. They collectively brought several decades of band experience to the Retronauts. <br><br>
Given the length of time that each member has played, the Retronauts are egalitarian in their playing. Rob and Mike shift between lead and rhythm guitar seamlessly. Rob occasionally takes over on bass so that Terry can play lead guitar. The changes work because each member of the band is an experienced musician.<br><br>
As they evolved as a band, the Retronauts gravitated for the clean sound of the Ventures. Less reverb, less thump, less double-picking, and more shimmer than many surf bands. Demonstrating the influence of the Ventures on their sound, the Retronauts have not given in to loud and fast. They play to the room, not to overpower it.<br><br>
The Retronauts that will perform Saturday night at Shine are far-removed from the band that we heard four years ago.<br><br>
Their presentation will differ from that of the Pups as will how they engage the audience. But, despite any differences in style, both bands love instrumental music which has a melody.<br><br>
Guess what? We think that the audience at Shine will too!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/band_photo_web-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2735942012-12-31T23:35:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:20-08:00Happy New Year! Let's Have Fun in 2013<span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><br>
Welcome to 2013! </span></b></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"> <br><br>
We are hoping for and looking forward to a fun year. We wish you the same.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/6b9b7c6ebb8b8f097bec5742a737fba215dd6d39/medium/Practice12_12.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="263" width="350" /><br><br>
The final A chord to “Jack the Ripper” marked the end of our last performance of 2012. A couple of days later, drums, amps, and guitar were stacked behind one of the couches at the Doghouse. Weary of music, I was not sure when the gear would find its way from behind the couch. An email went out to the Pups. “No practice this week.”<br><br>
Amazingly, by Thursday night, energy had replaced fatigue. Enthusiasm supplanted weariness. I for one was ready for an evening of practice and camaraderie. But . . . no practice. Drat!<br><br>
The excitement could build. So when the next practice night came, I was really eager. So much so that the rugs at the Doghouse had been vacuumed, the drums were set up, instrument cords were laid out, and the battery in the wireless was replaced. All of this was done in anticipation of “band practice.”<br><br>
We did not have any show scheduled which meant time to do what we pleased. Sit and talk. Gather our thoughts. But our discussion of the last show was minimal. “That wasn’t one of our best.” General agreement. “Should we work on getting something in late January?” General agreement. That was followed by “that last show wasn’t one of our best.” General agreement again. Maybe we better practice.<br><br>
We plugged in. We did not have a set list. After all we were not preparing for anything specific. “Where do we start?” Sue responded, “Surf Rider.” And we were off. That established the formula for the night. She would call out a song, and we would play it. We worked on rough spots and on making the songs more of our own. We played some songs that we had not played together for months.<br><br>
We joked. We laughed. Over the course of the evening, each of us raised a hand at one time or another and announced, “I screwed up!” And we all would laugh again. When we were not working on songs, we were sitting around the “living room” of the Doghouse.<br><br>
As I drove home from practice, I reflected on the evening. We had had fun as a group of people playing music. We had no goal other than fun. During this practice session, we exceeded that goal. Fun plus. And we were doing it as a band which is a good omen for the upcoming year.<br><br>
We are ready for 2013. Happy New Year!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Practice12_12-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2722742012-12-27T21:45:00-08:002012-12-27T21:45:00-08:00And the Answer to Gun Violence Is . . . More Guns! What?<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Four days remain in 2013. That allows a serious note before we return to the frivolity of rock 'n roll and the travails of the Pups.<br><br>
One week after the mass murder of children in Newtown, Connecticut, the NRA responded by recommending that the Public fund armed police or guards at every school in the United States. Magnanimously, the NRA offered to train these potential guardians. Yes, its answer to gun violence is more guns.<br><br>
Yet the NRA offered no suggestion for funding its recommendation. We can surmise that the NRA stands firmly against taxing weapons, accessories, or ammunition. Most likely, few with ties to the gun industry -- from manufacturer to retailer to gun show promoters to consumer to politician -- will agree to any increase in taxes.<br><br>
During the course of the news event, the NRA blamed gun violence in the United States on the media, Hollywood, movies, video games, and not having guns at schools. The NRA also chided the media for mislabeling semi-automatic weapons with large capacity magazines as “machine guns” and for not telling the American public that larger caliber, more powerful guns were available for killing people. <br><br>
The NRA “fix” would cost billions of dollars. And, even at that price, it would not cover theaters, shopping malls, college campuses, and other sites of recent shootings. It also overlooks the fact that a trained, armed guard was onsite at Columbine High School or that armed police were at the event where Gabby Giffords and others were shot.<br><br>
Obviously, the NRA has no real solution to gun violence other than more guns -- “the only thing that stops a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun” -- and perhaps trampling on the First Amendment rights of the media, movie-makers, and video game designers. <br><br>
The inanity and intransigence of the “gun lobby” strikes me as bordering on the insane and inviting us to an apocalyptic and uncivilized United States. In the NRA’s world, everybody has a gun and shoot-outs would be common. Cars will sport bumper stickers that proudly proclaim “the only thing that stops a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun.” <br><br>
Doesn’t that sound eerily like the Wild West that Hollywood showed us for years? Didn’t the NRA blame Hollywood for gun violence in the United States?<br><br>
Will the bumper sticker have an asterisk saying either “except at Columbine and Tucson” or “the good guys at Columbine and Tucson weren’t good enough”? Or will that NRA bumper sticker try for the truth: “The only thing that stops a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with gun except . . .”?<br><br>
Maybe the patent holes in its “fix” is why the NRA staged a media event which did not include any questions or interchange with the public. Realistically, the NRA, like politicians, knows that the public’s attention span is short and that its resolve quickly dissipates. The NRA’s strategy is clear: Throw out some B.S., wait for the buzz to die down, and encourage people to buy more guns. <br><br>
Unfortunately, that strategy most likely will work. Today -- one week after the NRA media event -- the immediacy of Newtown is waning while gun sales are up. And soon enough everybody will be off to the new catastrophe or celebrated cause until . . . the next mass shooting!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like>Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2712002012-12-25T02:30:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:20-08:00Christmas and Creeping Commercialism<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/e749e9b93c59cf1aa972f1b808b691b335e8cb90/medium/HulaPigSanta1.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="320" width="240" />Christmas morning. Up at 5:55. Start the coffee. Try to stretch or shake out the nagging little aches that come with getter older. Inconvenient or annoying maybe. But that sure beats the alternative.<br><br>
Open the door to the chill of winter air. Pick the newspaper up off of the front porch. Wow, this has more bulk and weight than usual. Did something important happen last night? What could it be? Did our politicians in Washington return to being “statesmen” as opposed to polarized egomaniacal pawns of special interest groups? Did they find solutions to the Fiscal Cliff or the proliferation of high capacity semi-automatic weapons? Did we achieve World peace? Or put an end to World hunger?<br><br>
That was way too much to contemplate before my first cup of coffee. Nonetheless, I laid the newspaper on the kitchen counter and scanned over the headlines. Above the fold, we had two headlines:<br><ul>
<li>“A Woman’s Faith Brings Live-Action Nativity to Rancho Cordova - Every Year Since 1981.” That certainly is fitting for the holiday. After all, December 25th is the date selected by the Pope of the Roman Church long ago to celebrate Christ’s birth. He needed something to compete with the winter solstice celebrations. By the Fourth Century, the Eastern Church shifted from January 6th to join the fold.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>“Losing a Home Wasn’t the End.” It was not necessarily the feel-good story that might be inferred from the headline. Rather than telling the story of a down-trodden family returning from the brink, the article was about the rebound in the real estate market and the opportunities to buy under today’s favorable conditions.</li>
</ul>
Below the fold, we had “Marketing for Video Games, Guns Overlaps.” In seeking out more “reality” in their products, video game manufacturers obtain licenses from gun manufacturers. In effect, the gaming industry promotes weapon brands. Now this could be news particularly when the NRA blamed the violent video games for gun violence. We scoffed at that. So what Wayne LaPierre of the NRA meant was “You can watch a video game, click on a link, and buy a gun.” Did you get that from his rant on Friday? And, by the way, the video games also have links to military recruiters. The editors of the <i>Sacramento Bee</i> culled the story from the <i>New York Times</i> but kept it below the fold. Maybe this is not anything new. Isn’t “news” something new? <br><br>
Obviously, Christmas Eve did not offer much on the news front.<br><br>
By now, the coffee was kicking in. Sort out the paper into two piles: One was “News” which includes sports and the “Living Here” section; the other was “Ads.” The Ads pile won overwhelmingly. Its margin of victory was close to the Thanksgiving (“Black Friday Eve”) edition.<br><br>
Aren’t people “shopped out” by now? Apparently not. The Holidays shopping season just keeps going. But at least the season has not engulfed Christmas Day . . . yet.<br><br>
Then I looked at my email. Let’s see, some "hot Ukrainian girl" wanted to have a virtual meeting. Deleted. Viagra and Cialis were on sale. Deleted. The spam was down, however. Do the spammers also close on Christmas?<br><br>
One email was “real.” Guitar Center sent me a coupon for $100 off on any purchase over $499. Oh, wow, new guitar? Amp? Mics? Then, I read the banner across the trees.<br><br>
“Just Today”!<br><br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/HulaPigSanta1-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2705782012-12-23T05:25:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:20-08:00Forget Fox, It's Your Choice: Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/612931721989777cc3dea494391dc44c209b9308/medium/Santa-Baby.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="320" width="240" />“Merry Christmas” to those of you who like the ring of that particular greeting, as well as to anybody who is angered or feels insulted by any other greeting this time of year. “Happy Holidays” to the rest of you who statistically are part of more than two-thirds of the world’s population.<br><br>
This holiday season, I am trying to keep in mind the many things and events about which we are happy and thankful. Unfortunately, the shootings at Newtown are too recent as are the inanity and intractability that border on insanity of the gun lobby’s response. Throw in a little inclement weather, and you have the recipe for a dreary attitude.<br><br>
Maybe a look at some relatively inconsequential hypocrisy might lighten the day. <br><br>
This should be the season of joy, merriment, and celebration -- particularly, after we survived the Mayan apocalypse. Despite the spirit of the holidays and in what has become an annual event, the media’s paragon of tolerance and civility – Fox News – has launched its annual appeal to religious intolerance by denigrating those who do not say “Merry Christmas” as anti-[you can supply whatever you want]. <br><br>
Fox calls it a “War on Christmas” but certainly -- and not surprisingly -- is being less than fair and balanced.<br><br>
Many societies – young and old – celebrate the Winter Solstice. Those celebrations predate Christmas by centuries and mark the rebirth of the sun and daylight in the Northern Hemisphere. Of course, the Winter Solstice is near the New Year, which is celebrated at different times depending upon what calendar is consulted. That makes “Happy Holidays” somewhat appropriate. <br><br>
World demographics also point to “Happy Holidays.” Christians constitute something less than one-third of the world’s population. Should a Muslim be compelled to say “Merry Christmas”? A Hindu? A nonreligious person? Muslims, Hindus, and nonreligious persons outnumber the Christians. This is before mentioning Buddhists, Sikhs, Jews, primal-indigenous adherents, or Scientologists.<br><br>
If Fox’s evidence of a “War on Christmas” is the greeting “Happy Holidays,” it is disregarding world history and demographics. Additionally, Fox seems to be overlooking the most patent evidence of all -- that is, the blatant commercialization even on Fox itself of such an important Holy Day. <br><br>
Oh, Fox's response most likely would be those commercials help finance its exposure of the “War on Christmas.” This is not hypocrisy Fox would argue; it is the operation of the free enterprise system. <br><br>
But compared with the what the NRA is feeding us this season, “Merry Christmas” or “Happy Holidays” is simply an entertaining glimpse at hypocrisy and possibly intolerance. Shouldn’t we just feel, express, and live in the spirit of holiday season? “Happy Holidays” is better than saying “kiss off” to those who do not believe the same as we do.<br><br>
Apparently, Fox News wants us to be more tolerant than it and its viewers are.<br><br>
"Merry Christmas" or "Happy Holidays" -- You choose!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Santa-Baby-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/537162012-12-18T12:45:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:04-08:00More We Love Instrumental Music with a Melody: The Vibrocounts<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/fcad44dcf2ab2330fee1a3facdafeab114e33d25/medium/VCLOGO.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="179" width="350" /><br><br>
Part of paying better attention to what other surf or retro instrumental musicians do is to expand our universe of performers. Perhaps that will lead to something new for this one trick pony. Perhaps that will lead to a super stupendous surf party. Perhaps we will learn something.<br><br>
A couple of months ago, we visited a midtown automotive garage where the Vibrocounts were playing. We stopped to listen for a set before tending to some other obligations of Second Saturday. Some time before, we caught part of a set on another Second Saturday. <br><br>
The Vibrocounts are three seasoned musicians who play together out of the love for instrumental rock music. Actually, two of them have played professionally for more than 45 years each. Over that time, their experience included rock, psychedelia, folk rock, the Summer of Love, opening for major acts, near recording contracts, and interactions with some of the icons of San Francisco and Sacramento rock history. <br><br>
Cliff Adams and Jim Lopez alternate on guitar and bass. Paul Narloch is the founder and leader of the band, which builds on his solid drum beat and fills. As each member is an excellent musician, they do not necessarily play off of a set set list. Instead, Paul signals what song will be played, and it is played.<br><br>
When Jim is on guitar, song selection tends toward “traditional” surf. Double-picking. Glissandos. More reverb. Playing a Jazzmaster pushes Jim that way. In contrast, Cliff displays a lighter touch. More use of full chords. Rakes down and up on the fretboard of his DiPinto Galaxie 4. Cliff’s playing conveys a cross between the Ventures and George Benson.<br><br>
In the garage setting on a Second Saturday, people wander in and out. Some stop to listen. Occasionally, somebody might throw in a head bob, foot tap, or a little dance. Other than us and the owner of the garage, few sit down to hear all or much of a set. Meanwhile, with Cliff on guitar, the Vibrocounts played recognizable songs like “Night Train,” “Summertime,” “California Sun,” “Rumble,” and “Peter Gunn.” They extended the songs with Cliff giving each his own interpretation over the unwavering solid rhythm section provided by Jim and Paul.<br><br>
The setting did not lend itself to the energetic, frenetic style that many of us often try to put into our music. No crowd was there off of which to feed. Nobody was looking to be energized. Yet, all who came in were treated to melodic instrumentals which they recognized or song structures with which they were familiar. Universally, the familiarity of the music brought a smile to the faces of whoever checked in.<br><br>
The Vibrocounts may not play with the primitive simplicity of the Pups or offer up the same level of energy. But at the end of their set, we walked away knowing that we just had been entertained by consummate musicians. Importantly, we realized that even though styles differ and I never will have the skills of any of the Vibrocounts, we love instrumental music with a melody.<br><br>
Guess what? Judging by people’s reactions, the audience did too!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/VCLOGO-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2670572012-12-15T11:45:00-08:002012-12-15T11:45:00-08:00Twenty-Eight More. How Many Must Die Before We Have a Meaningful Debate?<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">The response is predictable. “Guns don’t kill people. People kill people.” No debate about how much fire power is enough or mass shootings is possible because “guns don’t kill people . . . .” Instead, we just bury the dead, mourn, and move on.</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><br><br>
Even though guns do not kill people, they certainly are designed to kill. The “guns do not kill people” logic -- if it truly is logical -- can be applied to any number of instruments of death: Bombs of all sorts, land mines, hand grenades, biological and chemical weapons, and the like. Just how inane does “nuclear bombs don’t kill people, people kill people” sound? Nobody would let something so absurd prevent any discussion of nuclear disarmament or nonproliferation.<br></span><br>
Nonetheless, absurdity prevails -- possibly because we Americans simply love our guns. Ironically, John Lennon penned, "Happiness is a warm gun." Depending on whose statistic you read, Americans have somewhere between 100 and 300 million guns. In a nation of 311 million, that is either a gun for nearly every man, woman, and child or one for every third man, woman, and child. That is one to three guns per household. <br><br>
The Supreme Court has decreed that the Constitution allows every American to have a gun for protection against intruders and criminals in addition to for target shooting or hunting. Of course, when our Constitution was written 1789, the citizenry was armed with muskets -- one shot and reload. Those guns often were used to put food on the table. I suspect that the Founding Fathers did not conceive of a society in which anybody who was wealthy enough would have a cannon, the heavy weaponry of the day. If you give any thought whatsoever to those times, you know that the Founding Fathers did not view the Second Amendment as arming slaves or Indians.<br><br>
The debate over whether anything should -- or can -- be done to slow the proliferation of gun deaths in America gets shut down almost before it starts. Folks rotely say “guns don’t kill people” and then go out to buy more guns. Others say, “We need to arm more people to put a stop to gun deaths.” To close any potential debate down completely, others say, “Tragedies and mass shootings are God’s way of punishing us because we support women’s rights or gay rights or same sex marriage or teach evolution.”<br><br>
Possibly, even if debate was allowed, we could not reach any conclusions or would be appalled by the conclusion. Without guns, America would not be the third largest nation on Earth. Without guns, the West might not have been won. Guns and violence are engrained and aggrandized in our history. Maybe the Gun Lobby merely is making a statement on our society. “Guns don’t kill people. People kill people.” And a meaningful debate would find that we, as Americans, simply are violent people who cannot resolve disputes without resorting to killing each other. Guns are convenient and handy for that purpose.<br><br>
Unfortunately, another 27 innocent people including 20 children were killed in Newtown, Connecticut, on December 14, 2012, by one shooter with a lot of bullets and who did not have to reload after every shot. And any debate already is being shut down.<br><br>
“Guns don’t kill people.” That sounds pretty shallow when we mourn and bury our children. But, given our nation’s attention deficit, we soon will forget until that next mass shooting. We then again will hear, “Guns don’t kill people.”<br><br>
What will the body count be before we at least engage in a meaningful debate?<br><br></span>Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2656302012-12-12T10:45:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:19-08:00Bottom Line: Styles May Differ, But We Love Instrumental Music with a Melody<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/e38cf44f049814275097ee0b49fdc22db5c295e4/medium/Dick.3.jpg?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="353" width="220" />Today, I will go out on a limb and probably offend my refined free jazz-playing friends. That, of course, assumes -- probably incorrectly -- that they read or even care about the musings of sexagenarian, less-than-talented rock’n’rollaphile. Instrumental music which has a melody is what we low brow, less-refined folks like.<br><br>
Some time ago, a friend observed I was a “one trick pony” because the Pups play one style of music. Simple, primitive but melodic surf-inspired or retro instrumental rock. The response was, “Yes, that is true. But we put energy into our music and try to make it fun for everybody -- both the audience and the band. And that’s about all my limited skills allow.”<br><br>
One consequence of my friend’s observation is to pay better attention to what others do. Dick Dale is other worldly with skills developed over 60 plus years of playing. He is an icon who influences and affects every surf band that ever existed.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/ff00f1c0331f7d180a48ede6f75238ed7dd295bd/medium/Slacktone10-6.jpg?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="221" width="370" /><br><br>
When we return to this world, Slacktone is the gold standard. The Pups are the lead (as in Pb or plumbum) standard. For learning purposes, what lies in between?<br><br>
If you follow this blog very much, you may have read about the high energy double-picked, reverb-drenched, glissando-driven music of Slacktone, The Pyronauts and The Sneaky Tikis. You also may have read about the precisely picked and effortless playing of Paul Johnson. Or how Jon Blair and Ferenc Dobronyi combined those styles in their interpretations and compositions of instrumental surf music.<br><br>
What do all of those performers have in common? They play something to which an audience can relate. They play to entertain those who came -- and usually paid -- to listen. Their music is familiar as either recognizable songs or songs which sound like something an audience has heard before. They also have made every song they play their own in some way.<br><br>
The bands and performers differ in how they present their music. They each engage their audience differently. They may differ in delivery of what we know as “surf music.” Yet, the bottom line is, despite differences in style, we love instrumental music which has a melody.<br><br>
Guess what? Audiences do too!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Slacktone10-6-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2638242012-12-09T04:15:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:19-08:00Benefit for the Food Bank: A Long, But Rewarding Night<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/1d78f5342dcb54fc5e5b43eeb1a62ec26fea2283/medium/Antiq.Tree.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="225" width="225" />Let's start with bottom line: More than $500 and two loads of food and clothing for the Sacramento Food Bank. <br><br>
Wow! That shows the generosity of folks and how important the efforts of others -- Ross Hammond, other musicians, and the owners of Antquite Maison Privee -- were to an evening of music for a good cause.<br><br>
At times, the result did not seem possbile. At 5:45, the traffic on the 50 from Sacramento to West Sacramento was a snarl. And I had to load up drums and other equipment at the Doghouse and get them to Sacramento by 6:30.<br><br>
As I searched for an exit, the Little Voice started up. “If you stay the course, you’ll be lucky to get the drum kit to town tonight. You’re going to look like another undependable musician.” Of course, that made two assumptions: one, that musicians are undependable, and, two, that I can be categorized as a musician. The Little Voice harped on, “Why did you get on the freeway anyway?”<br><br>
After finding an exit, going back to where I started, and taking an alternative route, I managed to get the drums to the Antiquite Maison Privee by 6:35 -- only five minutes late. By 7:00, they were set up on stage and ready for Crossing the River. Only two “full bands” -- that is, bands using drums -- were on the bill for the Holiday Benefit Concert for the Sacramento Food Bank. Crossing the River was the first and scheduled to open the show at 7:00. The Pups were the other and scheduled to play last -- at 10:30.<br><br>
As 7:00 approached, Ross and the owners of the Antiquite Maison Privee were readying for the show. They and few of the performers were the only folks in the building. <br><br>
The Little Voice started up again, “This has the makings of a bust.” Maybe the Little Voice was going to be correct. Neither the <i>Bee</i> nor the <i>News & Review</i> included the Benefit in their print versions. Even though Sacramento365 listed the Benefit among its “Top Ten” for the week, the links on the website did not work. Very little buzz was apparent on Facebook.<br><br>
How could the print media ignore a benefit for a good cause featuring a line-up which included excellent and some acclaimed musicians? <br><br>
Buzz or no buzz. Media support or no media support. Internet glitches or no internet glitches. Big audience or small audience. The show was going to go on. Each artist on the bill was a consummate and experienced “professional.” Anybody who paid the price of admission -- a donation of cash, food or clothing -- was treated to strong performance.<br><br>
The crowd peaked for the two headliners. Sitting in the audience and enjoying the original songs of Kevin Seconds -- a Sacramento icon -- accompanied by his wife, Allyson, and the readings of Electropoetic Coffee, I thought, “What great performances. If only . . . .” Lawrence Dinkins, Jr., finished the <i>How the Grinch Stole Christmas</i> to enthusiastic applause, and Electropoetic Coffee left the stage.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/1dc7ff17614319524582020f26b9d36f0680e295/medium/Antiq.Pups.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="250" width="250" />Even though one act remained, after 3-1/2 hours of outstanding performances, most of the audience filed out of the building. They were done, had seen the headliners, and did not need to wait for somebody to schlep drums and amps back onto the stage. <br><br>
When we finally were set up, I looked at the 15 or so diehards who were left. We were about to perform for the smallest audience in our history as a band. But that did not deter us from delivering an energetic and fun-filled 20 minutes -- our allotted time.<br><br>
When we hit the final chord of “Jack-the-Ripper” shortly after 11:00, the 5:45 traffic jam had been forgotten. Instead, my thoughts were about how to get more buzz and a bigger audience next year.<br><br>
Ross’ report came the next day and made the long evening really worthwhile. Final tally: more than $500 and two loads of food and clothing for the Sacramento Food Bank.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Antiq.Tree-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2622322012-12-05T10:55:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:19-08:00Walking the Walk (Redux)<u><b><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">EDITOR'S NOTE</span></b></u><b><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">:</span></b><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"> December 7 is around the corner, and the Holiday Benefit Concert for the Sacramento Food Bank is almost here. Last year, this is what we wrote after the Benefit.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/e6ff8cecfdf2221f81d4c874ae03652667e753ab/medium/Electropoetic-Coffee-Group_1282354604.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="331" width="200" /></span>This is the season to remember that many folks are less fortunate than we are. Actually, we should remember them year around. They are no less hungry after the New Year. They are no less needy after the New Year. They are no less unemployed after the New Year. Except for a few dedicated diehards, we all seem to forget the less fortunate once the Holiday decorations come down.<br><br>
An errand to a mall shortly before Thanksgiving made me think of the homeless, the hungry, and the unemployed. Yes, they are part of the underclass that has grown over the last decade or so. <br><br>
Many of us who were young adults in the 1960s believe that we have a duty -- maybe civic, maybe moral, maybe guilt-driven -- to contribute to the well-being of society. Some of us believe that the “greed-is-good” and “me-first” years were the beginnings of the decline of our institutions. We shifted from asking “what is good for society” to asking “what is good for me.” Ethics were shoved aside. Politicians seemed to make decisions based upon who could contribute the most to their re-elections.<br><br>
Selfishness had replaced selflessness. Corporate “good” -- that is, profitability -- was put ahead of societal good. Many in corporate management put their short term income and aggrandizement ahead of what was best for institutional survival. In the name of making money, jobs were exported. We were told again and again that what was best for corporate America was “best for us.”<br><br>
We then were victimized by scandals. By massive corporate frauds. By corporate corruption. By Ponzi Schemes. By bursting bubbles. By financiers who created products to enrich only themselves. By bankers who made money bundling and selling loans while abandoning traditional principles. By an imploding Economy.<br><br>
The victims, however, were blamed. Regulation was blamed. Foreigners were blamed. The tax system was blamed. Unions were blamed. Public employees were blamed. The working poor were blamed.<br><br>
Some of us “products of the 60s” thought the young people who were educated during or emerged from the “greed-is-good” and “me-first” years were responsible. That those young people had no sense of a greater good. That they did not feel a need to give back to society.<br><br>
Saturday night, I learned that maybe my thoughts and opinions were off-base. I had fallen for the age-old -- or old-age -- trap of misjudging young people. Ross Hammond had organized and promoted an evening of music at Old Soul to benefit the Sacramento Food Bank. The price of admission was money, food, or clothing.<br><br>
Becky and I brought our bag full of food and walked into Old Soul along with Ross’ in-laws. The place was full. The audience was attentive and appreciative. The barrels at the door were about to overflow. After us, people kept arriving. They were there to give -- to help out the less fortunate -- to contribute to the greater good.<br><br>
The arrival of the 4 of us brought the number of middle-aged folks in the room to 5. The audience was mainly under-30s. They were too young to remember the Kennedys, Martin Luther King, the Civil Rights Movement, the United Farm Workers, the Women's movement, “The Other America,” the Great Society, or the War on Poverty. They also were too young to be “me-firsters.”<br><br>
Electopoetic Coffee “took the stage.” Lawrence energized the audience with his thoughtful and thought-provoking narratives on the state of the Economy, the plight of the underclass, corporate greed, and the decline of the middle class. Ross’ accompaniment picked up the pace as Lawrence’s delivery raced. The audience applauded enthusiastically.<br><br>
As we left, I looked at the barrels which by then were overflowing with food and clothing donations. Maybe there is hope for this younger generation. Maybe greed and apathy will be pushed down a few rungs on the ladder of acceptable traits.<br><br>
And on this Saturday night, somebody was walking the walk. <br><br></span> <span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Electropoetic-Coffee-Group_1282354604-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2600942012-12-02T00:25:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:19-08:00The Old Dog and New Tricks: Let's Try Some Holiday Songs<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">A year ago, we played back-to-back shows in December. At the first, we stuck to our schtick. But the Pyronauts showed their flexibility and treated the Beach Hut audience to their arrangements of a few holiday songs -- surf style. They gave a surf beat and selective double picking to some traditional favorites. That got everybody into the holiday spirit! <br><br>
The second of the back-to-back shows was on the upstairs stage in the Downtown Mall. I sat out while Bob Bitchin’ of the Pyronauts joined us as a “special guest” on stage. The then Pups -- <i>sans</i> me -- played some holiday songs. Once again, the songs were surf style. Glenn’s drumming was totally impromptu as he had not rehearsed the songs. In fact, he did not know what song would be played until Paul the Pyronaut told him. <br><br>
“Okay, ‘Joy to the World.’ Use a surf beat and fills. You start.” Glenn did, and they had the audience instantly interested. And into the holiday spirit.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/763847054bb20c2a2d5519f713b651cc24929d0a/medium/Poster12-7-12-half.jpg?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="387" width="250" />Sitting on my amp and watching the audience, I thought, “Just how cool is this? Will I ever be able to pull off something like it?"<br><br>
We have an opportunity to find out this year.<br><br>
Of course, that means figuring out some holiday songs to string together which, one, will not overload my memory bank and, two, minimize the risk of exposing my talent deficits. Simple is good. Repetitive plus simple is even better. Repetitive plus really simple is best. <br><br><br>
That works for us. We make no pretense of making sophisticated music. We are about fun. The audience can fill in the blanks in any recognizable song and have fun too.<br><br>
Given those criteria and after going through a bunch of songbooks, I presented some possibilities to the band at a recent rehearsal. How about? No, that song really sucks. Or? That needs to be sung. Finally, we semi-agreed on three songs.<br><br>
“Let’s give them a go.” I hesitated, “But I haven’t played them.” The response was unanimous, “Just read the music.” I gave in, “Okay. I’ll try but I can’t remember the last time I even pretended to sight read.” A couple of times through and we had a structure. Robert, Glenn, and Sue played right along, and I attempted to keep up.<br><br>
“We’ll try this again next week after I memorize these puppies.” Time to return to the mantra which guides my musical endeavors. Keep it simple. Keep it simple.<br><br>
If you do not try something new, you never will progress. Besides what is a holiday show without holiday songs?<br><br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Poster12-7-12-half-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2587092012-11-28T21:40:00-08:002023-10-05T16:05:54-07:00Everybody Needs a Support Group<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">This year’s Thanksgiving was special. All of us can think back to Thanksgivings in our lifetimes which were unpleasant or downright awful. When asked about our favorite Thanksgivings, some of us may be hard-pressed to answer. I can say that Thanksgiving 2012 is near the top of my favorites.<br><br>
As we get older, we also find that Thanksgiving often makes us a bit reflective -- maybe even saccharine. Even though it is giving way to Black Friday, it is holiday which has not been overrun by corporate greed and banality. Given its secular and historical origin, Thanksgiving is not filled with tensions created when religion, tolerance (or intolerance), gross commercialism, and political correctness collide. It simply is a time for family and friends to gather and enjoy each other’s company.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/537d7e86c99d07f5450063005e6a5eef092b6f52/original/Lana.jpg?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="236" width="240" />Perhaps that is why Dick Dale was particularly sharing and verbose at the Press Club. He was especially effusive about his wife, Lana, who nursed and supported him during his ongoing health issues. While he carried on, she was busy laying out items on the pool table which would be the Dick Dale merch table. Multiple styles of tees. CDs. Posters. Drum heads. Frisbees (“very rare”). Photos. Prices ranged from $10 for Dick Dale to autograph something that an audience member brought to the show to $100 for an “really big” autographed poster.<br><br>
His words, thoughts, and feelings were genuine. Lana has been the anchor in Dick Dale’s support group, and he is demonstrably grateful.<br><br>
At some point during his performance, Becky and Lana began to talk. Then, they were embracing. They had found a common bond. As I watched, I reflected on how Becky is, among other things, our biggest fan, often times promoter, advisor, and reality checker. And she is the anchor of our support group.<br><br>
As a sexagenarian musically-impaired guitarist, my support group necessarily has to be large. But, as I sat in the back of the Press Club and watched Becky and Lana, I thought about some of the advice guitar teachers gave me along the way. After all, without them and Becky, opening for Dick Dale would not have been an obtainable dream. Here are just a few of the nuggets:<br></span>
<ul>
<li>
<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Dave Lynch: “What’s the worst thing that can happen? You make a fool of yourself in front of a bunch of people who don’t know you and really don’t care about you.”</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><br></span>
</li>
</ul><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"></span>
<ul>
<li>
<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Mark Gamsjager: “Play like you own your solos and, above all else, look like you are having fun.”<br></span>
</li>
</ul><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"></span>
<ul>
<li><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Mark Gamsjager: “Nobody wants to see a shoe band -- one where everybody looks at his feet and not at the audience.” <br></span></li>
</ul><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"></span>
<ul>
<li><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Bob Bitchin’: “It’s okay to be apprehensive, just don’t be afraid.”<br></span></li>
</ul><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"></span>
<ul>
<li><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Paul the Pyronaut: “No matter what, just go out there and have fun.”<br></span></li>
</ul><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"></span>
<ul>
<li><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Paul the Pyronaut: “When things happen, it’s what you make of it.”<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><br></span></span></li>
</ul><ul>
<li><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Robert “Kool Kat” Kuhlmann: “Your audience really doesn’t care about whether you play perfect. They just want to have fun with you.” </span><br></span></li>
</ul><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Words of wisdom and support coalesced to make Thanksgiving 2012 truly memorable. Thank you.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/cb0f9ac1206cfb859fd4e66987d3e31a5ae22848/original/IMG_2717.JPG?1375982949" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="263" width="350" /><br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG_2717.JPG">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2568292012-11-25T22:00:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:19-08:00Dick Dale: Still Rocking at 75<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">The stage at the Press Club was clear of the Lava Pups’ equipment leaving four waist-high speaker cabinets, Dusty Watson’s drum kit, Sam Bolle’s pedals, a reverb unit, and a microphone. The crowd was ready for Dick Dale.<br><br>
During the break, we took some equipment out to the car. But the crowd was building and pressing closer to the stage. I decided to take my standby guitar out through the back exit. Gig bag in hand I started up the staircase to the back door only to run into Lana Dale on the landing. At the top of the stairs was the King of the Surf Guitar himself. <br><br>
Dick Dale! He was preparing to make his entrance. But he had dispatched one of his crew to take care of some technical difficulty with his wireless unit. He had time for me, “You bring a guitar for me to sign?” “No, I’m from the opening band and trying to get this out to the car.” He then talked to me until his crew member looked up the stairs and reported the unit was ready to go.<br><br>
The King of the Surf Guitar then returned to making his entrance. Down the stairs. Into the room. The crowd parted like the Red Sea. On to the stage. Cheers, whistles, and applause welcomed Dick Dale back to Sacramento.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/1c87f17b4fac84cd93b94de2ee243a39f00da911/original/IMG_2700.JPG?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="278" width="370" /><br><br>
With the support of the best rhythm section there is, he ran through a wide-ranging assortment of songs. Familiar surf classics like Let’s Go Trippin’, Surf Beat, The Wedge, and Miserlou. Jazz and rock standards like Comin’ Home, Hideaway, and Rumble. He sang Bo Diddley and What’d I Say. The audience joined him in House of the Rising Sun.<br><br>
His instantly recognizable style was evident throughout the night. His playing was strong. Alternate picked on heavy strings. He played without a set list which required Sam Bolle and Dusty Watson to be on their toes and ready to accompany whatever he played whenever he played it. Dick Dale explained that this allowed him to tailor each performance to fit his audience.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/e38cf44f049814275097ee0b49fdc22db5c295e4/original/Dick.3.jpg?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="385" width="240" />On this Thanksgiving night, Dick Dale was particularly sharing with his audience. He has had health issues lately. Cancer. </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Renal failure. </span>Chemotherapy. He is opposed to radiation as cancer treatment. His doctors will not let him play trumpet any more. He is upset that American mustangs are slaughtered and eaten as a delicacy in Europe. He encouraged his audience to talk to their congressional representatives about this.<br><br>
The audience danced. The audience applauded. The audience cheered. The audience sang along. The audience listened to what Dick Dale had to say.<br><br>
His performance ended. He invited the audience to his merchandise table. As he sat down there, I thought about what we just had seen. Dick Dale is a 75-year old cancer survivor who is on the road for 13 shows in 13 different cities in 20 days and whose playing is as strong, vital, and loud as it ever was.<br><br>
Yes, indeed, Dick Dale is still rocking at 75!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Dick.3.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2563282012-11-24T04:50:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:19-08:00Thanksgiving Night: Living a Rock 'N Roll Fantasy<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/a0c099f3d99947b364c5693d38153bae2182bfd9/medium/IMG_0022.JPG?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="278" width="370" /><br><br>
We were on stage. The crowd was a few feet away. Time to live the rock 'n roll fantasy.<br><br>
“We are the Lava Pups.” Applause and cheers. A step back and I teetered as I bumped against Robert’s amp. Holy smokes! Was I going to fall off the stage? That would be rather auspicious -- and lame. After catching my balance, I started the chords to introduce Mr. Moto. Applause and cheers.<br><br>
Even though Rikki had run through the set with us only once, she came in right on time. Rikki, Sue, and Robert meshed. They were locked in. One of the guys who had been leaning against the stage started dancing. The people in front of the stage were moving with the music. Heads were bobbing. Cha, cha, cha! We crushed Mr. Moto. Applause and cheers.<br><br>
“Thank you!” Step back. Teeter. Catch balance. “We released a CD last year. Here’s a song from that CD.” Whammy chords into Sea Witch. Wow! More dancing. More moving with the music. More heads bobbing. The audience was so close and having fun. The expressions on their faces made that clear. The ending of Sea Witch fooled the audience as they started to applaud, we would play some more, they started again, and we played some more. Cha, cha, cha! They got this ending. Applause, cheers, and whistles.<br><br>
The crowd, the spot lights over the stage, and the excitement were generating heat. I was sweating. No nervousness. No fear. This was genuine fun sweat.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/0df0c9202c1a69e38e38ad1b211302011a181c63/original/IMG_2680.JPG?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="188" width="250" />We plowed through the set. The audience swayed to our slow songs. They sang along with Runaway. After I introduced the band, Robert implored the crowd. And they shouted, “Bill! Bill! Bill! Bill!” Maybe this was a dream.<br><br><br><br>
“Dick Dale is coming up. This is going to be a party. What kind of party?” Surf Party! We featured Rikki on the song with drum solo. The audience was rocking out. I was sweating more. After Squad Car, I leaned into the mic. “It’s really hot in here.” I unbuttoned my shirt and threw it open to reveal a Dick Dale tee. “Look here. I’ve got Dick Dale on my chest.”<br><br>
We and the audience were totally together for our Link Wray medley. I turned to Rikki, and we galloped towards the ending. Faster. Faster. She mouthed, “Faster?” I nodded, “Yes.” Faster. Faster. Jazzmaster raised. Chord. Boom from the bass drum! And our set was done.<br><br>
Applause. Cheers. Whistles. Genuine appreciation. Everybody whom we could see had had fun. Our immediate task was to get our equipment off stage and out of the way for the main event. The crowd was primed. The King of the Surf Guitar and guitar legend, Dick Dale, was next.<br><br>
As we carried our equipment off the stage, audience members came up and told us how much they had enjoyed us. Some shook our hands. Others asked if we had our CD there. Dusty congratulated us. Friends and family were really excited by our show.<br><br>
After saying how much he enjoyed our performance, Ivan of the Rockabilly Love Cats said, “That’s the first time I’ve ever seen you sweat when you play.” <br><br>
When doing something you have dreamed about, you had better to give it your all. It may be your only chance.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG_0022-300.JPG" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2561372012-11-23T12:35:00-08:002021-10-13T11:22:52-07:00Thanksgiving Night: Preparing To Live Out a Rock 'N Roll Fantasy<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/96c1037cf1f3c466f7fe405bff6ccd6a78a533b8/medium/dickdalehalf.jpg?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="369" width="240" />Dick Dale is the King of the Surf Guitar. Most people have no idea what instrumental surf music is. Using terms such as guitar-centric, reverb-drenched, alternate picking, staccato picked, or glissando-laden alone or in combination with each other usually generates shoulder shrugs. To get people to understand almost immediately, you say, “Surf music is what Dick Dale plays -- like ‘Miserlou’”<br><br>
Dick Dale and instrumental surf music are synonymous. Nobody who knows me should be surprised that to open for Dick Dale was a fantasy of sorts. Besides that certainly would look good on the Lava Pups’ resume.<br><br>
Thanksgiving night 2012 -- November 22, 2012 -- was that historic event. On the drive to the Press Club for a 6:30 load-in, I wondered how many people would come out on Thanksgiving night. Target, Walmart, and Sears moved “Black Friday” up to 8:00 p.m. on Thanksgiving; to maintain the pretense of “Black Friday,” other stores were opening at midnight. Deep down, however, I knew that given the choice between Dick Dale and “door buster specials,” surf music fans would pick Dick Dale.<br><br>
Dusty Watson, Sam Bolle, and Dick Dale’s crew still were going through their soundcheck as we packed in our drums and equipment. Stacks of speakers sat to the left and right of Dusty’s kit. Each stack was waist high and miked. Dusty’s kit was miked. They played and gave the sound engineer instructions until they were satisfied.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/73c4dede684b754ac44fd33274a2b6add81e80e9/original/644143_443240555739863_555026901_n.jpg?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="221" width="370" /><br><br>
Then we put our equipment on what was left of the stage. Our guest drummer -- Rikki Styxx of Kiss Kiss Bang Bang -- worked with Dusty to set up the Lava Pups drums. The stage kept becoming smaller. Our amps looked like toys in front of the speaker cabinets. The sound engineer miked Robert’s and Sue’s amps and our bass drum. After placing my pedal board where I could get at it without tripping over it, very little stage was left for me. <br><br>
Our soundcheck was done by 7:15. Sean then told us that the show would start at 9:00. I responded that Dick Dale’s band was planning on playing at 9:20. Sean said that he would check. What were we going to do for an hour and 45 minutes? Anticipation combined with beginning the day at 5:30 a.m., helping with Thanksgiving dinner for twelve at the Doghouse, running through the set once with Rikki and Sue, and packing and unpacking were taking their toll on my energy level.<br><br>
Around 7:45, folks began to arrive in earnest. To burn off any energy generated by anticipation, I wandered in and out of building and shuffled between friends and well-wishers. During one of those sojourns, Sean said, “Dusty and Sam told me that you guys should go on at 8:30.” Cool. Anticipation time trimmed.<br><br>
Sue observed, “This is going to be the biggest crowd that we ever played in front of.”<br><br>
As the building filled, the music on the PA and the crowd noise escalated. The music of The Jam played over the PA. “David Watts.” “In the City.” “A-Bomb on Wardour Street.” <br><br>
We took the stage to “Down in the Tube Station at Midnight.” Rikki was wedged between Dusty’s drums, speaker cabinets, and the Lava Pups kit. Robert and Sue were in front of Sam's two cabinets and pinned behind a hand rail. My spot on the stage felt precarious. Step back too much and trip over Robert’s amp. Step forward too much and fall down the step leading up to the stage.<br><br>
As the song finished, I signaled the sound engineer. The Jam was off. The din coming from both rooms of the Press Club lowered. Some of the crowd was leaning against the stage. A small clearing existed at the bottom of the step up to the stage. Beyond that, people were standing. A few had staked out bar stools directly in front of the stage.<br><br>
Sue was right. This was the biggest crowd we had played in front of. They were waiting for us.<br><br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/644143_443240555739863_555026901_n.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2549432012-11-20T22:20:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:19-08:00Getting Ready: Lava "X" Pups or "Black Flag" Pups or Lava Pups "Clash"?<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/74700e4b0bde8d1c4ecf47c7b7cd9c4202519393/medium/DickDalePress.1.jpg?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="370" width="240" />On Thanksgiving night, the Lava Pups take the stage at the Press Club to open for the King of the Surf Guitar. A Guitar Legend. An inventor of surf music. The one and only Dick Dale!<br><br>
That meant that our last band practice was devoted to getting ready for that upcoming show. We have only a short time to prepare. So we sat down as a band and figured out what we collectively believe we play best. We do not want to perform any really lame or tentative songs for a Dick Dale crowd. We are not going to experiment with new or recently added material. <br><br>
After all, we are opening the King of the Surf Guitar. The crowd will be chomping at the bit for loud and fast Dick Dale style. We simply will be a diversion while folks drink, talk, and watch to see if I pee my pants. Be patient, guys! Duck! Incoming beer bottle!<br><br>
We then ran through the set and recorded as we went. Glenn was leaving on Sunday for Disneyland and Long Beach. We needed to get MP3s of the set to Rikki Styxx, our guest drummer. We were not going to have much of an opportunity to rehearse with her. Our sound check just might be the rehearsal.<br><br>
As we practiced, our semi-punk garage sensibilities came to the front. We have a couple of slow songs and a couple of more traditional songs. But our energy level always picks up on the rawer, more primitive, racing tunes. Sea Witch. Magma Runner. Surf Party. Squad Car. Lava Tube. Our Link Wray Medley.<br><br>
As we finished our first run-through the set, Robert yelled out, “Yeah, we are a punk band! We are the Lava Pups Clash!” Deep down I think he probably is correct.<br><br>
How about the Lava “X” Pups? Or “Black Flag” Pups?<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/DickDalePress.1-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2536422012-11-18T21:50:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:19-08:00Dick Dale - Guitar Legend Coming Our Way<img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/9d5538350575463acf0cf30f8b2e205e58f71684/original/ddstanding.jpg?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="307" width="240" />Dick Dale, the King of the Surf Guitar, is coming to Sacramento on Thanksgiving Night. He starts a west coast tour in San Luis Obispo and then heads north. Sacramento. San Jose. Oakland. Scotia. A couple of more stops get him to Seattle. Then back south. A couple of stops to Petaluma. Then Grass Valley. Santa Cruz marks the end of the tour.<br><br>
Even though he is 75 years old and a cancer survivor, Dick Dale will play in 13 different towns or cities in less than three weeks. The rhythm section for this tour probably is the best in surf music and has played with him off and on over the years. Dusty Watson, the best surf drummer in the world, and Sam Bolle, who also has played bass with Slacktone, Agent Orange, Davie Allan, and FeAR.<br><br>
If you are an old school surf music fan, you are already familiar with Dick Dale (born Richard Monsour). Plays left-handed but does not reverse the strings on the guitar. Kept big cats -- yeah, lions and tigers -- on his ranch. Survived two bouts with rectal cancer. If you are new to the surf music genre, Dick Dale should be on your “must see” list as he is one of the living pioneers.<br>
<br>
Before the British Invasion, folk rock, and psychedelia, California had its own “folk music” -- a unique sound known as “surf music.” It began in Los Angeles and nearby beach communities. Surfers heard Dick Dale and adopted his rapid-fire guitar music as their own. Unlike most surf musicians of the era, he surfed. That led to his trying to match the sound of the waves crashing overhead in his songs.<br><br>
In 1961, Dick Dale’s “Let’s Go Tripping” climbed the charts of Los Angeles radio and helped introduce the inland communities to surf music. The Beach Boys -- then the Pendletons -- played second fiddle to the King of the Surf Guitar. Dick Dale packed auditoriums, ballrooms, and union halls with teens and young adults. Floors and buildings shook as they did the surfer’s stomp to his music.<br><br>
Working hand-in-hand with Dick Dale, Leo Fender developed larger and more reliable amplifiers. Dick Dale played hard, loud and fast. He needed an amp which would not blow up. After experimenting around, Leo Fender came up with that. Leo Fender also created the reverb unit which gave surf music its “wet” sound for Dick Dale.<br><br>
Dick Dale was introduced to many new fans by the movie Pulp Fiction. “Miserlou” rocked theaters and started the Second Wave of surf music. His legacy goes well beyond instrumental surf music. His use of Middle Eastern scales inspired many jazz musicians of the 1960s. Loud and fast became the mantra of many punk and metal rockers who often appeared on the same bill as Second and Third Wave surf bands.<br><br>
Thanksgiving night, we are lucky that Dick Dale will share his immense talents and legacy with us. Fifty years after he pioneered a musical genre, he still plays his strong, staccato style out of a Fender Showman amp tweaked to his specifications. The style and sound are instantly recognizable as Dick Dale and surf music! How cool is that?<br><br><br><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/ddstanding.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2525602012-11-15T23:25:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:18-08:00Wow! Holy Smokes! OMG! Is This a Dream?<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Could our last blog have been prescient. It ended with, “But maybe my Dad is looking down and saying, ‘See what you can do if you just put your mind to it. Dreams should be lived.’”<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/eb7c36bbe042a82a34005077728287da7465af60/original/DickDalePress.jpg?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="368" width="240" />That was published early Wednesday morning. At about 4:00 that very afternoon, I received a call. “Hi, this is Sean. I do the booking for the Press Club. I know this pretty short notice, but can you guys open for Dick Dale next week?”<br><br>
“What! Open for the King of the Surf Guitar!” the Little Voice exclaimed. It then calmly talked me down off the ceiling. “Hang on to the phone. Breathe deeply. The show is on Thanksgiving. Contain yourself. Isn’t this unbelievable? Sound responsible.” The Little Voice was so stoked that it was helping for a change.<br><br>
That short internal dialogue led to my response, “Sean, I really want to do it and know that our drummer will be in L.A. I got to check with the rest of the band. Can you wait until I do that?” Sean was receptive. We discussed some logistics. The Little Voice, however, was way ahead and beginning to suggest drummers.<br><br>
“I’ll get back to you by noon tomorrow.” I hung up. Wow! Holy Smokes! The opportunity to open for Dick Dale! Isn’t that the dream of every surf band?<br><br>
Making that dream a reality required three steps in less than 24 hours. First, get agreement on my home front about bailing out on our Thanksgiving plans. Second, get a commitment from the rest of the band who would be bailing out on their families’ Thanksgiving plans. Third, get a drummer who most likely would be bailing out on another family’s Thanksgiving plans.<br><br>
Step one was fast. I called home, “We got a problem for Thanksgiving . . . .” Becky’s response was, “What do you mean a ‘problem’? Are Sue and Robert on aboard? Why don’t you try ____ as a drummer? Do you have any others in mind?” Step two required some waiting for Robert to check, but Becky was working on that too.<br><br>
After a couple of inquiries, we still were without a drummer. Then came the flash. Rikki Styxx! You may recall her resume from Surf Music Camp: The drummer for Kiss Kiss-Bang Bang -- a band recognized by Little Steven -- and wife of Dusty Watson -- the best surf drummer in the world who is touring with the King of the Surf Guitar. She knows the music and has a garage sensibility, and playing before Dick Dale might not be bailing out on Thanksgiving plans.<br><br>
My Facebook message to Rikki ended with “We know it is a long shot.” I then headed off for phase two of a root canal. Becky could not contain herself and opened up my Facebook. As I pulled into the dentist’s parking lot, Becky called. “The answer is yes! Rikki will play.” <br><br>
Yes, indeed, dreams should be lived!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/DickDalePress.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2512522012-11-13T22:10:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:18-08:00Two Years of Lava Pups: Wow!<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/ee815e93fcde886374c5831af46249986be67371/medium/Shine_Pups4.JPG?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="361" width="370" /><br><br>
Two years. Two years! Two years? Wow! Was this what we had in mind?<br><br>
On November 14, 2010, Don “Jet Blue” Bazinet, Paul the Pyronaut, Glenn Kohlmeister, and I gathered at the Doghouse to go through the eight songs that became <i>Into the Flow</i>. We began work on that project to check “record a CD” off my bucket list. <br><br>
In November 2010, it was more a conceptual art project than a music project. Write songs. Do the artwork. Record. Release. Play the CD once for friends and family. And it would be finished. Viewers and listeners would attend the “opening,” maybe take a few pictures, and the tangible work would be gone. Everything would be left to imagination and memory. <br><br>
The conceptual art project, however, morphed into some live performances, a set list of "traditional" songs as well as some of the originals on the CD, and the Lava Pups moving forward like a band. “Regular practices.” Rejecting gigs. Being rejected for gigs. Promoting shows. Feelings of exhilaration, inadequacy, anxiety, and accomplishment. Flights of fantasy. Facing realities. <br><br>
The Pups changed too. Paul and Cheri moved to Ferndale -- 5 hours away -- to live in their dream house and pursue his dream of his own music store. Don had acres to mow and clear at his home in Cool -- 40 miles from the Doghouse. And Robert “Kool Kat” Kuhlmann and my sister, Sue, joined the Pups.<br><br>
We were off and running again. Learning new songs. Rearranging old songs. Establishing a new musical identity. Adjusting to each other’s personalities and musicality. Developing a sound of our own.<br><br>
Over these two years, our wives, families, and friends have given us amazing support. They attended gigs even if they were not particularly moved by our music. They hawked our wares. Promoted the Pups. Helped schlep equipment. Listened patiently to “how did we sound?” Shared our elation and enthusiasm when we performed. Provided needed reality checks.<br><br>
So, on this two-year anniversary, I want to thank my fellow Pups again for sharing some rock ‘n roll fantasy moments with me and making what we do fun. To thank our wives, families, and friends for putting up with us and supporting our endeavors. To thank those who shared ideas, looked at our website, bought our CD, came to see us, and understood that we play to have fun. To thank those who let us play even though we had little or no experience under our belts.<br><br>
Finally, as the Holidays approach, I want to thank our Dads who gave us the freedom and inspiration to find our own ways and do whatever we wanted to do. Who would have thought we would have done what we have done over the last two years? I didn’t. But maybe my Dad is looking down and saying, “See what you can do if you just put your mind to it. Dreams should be lived.”<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Shine_Pups4-300.JPG" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2496792012-11-11T01:25:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:18-08:00Veterans Day: Remembering Those Who Gave<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/12f066c6683836234c508d07b4b6c724c60beb8e/medium/Veterans.jpg?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="216" width="375" /><br><br>
Originally, Veterans Day was Armistice Day. On November 11, 1918, at 11:00 a.m., the Allies and Germany signed the armistice to cease hostilities on the Western Front. That marked the beginning of the end of the “War to End War.” <br><br>
The idea in 1918 that everlasting peace was obtainable was naive and overly optimistic. It required that we turn a blind eye to history. By 1918, the United States had been involved in war almost continuously since its birth. The Revolution. The Franco-American War. The Barbary Wars. The War of 1812. Numerous wars with native Americans as the Nation expanded. The Mexican War. The Civil War. More wars with native Americans. The Spanish-American War. Few, if any, stars on Old Glory came without people being killed. The histories of other nations as empire builders were similar.<br><br>
The idea of everlasting peace also required that we disregard human nature. Maybe human beings are just genetically bellicose. Wars have been fought over territory, national identity, national integrity, “ethnic purity,” religion, drugs, resources, and ideology. We even fought wars to prevent wars -- preventive or preemptive wars.<br><br>
The concept of everlasting peace also required that we overlook the proclivities of our leaders. Wars allow politicians to show that they are strong, to unite citizens in a common effort, to distract the citizenry, to boost employment and the Economy, or to reward contributors and supporters. Since World War II and In addition to wars in Korea, Vietnam, and Kuwait and invasions of Grenada, Panama, Iraq, and Afghanistan, we have had “wars” on poverty, drugs, and terror. Yes, our leaders seem to like war.<br><br>
The writing was on the wall, and World War I did not end all war. Instead, we seem to have never-ending war and always-ending peace. After World War II, Armistice Day became Veterans Day in the United States.<br><br>
Never-ending war and always-ending peace mean a never-ending need for soldiers and sailors. Young men and women fill that need. They take on a job created by repeating history, human nature, and our leaders. At times, they were conscripted. Some times, they forced into service by judges, poverty, or unemployment. Often, they volunteered out of patriotism, a sense of duty, or the desire to serve their fellow Americans. We even have offered them incentives in the form of signing, re-enlistment, and post-service education bonuses.<br><br>
No matter how they became soldiers and sailors, they gave up some part of -- or all of -- their lives for what somebody thought was the greater good. They did what we as an electorate ordered them to do. Nearly all did so honorably.<br><br>
Irrespective of whether folks were too idealistic in 1918 and irrespective your political or philosophical bent, today is a day to remember the sacrifices made by young men and women who served us and the sacrifices also made by their parents, spouses, partners, and children.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Veterans-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/645452012-11-07T10:30:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:05-08:00Now What? Halloween Is Over; Let's Get the Christmas Stuff Out!<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/612931721989777cc3dea494391dc44c209b9308/medium/Santa-Baby.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="300" width="225" />Do you realize that “Black Friday” is less than three weeks away? Get your elbow pads ready!<br><br>
Last weekend, we walked through our nearby Home Depot. Even though we still have a glut of Halloween candy in our cupboard, the front part of Home Depot was filled with Christmas decorations and items. <br><br>
Halloween is in the books. Veterans’ Day and Thanksgiving are retail busts. So November 1 -- the day after Halloween -- now marks the countdown to Christmas. Fifty-four shopping days to go!<br><br>
Faux trees. Faux wreaths. Faux candles. Faux everything. Ironically, most of it was manufactured in China. Yes, those atheistic Commies provide goodies for one of Christendom’s biggest holidays.<br><br>
Maybe a little irony is fitting. The origin of Christmas is not as solemn as some folks profess or might think. Most scientists -- except for faux scientists -- and religious scholars agree that December 25th is a faux “birthday.” The nativity story of lambs, shepherds, a guiding star, travel to Bethlehem for a census, etc. just does not line up with any December night 2,000 years ago or historical records.<br><br>
Interestingly, original Christians did not celebrate the birth of Christ at all. That was contrary to existing tradition which did not mark the births of Martyrs and Prophets. Consistent with that tradition, Jehovah’s Witnesses reject Christmas and the celebration of birthdays even today. <br><br>
Some scholars suggest that December 25 became the celebration of Christ’s birth as an alternative to popular pagan winter holidays and celebrations. People had been celebrating the winter solstice or having winter festivals long before any Pope or Christian leader existed. Bacchus (the God of Wine) was honored by the ancient Romans with festivities on December 24. If the flock was going to be out celebrating anyway, why not give them a religious reason for doing so?<br><br>
The Eastern Orthodox Church originally celebrated Christ’s birth on January 6 but gave in to the Roman Church in the Fourth Century. The Armenian Church still celebrates on January 6th. But now by consensus of Christian leadership, most Christians celebrate the birth of Christ on December 25. The vast majority of American Christians probably will argue vociferously that December 25th is THE birthday!<br><br>
Despite its either solemn or pagan beginnings, Christmas now is the most important time for American retailers. The religiosity of the day and season has given way to elves, Santa Claus, and egg nog. The Christmas "season" now marks a spending spree for decorations, cards, and gifts. For many retailers, the profitability of their year is dependent upon the holiday shopping season.<br><br>
So, why not move the beginning of holiday shopping season up? Why wait until Thanksgiving when you can replace made-in-China faux pumpkins with made-in-China faux trees? After all, it is an opportunity for big business and the Chinese to make a pant load of money!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Santa-Baby-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2460562012-11-03T23:00:00-07:002023-10-05T16:07:40-07:00Eddie Bertrand: A Founding Father Gone<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/6c6283ada97ecc55dcf78db46d487b6bde189200/medium/Eddie_Bertrand.jpg?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="242" width="350" /><br><br>
Last week, Eddie Bertrand died. He was one of the originators of surf music and one of best performers of the First Wave.<br><br>
At one time in 1961, the Belairs’ “Mr. Moto” was on the charts in L.A. It preceded “Let’s Go trippin’” into the L.A. radio market and was a local hit. Two distinct styles of what was known as “surf music” existed then: The South Bay sound of the Belairs and the sound of Dick Dale and the Deltones. Surf music was instrumental. The Pendletons -- later the Beach Boys -- played in the shadows of the Belairs and Dick Dale.<br><br>
The Belairs were started by Paul Johnson and Eddie Bertrand. They met on a school bus where they discovered their mutual love of guitar-based instrumental rock. They became friends. They were only in high school when Paul Johnson wrote “Mr. Moto.” <br><br>
Had their sound prevailed. Eddie Bertrand may well have become the “King of the Surf Guitar.” But Dick Dale received more media attention, was older, and was more experienced as a musician. His raw, powerful -- and loud -- style overcame the sophisticated interplay of guitars which typified the South Bay sound developed by the Belairs. <br><br>
Leo Fender had not invented the separate reverb unit when what was known as “surf music” began. Once reverb was added, “wet” or “dry” also distinguished the two strains of surf music. Dick Dale was wet. The South Bay sound was dry. <br><br>
Eventually, the difference in sounds became a point of disagreement -- artistic differences -- within the Belairs. Desiring to incorporate the wet sound into his music, Eddie Bertrand left the Belairs in late 1962 to form a new band which became Eddie and the Showmen. From there, the Belairs faded away and missed out on the height of the short surf music phenomenon.<br><br>
His driving, powerful style made Eddie and the Showmen a force in surf music. They consistently outdrew the “King of the Surf Guitar.” But like the other great surf bands of the 1960s, Eddie and the Showmen were pushed under by the wave started by the Beatles and burgeoning folk rock and psychedelia. By 1965, Eddie and the Showmen were history.<br><br>
On October 27, 2012, Eddie Bertrand died after a long bout with cancer. He and Paul Johnson, as teenagers, developed a style of music which became known as “surf music.” He and Dick Dale competed as the best surf guitarists during the halcyon days of the First Wave. Eddie Bertrand’s version of “Squad Car” became one of the staples of Second and Third Wave bands and an inspiration to Los Straitjackets.<br><br>
When Eddie Bertrand died, we lost one of the pioneers of California‘s own folk music and a link to its history.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Eddie_Bertrand-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2448122012-11-01T08:40:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:18-08:00The Monster Mash Was a Graveyard Smash! (Part III)<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Bad hair day or not, the show had to go on.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/f0e4594288d0922146f86c71a794ab19562d42be/medium/IMG_2589.JPG?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="278" width="370" /><br><br>
Bobby Dickson of the Cash Profits and Lucas Kuhn of the Sneaky Tikis joined us in the corner of the restaurant which we had selected as a “stage.” Earlier, we gave them the chord charts and words for the “Monster Mash.” Lucas was to play guitar freeing me to “sing.” We were going to unleash an unrehearsed version on the audience.<br><br>
After adjusting the PA to create an eerie echo and equalizing the volumes on my and Bobby’s mic channels, I checked with Bobby and Lucas to see if they were ready, cued Glenn to start, and tried a cackling laugh into the mic. “Whoa . . . ho . . . ho . . . ho . . . .”<br><br>
Despite not being sure where the band was in the chord progression, I came in with the familiar opening line, “I was working in the lab late one night . . . .” Bobby and I alternated in the chorus. Bobby: “He did the mash.” My turn: “He did the Monster Mash.” Bobby: “The Monster Mash.” My turn: “It was a graveyard smash.” <br><br>
Bobby handled the second verse: “From my laboratory in the castle east . . . .” We exchanged parts in the chorus. I led: “They did the mash.” Bobby: “They did the Monster Mash.” . . .<br><br>
We probably could have done much better with at least one rehearsal. But Bobby is a professional so he could carry me. Besides, the audience was really into the party and having fun. We had dancers in front of the band and in the aisle outside the lounge area. They were doing the Monster Mash.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/80e250bb7ef00207816a474954dfb43d73002e71/original/IMG_2593.JPG?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="334" width="370" /><br><br>
As you probably can guess, we did not perform the “Monster Mash” perfectly or exactly according the original. I dropped in a little bit of Surfer Joe (“down in Doheny . . .“) and then a verse of our own for the show:<br><br>
“The Capitol Bowl was rocking with the sound of Ivan and the Love Cats Getting Down. The Sneaky Tikis and Pups cranked it out so you and your friends could stomp and shout.” <br><br>
Sue and Robert howled and bayed. The audience joined in. “We did the Mash, the Monster Mash.” This was pure fun. On cue, we slowed down, “Yes, you did the Monster Mash!” The Pups were done.<br><br>
I segued into bringing the show towards an end, “What was on the B-side of Surfer Joe?” At least two people responded, “Surfin’ Bird.” My retort was concise, “No.” Somebody got it. “Wipe out!” The Sneaky Tikis joined us in that classic. Glenn passed the drums off to Lukas. We hit the final C chord together.<br><br>
“Thank you. Now, let’s have the future of surf music take this thing out. The Sneaky Tikis!” I left the stage to the Sneaky Tikis to close the show. They played four more songs before concluding with a rousing version of “Miserlou.” Applause. Cheers. Smiles.<br><br>
The Monster Mash was over. The restaurant and lounge of the Capitol Bowl emptied out leaving only a group of birthday bowlers on four lanes. Hey, game four of the World Series was 45 minutes away.<br><br>
As I sat pondering what to pack out first, the warm feeling of a successful show washed over me. From concept to promotion to execution to audience participation, this had been our best. Yes, indeed, the Monster Mash indeed had been a graveyard smash!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG_2589-300.JPG">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2439432012-10-31T06:15:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:18-08:00The Monster Mash Was a Graveyard Smash! (Part II)<span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)">The Capitol Bowl was filled with people young and old. They were ready for a costume contest. After all, a bunch were in costume.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/269630e4d43349c4b6920a6b7db0128d8b763f28/medium/IMG_2518.JPG?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="284" width="370" /><br><br>
“Okay, let’s have the kids first!” Suddenly, as the youngsters paraded in front of the audience, I realized that I had no idea what to do next. Sue whispered advice which led to my announcing, “We’ll judge using the ‘applause-o-meter.’ . . .” After a few rounds, a winner was selected. Wonder Woman received a $25 gift certificate to the Capitol Bowl.<br><br>
Then Sue handed out swag to all of the young participants. Eye ball rings. Spider rings. Skull bracelets. Temporary tattoos. Necklaces. The looks on the kids’ faces said that was the best $25 ever spent at a party store.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/c179d16bdedbc02531b1262a9aee994e7d0dae50/medium/IMG_2537.JPG?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="278" width="370" /><br><br>
Time for the adults. We introduced each contestant. I even tried a Swedish accent -- probably poorly done -- for the Swedish cowgirl. Many of the contestants turned around and strutted their stuff. Applause-o-meter. “One more time.” We were down to two finalists. Witch or Flapper? Applause. One received a $25 gift certificate; the other an “Into the Flow” CD.<br><br>
The crowd cheered. I reminded them to eat, drink, and put money in the tip jars. “And remember the Sneaky Tikis will be back!” Vigorous applause.<br><br>
While the crowd buzzed about the costumes and the fun being had, the Lava Pups set up to play. We adjusted a few knobs to take the volume down a notch or two.<br><br>
“We are the Lava Pups. We drew straws with the Love Cats to see who would play after the Sneaky Tikis. We got the short straw.” Laughter. <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/89be169dde4e11ade7b49919079b304a71c6ff2f/original/IMG_2554.JPG?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="188" width="250" />I hit the chords that begin Mr. Moto, and our set was underway. As we played, I thought about how well we were playing and how much fun the event was. The throbbing pain in the right side of my face disappeared into the exhilaration of performing and sharing our music with others. The Lava Pups were kicking out the jams.<br><br>
We finished our Link Wray medley with Glenn and my exchanging looks to the ever-accelerating tempo and my semi- or mini-jump.<br><br>
My wig literally was coming unglued. Hair glue, spray, and paint were not enough to keep it standing on end. Parts were beginning to fall. Oh, oh, my fake hair was losing its body!<br><br>
And we were not done. <br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG_2518-300.JPG" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2434482012-10-30T14:35:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:18-08:00The Monster Mash Was a Graveyard Smash! (Part I)<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">The morning of the Monster Mash began with an Ibuprofen 600, clove oil, and benzocaine to relieve a toothache. A root canal on Monday stopped the pain.<br><br>
Starting at 10:30, the getting ready process was underway. Load up the PA, associated cables, mics, drums, cymbals, and hardware. Make the five minute drive from the Doghouse to the Capitol Bowl. Set up the PA and drums. Back to the Doghouse. Load up guitars and amps. Change into black shoes, socks, pants, and tee. Back to the Capitol Bowl by 12:45.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/4d898a8770205d0e9812e6b943af8dcec1b39036/original/IMG_2465.jpg?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="345" width="200" />Becky handed me a wig that had been prepared so carefully. Teased. Slathered with hair glue to hold the hair straight up. Hair-sprayed to even greater stiffness. Then spray-painted with silver hair paint. The concept was inspired by Jason Lee but needed to semi-match my graying -- greyed -- locks. I retreated to the men’s room, pulled the wig on, and put on a “Hawaiian” tuxedo jacket.<br><br>
We were ready to start the Monster Mash on time except for one minor detail. The Rockabilly Love Cats did not have singer. The Brett Cole was ready. His stand-up bass was out of its case and plugged in. He looked like a taller, less slovenly Jake of the Blue Brothers. Hell Guapo had his guitar ready.<br><br>
Maybe everybody did not believe in the 1:00 start. But by 1:05, people in costume were finding their way into the Capitol Bowl. Vlad the Surfer. Billy the Kid. The Joker. Ghouls. A zombie. A couple of witches. A sorcerer. Wolfman. At least one vampire. A flapper. A Swedish cow girl. A ninja. Some guy who called himself “7-10 Split.” A princess. Wonder Woman. A 70s hippie type. The ages of people in costume ranged from one or so to over 65 -- yes, 1 to 65!<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/e00a94056b1b2ac2fb7a72c26d38b7de07eac449/original/IMG_2466.JPG?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="278" width="370" /><br><br>
Among those finding their way in was Ivan. The Rockabilly Love Cats had a singer and started up. Yes, they played rockabilly -- not Eddie Cochran, but the Burnette Brothers. One of my friends leaned over and said, “That’s stuff we listened to in the 50s.” I thought, “Don’t make me feel too old.” <br><br>
This was a auspicious start. It set the tone for the afternoon. Fun. Non-pretentious. People were laughing, joking, communing, eating, and drinking. They were taking photos and having fun.<br><br>
The Love Cats finished, and out came the hula hoops. We cannot help but to laugh when we watch people try -- and fail at -- hula hooping. Something tells us that we can do it. Spinning that hoop and wiggling our hips prove we cannot.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/ed0f8fcf78ed1334f12a8e53029be4bfb18b57a0/medium/IMG_2487.JPG?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="278" width="370" /><br><br>
High energy surf from the Sneaky Tikis followed. Whenever we saw kids putting their hands over their ears, we offered up ear plugs. The crowd was building. Clearly, the Monster Mash was already a success. The Sneaky Tikis closed their set with a cover of the Pyronauts’ “Sifaka.”<br><br>
“How about those Sneaky Tikis!” Applause. “How about the Rockabilly Love Cats!” More applause. “Give it up for the Capitol Bowl letting us be here today.” Still more applause. “The Sneaky Tikis will be back later. So eat, drink, and tip.”<br><br>
“Are you ready for a costume contest?” Cheers. <br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG_2487-300.JPG" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2415122012-10-27T03:20:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:18-08:00Just As Long As You Get Our Name Right . . . .<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Over the years, we all have been told how any publicity is good publicity. . . . how we really should not care what is written “just as long as you get my name right.” After all, most of us are publicity hounds.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/75122f26a2d1fbc852d03933d553ba5f7613b7e2/medium/poster.110-28-12-half.jpg?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="348" width="225" />The notion underlying “any publicity is good publicity” is that the attention span of most folks is so short that they will remember a name and not a story. The prime example -- which turns our brains into mush every two or four years -- is politics. Politicians make outrageous statements, change their positions to suit their audiences, and play to the basest human traits and frailties. Yet, in the privacy of a voting booth, people seem to forget substance (or lack of substance) and remember a name.<br><br><br><br>
Name recognition is one of the principal principles of politics. Another principal principle is that, if you repeat a lie enough times, it becomes the truth. A final principal principle is that you never can overestimate the ignorance or intellectual laziness of the average voter.<br>
<br>
The Monster Mash is a day away. It will be a welcome diversion from the unrelenting pounding and noise of the 2012 political cycle. But, like politicians, we work to get the word out about a show. As a band and performers, we want people to come and see us. We also want to introduce us and surf music to strangers. That is why we promote a show. <br><br>
The idea of an all ages Halloween bash on a Sunday afternoon in a family-friendly venue seems to have caught the attention of more people than we expected. First, Sacramento 365 included the Monster Mash as one of its “top 10” events for the week. Wow! Then, the Sacramento News & Review featured the Monster Mash in its “Hella-ween” article of top 20 picks of “cool Halloween-themed events.” Double wow!<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/5c22528fa8701c95d36a423c84ecdda9643b5fc5/original/Ticket10-26-12.1.jpg?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="341" width="240" />Was a trifecta possible? On Friday morning, opening the Ticket section of the Sacramento Bee revealed . . . . Triple wow!<br><br>
But “Sniki Tikis”? “Lava Lamps”? Oh, well, at least the event and the substance were right!<br>
</span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Ticket10-26-12.1.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2401272012-10-24T22:40:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:18-08:00Can You Do the Monster Mash? Going Beyond the Usual<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/bda501c41d119456ea7f86263d68ed969aeb67a1/medium/Bobby_Pickett.jpg?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="212" width="230" />The second special, unusual chore in hosting a Halloween bash is fairly obvious. Nobody can have a Monster Mash without the “Monster Mash.” <br><br>
Your first thought is, “That will be easy.” After all, we all believe that we know that Halloween anthem . . . until we try to “sing” it. We then realize that we are pretty weak beyond, “I was working in my lab late one night.” <br><br>
On the chorus, we are really good at “He did the mash. The monster mash. He did the mash.” Whoops! Now, how does the rest go?<br><br>
What we truly remember goes down hill from there. Hey, this is not as easy as you thought.<br><br>
The good news is we have the internet. Google “Monster Mash (song)” or “Monster Mash + Pickett,” and instantly you have hundreds of thousands of pages from which to choose. Youtube videos. Sites with lyrics. Sites with ringtones. Sites where you can download the song. <br><br>
You probably will find the guy in the picture: Bobby “Boris” Pickett, who co-wrote and recorded “Monster Mash” in 1962. Yes, it was a graveyard smash.<br><br>
But, as you dig a bit deeper, you learn that the verses never begin on the downbeat of a bar. You hear tempos that vary all over the lot. Hey, performances by the Misfits and punk or metal bands surely do not have the same eerie rock feel as the original. You discover that the Halloween anthem has been performed in pubs in Australia and by Celtic groups. The Beach Boys covered “Monster Mash” on Shindig. You can watch black and white video captures Mike Love mugging his way through part of the song.<br><br>
Given all of this, getting the “Monster Mash” ready for the Monster Mash is more of a chore that initially thought. It will require some real practice on our end. And then its fate beyond the Monster Mash will be in the hands of an audience. As readers of this blog know, the last time I thought about performing a vocal number the prevailing look was disgust and the unanimous advice was, “Don’t.”<br><br>
Oh, well . . . who listens to the critics anyway?<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Bobby_Pickett-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2385812012-10-23T00:40:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:18-08:00What To Wear To A Monster Mash?<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">WE DIGRESS FOR BREAKING NEWS: GO GIANTS! LAST NIGHT, THE SAN FRANCISCO GIANTS COMPLETED THEIR COMEBACK TO WIN GAME 7 OF THE NLCS. WORLD SERIES NEXT.<br><br>
Hosting a Halloween bash -- a Monster Mash -- requires at least two chores beyond the usual “show preparation” of promoting, making up a set list, practicing, and showing up on time.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/2f9a2f6e7756bad4824fe6792e86e4abc0aff078/medium/Herman-Munster.jpg?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="289" width="230" />The first new chore is coming up with a costume or some alter ego. This, of course, requires some thought. As we all know, a myriad of possibilities exist. A full bore Herman Munster costume certainly would be fun but intuitively I know it would be hot as all get out and guaranteed to melt my brain. Can you see streams of make-up infused sweat running down my face? Now that would be a scary sight indeed.<br><br>
<br><br>
Maybe we could consider something more risky or risque. The Pyronauts once took the stage at the Hotel Utah in their underwear and gorilla masks. Sorry, but I will not subject anybody -- particularly young people -- to the great white whale that is me in skivvies. Oh, gross!<br><br>
Some compromise between certain discomfort and complete embarrassment must exist. I just do not know what it is yet. So the first extraordinary chore will have to wait a little longer even though the Monster Mash is less than a week away. Why do today what you can put off until tomorrow?<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Herman-Munster-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2367102012-10-19T23:00:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:18-08:00Wow, Halloween Is Big Business! Oh, You Knew That Already.<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">If you are young and hip or have youngsters at home, you probably know that Halloween is big business. For some of us older folks, we should have known. All that we needed to do was to look at the clues.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/e258f085a51e21519879b2a764c1240a84ad85b8/original/Halloween-Pup.jpg?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="307" width="230" />One of the clues is that 300 million dollars -- 300 million -- are spent on pet costumes. Another clue is that large vacant stores are rented to be Halloween Expresses or similar outlets. Diabetes and obesity be damned for one day as candy sales will exceed $2 billion.<br><br>
Some stores like Target have several aisles of costumes, decorations, and Halloween candy. The selection simply is amazing -- or overwhelming. You can buy big skulls, little skulls, light-up skulls, glow-in-the dark skulls, bags-full of skulls, candy skulls, glitter skulls, and on and on. Pumpkins now come in a variety of colors. For $299, you can buy a life-sized coffin with a Dracula character who sits up, moans, and talks; for $199, a cackling witch straight out of the Wizard of Oz.<br><br>
This is not your parents’ Halloween or the Halloween of my youth.<br><br>
Getting ready for the Monster Mash at the Capitol Bowl meant figuring out a “costume.” That, in turn, meant a visit to one of the Halloween specialty stores. Thirty to 40 feet of one wall was devoted to wigs for adults. Children’s wigs occupied comparable space. Adult costumes took up approximately one-third of the store.<br><br>
As I looked around, I realized that adult costumes run the gamut from innocent fun to suggestive or provocative to downright uncouth. If they were divided by movie ratings, they would be PG, PG-14, and R. Now, the Halloween store may have an X-rated section somewhere, but you probably need to be over 18 and go behind a curtain.<br><br>
That realization brought on the ever-present nagging Little Voice. “You put come as your favorite monster on the poster and fliers. The postings on the internet invite folks to come in costume.” My response was, “So what?” <br><br>
But, then I walked by a giant penis costume, the little voice said, “That!” <br><br>
Oh . . . .<br><br>
Okay, Little Voice, a risk of some R-rated stuff exists. Yes, Little Voice, we occasionally forget that young people are in the room and say something we should not have. Like the time I tripped over Robert’s cord, uttered, “S**t!” and was scolded, "There are young kids in the room!"<br><br>
But, Little Voice, you have to trust people. Nobody whom we know would plan to wear a costume which is clearly inappropriate for an all ages crowd. Suggestive maybe. Creatively off-color maybe. But not so offensive as to jeopardize our welcome at the Capitol Bowl. Be assured, Little Voice, no giant penises will attend the Monster Mash.<br><br>
Was the Little Voice assuaged? I do not know. But, at least, it shut up.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Halloween-Pup.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2336762012-10-16T04:05:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:18-08:00A "New" Pedal Board - Help or Something More That Can Go Wrong<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Some time ago, I built a pedal board. It was a product of not knowing much of anything. It housed a bunch of “must-have” pedals. Somebody said, “You need a compressor.” I bought one. Somebody else said, “You just have to have a fuzz pedal.” I bought one. <br><br>
The pedal board also was a labor of love. Measured at minimum wage, the value of time spent on the pedal board project exceeded entry-level and mid-level ready-made boards. Throw in materials including three coats of metallic blue lacquer, and this pedal board was approaching the lower-end of the more pricey boards.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/b235afe1099f2341e4d6e106ffd13ea320f41f5a/original/Pedal_4.jpg?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="313" width="235" />Yet, as my “musicality” jelled, only the tuner was needed. After buying and trying a bunch of pedals, nothing really emulated a real Fender reverb unit. The line-up was set and simple as can be: tuner, reverb unit, amplifier. My hand-crafted pedal board had no place in our songs.<br><br>
Recently, however, Robert (“Kool Kat”) and others suggested that our music could use more than one tone at a single volume from me. The thought of playing and stepping on a pedal or moving a switch always seemed daunting. More multitasking. More possibility for screwing up. More confusion. More . . . well, you know . . . (keeping it PG) “stuff” that happens!<br><br>
But a bit experimentation started the wheels turning. Maybe Robert and the others were correct. Maybe some changes would add to our songs. Maybe some changes would make my playing less one dimensional. Maybe more multitasking will not be so difficult with some practice. Maybe I won’t trip and dismantle the stage . . . .<br><br>
One obstacle to exploring what is possible was the existing pedal board with several useless pedals. Too much clutter. Too close together. What would happen if I just simplified what could be at my feet?<br><br>
A visit to the Musician’s Friend website showed that simplification did not have to be too expensive. But what about a do-it-yourself job? Googling “build a pedal board” came up with a guide for a really simple model: A board, duct tape, and velcro. Because friends were remodeling their kitchen, wood was a dumpster dive away.<br><br>
As I sat on the floor of the Doghouse and laid out pedals on newly scavenged materials, the old board beckoned. It seemed to say, “I’m cool. Simplify me.” That reminded me of the hours of time that went into making it. I remembered that my Dad gave me the original piece of plywood and that he suggested a solution to how to put handles on the board. But he did not live to see me play an electric guitar.<br><br>
Plans for a brand new board dissolved. That ever-present little voice said, “This is easy. Clean up what you have. Just simplify it. Make it work. Do it for your Dad.” And that was what I did. Funny how solutions can be right in front of us. All that we have to do is see<br><br>
Okay, time to start practicing all this multitasking stuff! Oh, oh, don’t trip over that . . . !<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/41c1c5813a61e21fd372a94af5a131690597dab3/medium/Pedal_1.jpg?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_bottom border_" alt="" height="263" width="350" /><br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Pedal_1-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2317572012-10-12T22:40:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:18-08:00Halloween Plans, Anybody?<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">While getting ready for Heavy Surf!, we moved into the multitasking mode. Could we get two tracks going at once? Were we far enough along in this band thing to prepare musically for one show while setting up another? Oh, well, why not try?<br><br>
The thought thread went like this. Let’s have a Halloween bash with the Sneaky Tikis. It could be on the Sunday afternoon before Halloween. We could include costume contests and give out prizes. Maybe we could leverage the hula hoop experience of my high school reunion into a contest. Prizes for hula hooping! Could I get proficient by then?<br><br>
An Idea thus had emerged. Imagination ran rampant. All that was required was coming up with a plan and a venue. Or was it a venue and a plan? A few emails back and forth with the Sneaky Tikis and a couple of visits to the Capitol Bowl were all that we needed to lay the foundation. We had a venue -- the Capitol Bowl -- and a bill -- the Sneaky Tikis, Pups, and the Rockabilly Love Cats.<br><br>
The Sneaky Tikis. The Lava Pups. And . . . the Rockabilly Love Cats? Okay, you may ask, “Who are the Rockabilly Love Cats?” The short answer is they are a trio and perform classic rockabilly songs. Pompadours. Black pants. Not your Fender-type band; Gretsches and a standup bass. And . . . another departure from instrumental surf . . . vocals. Songs with words.<br><br>
Concept. Check. Venue. Check. Performers. Check. <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/75122f26a2d1fbc852d03933d553ba5f7613b7e2/medium/poster.110-28-12-half.jpg?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="387" width="250" />Poster and fliers were next. After several attempts, I realized that monsters and similar characters did not flow freely -- or very much at all -- from my mind. They just could not be conjured up. A weekend with pencil and a sketch book produced a couple of potentially usable images but mostly garbage -- embarrassingly incompetent garbage.<br><br>
Why was the usually easy part being so difficult? Flash! How about a B movie style poster? <br><br>
Poster and fliers. Check.<br><br><br>
By the Saturday of Heavy Surf!, we were ready to begin promoting "Monster Mash at the Capitol Bowl." Our Halloween bash was going to be a reality.<br><br>
Oh, yeah, the Pups need to come up with a set and practice. Details. Details.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/poster.110-28-12-half-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2287582012-10-08T22:45:00-07:002021-09-09T12:09:29-07:00Slacktone: Giving Its All to the Audience!<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">At about 9:15, we were more than four hours into Heavy Surf! <br><br>
The audience had dwindled a bit. Some folks had come to see friends or family perform and left when that particular performance was done. During the Pryronauts’ set, Paul the Pyronaut announced the “last call” for food. Four hours was a bunch of music, and many in the audience had been standing since 6:00 of so. And, like wine tasting, if you do not spit, your senses eventually can be numbed.<br><br>
The headliner . . . the best surf band in the world . . . Slacktone was about ready to start. Dave Wronski plugged in and tuned his custom Fender Jaguar. Dusty Watson made a few adjustments to the drum kit. Steve Ryan, whom I had not seen with Slacktone before, hooked up his Fender Precision bass. For any hard core surf devotee, the wait was the price to be paid for this moment. What was a few hours of waiting to hear the best surf band in the world?<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/ff00f1c0331f7d180a48ede6f75238ed7dd295bd/medium/Slacktone10-6.jpg?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="209" width="350" /><br><br>
Barely able to contain his excitement, Paul shouted into the mic. “All the way from Los Angeles, California . . . Slacktone!”<br><br>
Dave started. The others joined. Any energy which had dissipated over the hours returned to the room. Slacktone instantly renewed the energy in the Beach Hut Deli and raised it to new heights.<br><br>
Fueled by the energy emitted by Slacktone's music, the Pyronauts, some of the Sneaky Tikis, and couple of their parents were dancing, jumping, and performing cartwheels. Their energy, in turn, fed Slacktone.<br><br>
Dave’s playing ran the gamut from powerful and furious to sensitive and precise. All of it -- from technique to style to tone -- was uniquely his. His and Dusty Watson’s timing was exquisite. Dusty accentuated and punctuated every phrase and song adding bombastic blasts or subtle cymbal shimmers as necessary.<br><br>
Meanwhile, Steve Ryan stayed out of the stars’ way. He played bass in the style propounded by many bassists. Add color. Give each song a bottom. Play enough notes to help the song without focusing any attention on the bassist. He did this effortlessly. His playing was so relaxed and efficient that I drifted to watching his technique while listening to the more dynamic interaction between Dave and Dusty.<br><br>
They played through Slacktone originals: Bird Bone . . . Skateboard Commando . . . Blast Bolero . . . PCH . . . Bells of St. Kahuna . . . Hit Man . . . Tidal Wave. They treated us to a spy medley of the James Bond Theme, Secret Agent Man and Peter Gunn. When Slacktone started up Rumble, I thought, “Oh, no, don’t segue into Rawhide or Jack-the- Ripper and make us look bad.” Fortunately, they played only Rumble. Miserlou was played in a way that makes Dick Dale look like a light-weight.<br><br>
After an encore with Surf Party, Dave Wronski and Dusty Watson were spent. They were soaking wet with sweat. They had given every ounce of energy -- all of “it” (whatever that is) -- to the audience. And the audience knew and stood in appreciation and admiration.<br><br>
Applause. Cheers. High fives. Hugs. Hand shakes. Heartfelt thank-yous. Heavy Surf! was in the books. Wow!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Slacktone10-6-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2277172012-10-07T07:45:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:17-08:00Heavy Surf! Opening for the Best Surf Band in the World<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Heavy Surf! arrived. It was a surf music fan’s delight. Somebody wrote on Facebook, “It was one of the funnest nights ever!”<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/ff00f1c0331f7d180a48ede6f75238ed7dd295bd/medium/Slacktone10-6.jpg?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="209" width="350" /><br><br>
Our job was to engage the audience and put some energy into the room to ready them for the Sneaky Tikis, the Pyronauts, and Slacktone -- the best surf band in the world. <br><br>
Despite knowing that Slacktone would play “Surf Party” in its encore, we decided to take a page from John Blair’s book and open with the song. I leaned into the microphone, reached down for a radio voice, and announced, “We are the Lava Pups. Are you ready to party?”<br><br>
The audience cheered. I continued, “What kind of party?” The audience knew where we wanted to go and shouted back, “Surf party!” Glenn pounded out two bars, and our set was underway.<br><br>
We rolled through our set and pulled out all stops. We managed to get some of the audience out of their chairs to dance. I had arranged for Defender Jon to play the siren for the introduction to “Squad Car.” But when the time came, he had handed off the job to somebody else who was busy doing something else. So I walked over, picked up the siren, and cranked it. Amazingly, I managed to pull off the multitasking.<br><br>
As we played, the Pyronauts arrived from an afternoon at the Loomis Eggplant Festival. Prior to October 6, I never knew that Loomis was such an eggplant growing hotbed that it hosted an Eggplant Festival. Of course, in reality, who knows or has even thought about where eggplant is grown?<br><br>
During our set, Slacktone entered the Beach Hut Deli. When I realized that Dave Wronski -- the best surf guitarist in the world -- was watching us play, I almost lost track of what I was doing and where I was in the song. Wow, this was living out the fantasy of strutting our stuff before the guys who set the bar against which surf music is measured.<br><br>
We finished with our Link Wray medley. I turned to Glenn. We pushed the tempo. Faster, faster, faster. I raised the neck of my guitar, made a semi-jump (one of those things where an old guy almost leaves the floor), and hit an A chord. We ended together.<br><br>
“Thank you. 3 of 4 is next. Then the Fourth Wave sensations, the Sneaky Tikis followed by Auburn’s own Pyronauts. And then the best surf band in the world . . . Slacktone!” The audience was energized and applauded.<br><br>
Our job was done. We unplugged, put away our instruments, and headed off for sandwiches and beers. We joined the audience which had grown during our set. Another 4 hours of music lie ahead.<br><br>
By the time that Slacktone got to “Surf Party,” almost nobody would remember that that was how we opened. And those who did knew that the two versions of the song were completely different. Dave Wronski’s skills are other worldly, and Slacktone's “Surf Party” is truly unique. From beginning to end, this surf party had been -- in the words from Facebook -- "one of the funnest nights ever!"<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Slacktone10-6-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2252612012-10-03T09:50:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:17-08:00Countdown to Heavy Surf!<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/271be692b94d4079f5f53ffd55c4d4e4d0ef6d36/medium/Poster10-6-12half.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="363" width="235" />Heavy Surf! is 4 days away. Four days until you and we get to see Slacktone -- the best surf band in the world. Four days until a night of surf-inspired, mostly instrumental music. Four days until the Lava Pups get to warm up folks for two truly excellent and professional bands -- the Pyronauts and Slacktone. Fours days until the Pyronauts play in their hometown again.<br><br>
Will those 4 days be an eternity like when you were an excited kid counting down to a birthday? Or will they fly by like when you really could use some extra time to get ready for something?<br><br>
Realistically, the Pups do not need any extra time. More practice will not make a difference in how we play now. We rehearsed our set enough. We stuck to a rehearsal schedule. We even focused on the nuances of some of the songs. Of course, that assumes that our straight-ahead garage sensibilities really allow for “nuance.” Importantly, with each rehearsal, we improved.<br><br>
After our last rehearsal, Sue, Robert, and Glenn pronounced us ready to play. Their opinion was unanimous. No reservation like before. We clearly are way down the line from our first gig together. <br><br>
Nonetheless, as you might expect, the nagging little voice started up, “Yes, but . . . .” But what? The voice answered, “What if you are overcome by nerves? What if you have a brain freeze? What if . . . ?”<br><br>
I thought, “Hey, we’re an opening act. As long as we have fun, nobody really cares. In fact, if we don’t have fun, nobody really cares. So just shut up, Nagging Little Voice!” Why does this debate always seem to come up before a show anyway?<br><br>
Then, the advice of Bob Bitchin’ resurfaced from the recesses of my brain in a nick of time to bring the debate to a screeching halt. “It’s okay to be apprehensive. Just don’t be afraid.”<br><br>
Yes, we are ready. Buoyed by Bob’s advice, I cannot wait to lean into the microphone, reach down for a radio voice, and announce, “We are the Lava Pups. Are you ready for a party? What kind of party? Surf party!”<br><br>
Start the countdown.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Poster10-6-12half-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2222052012-09-29T11:00:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:17-08:00Of Macaroni and Cheese and Being Absorbed<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Have you noticed how restaurants now offer “comfort foods”? Macaroni and cheese. Grilled cheese sandwiches. Of course, those “comfort foods” are not comfortable at all for our lactose intolerant friends. For them, the “comfort foods” may be linguini cooked in olive oil and garlic or something similar.<br><br>
Comfort foods take us back to something that is familiar and pleasant. This, of course, overlooks the tendency of restauranteurs to make their “comfort foods” trendy -- you know, four-cheese macaroni and cheese with handcrafted, toasted sour dough squares and anchovies! Why isn’t the Betty Crocker Cookbook version good enough?<br><br>
Many of us find comfort in being absorbed in a task or activity. We all know musicians, artists, and writers who become so focused on their art that they are oblivious to their surroundings. Gamers can play for hours without food or sleep. How many times have you been so absorbed in something that you later asked, “Where did the time go?”<br><br>
In the perfect world, our day jobs draw us in the same way. Time passes without even a casual glance at the clock. Doing, thinking, and processing make hours speed by so that at the end of the day, you ask, “Where did the time go?” That is when work is truly fun!<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/a5bf2dc7ddb518c688e01fb883fdcac4a53b4e48/medium/ferndale_music.jpg?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="216" width="350" /><br><br>
Comfort meets absorption describes our recent visit to the Ferndale Music Company -- Paul’s new venture. The store is small -- maybe 500 square feet -- on Ferndale’s Main Street of Victorian and early 20th Century store fronts. Acoustic guitars hang from the wall behind a display case. Part of that wall is devoted to ukuleles. Electric guitars and basses hang from the other wall. Amps and two drum kits fill up the floor space leaving room for a couple of chairs for lessons. Fitting of Paul’s and his customers’ eclecticism, a mandolin and couple of banjos are interspersed among the guitars.<br><br>
To Paul’s consternation, the windows were covered with Tyvek and the front sidewalk closed as the facade of the building was under renovation. Customers had to find their way through a side door and “museum” of kinetic people movers.<br><br>
Just like old times, Paul and I talked music, guitars, gigs, and bands. We tested out some of the pedals and other gadgets in his inventory.<br><br>
While Paul tended to business, I took over his work bench. I pulled strings, finger nail polish, wire cutters, rags, and a tuner from my guitar case. Between customers, we gabbed and caught up on the last three months. The process of cleaning up, polishing, and restringing a guitar was totally engaging. This was guitarists’ version of “stitch and bitch.” <br><br>
The time flew by, and I thought, “Where did the time go?” <br><br>
The walk back to the hotel was time to tally up the visit. New pedal: $199. Shaker skulls: $10. A couple of hours at Ferndale Music Company: Priceless.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/ferndale_music-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2200302012-09-26T00:15:00-07:002023-10-05T16:08:28-07:00Two Years Ago: We See Slacktone - My Songs Are So Lame!<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">In September 2010, Slacktone came to the Beach Hut. At the time, the Lava Pups were a fantasy band -- that is, a figment of my imagination. Here is what was written in the journal then.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/aa86e7975d6fa175e796c234e7c06ac17595f46f/medium/poster01.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="406" width="325" /><br><br>
So I have the basic melodies for 8 rock instrumentals. None is a threat to real songwriters. Each needs help from Paul the Pyronaut. But the songs fit my musical mind. Simple. Primitive. Repetitive. My style. But a whole CD . . . ? Of course, if I wait until I have 8 complex songs, no CD will be recorded in my lifetime.<br><br>
On a Friday night, we head off to Auburn for a night of surf music. Slacktone. The Pyronauts. Frankie & The Pool Boys. Three surf bands made up of excellent -- actually truly outstanding -- musicians.<br><br>
In modern -- and possibly in the history of -- surf music, Slacktone is the standard against which all performances must be measured. And that bar is set really high! Dave Wronski is a master guitar player and songwriter. He puts Dick Dale to shame. In fact, stories abound that Dick Dale will not appear on the same stage as Dave Wronski for fear of being shown up. Add an excellent rhythm section -- Dusty Watson on drums and Sam Bolle on bass -- and the result is tightly and artistically played instrumental music. Slacktone combines original with traditional surf songs -- new with old.<br><br>
Slacktone, Frankie & The Pool Boys, and The Pyronauts all performed their original songs. Watching and listening to professionals left me wondering about my project.<br><br>
In 48 or so years, surf music has progressed from teenagers getting together and playing instrumental rock music. Originally, it was garage rock. Simple. Primitive. Fun. Played live. Recorded live. No fuzz. No distortion.<br><br>
Modern surf music still has the garage rock feel. No overproduction. No major labels. Bands perform out of love of the music. They pay homage to the origins by playing the classics. Mr. Moto. Miserlou. Baja. Pipeline. Penetration. Endless Summer. Surf Party. The bands bring us back to early rock instrumentals. Walk, Don’t Run. Rumble. Rawhide. Jack the Ripper. Peter Gunn. Sleepwalk. Apache.<br><br>
But the artists no longer are teenagers at the beginning of the learning curve. They are talented and accomplished musicians. They write songs that have complexity, key changes, and time changes. And Slacktone is the pinnacle of modern surf music.<br><br>
Compared with the pros, my songs are so lame. I do not know if Paul can bail them out. After a night listening to Slacktone and The Pyronauts, I almost am embarrassed to offer those songs to Posterity. I wonder if I being foolish by devoting the time and effort to 8 simple, lame songs that I have so far and will in the future.<br><br>
But then comes the epiphany. Compared with the classics and almost everything that Slacktone does, my songs are lame. Compared with the albums by many of the early surf bands, my songs may be better. The CD will be as good as, if not better than, those early albums. Many of the early bands did not even have 8 original songs. I am making a lot of limited musical talent.<br><br>
Armed with this, I am ready to soldier on.</span><br><br><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/poster01-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2187832012-09-23T12:50:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:17-08:00Miniaturization and Godzillabytes<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">How small is small? Really small? Miniature? Really miniature?<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/e6b5a28baecf8eb9d3414194e3618370ee333bb8/medium/mini.jpg?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="161" width="215" />Yesterday, somebody asked about a “little amp” that can be attached to a belt. He described it as “just plug in a guitar, and you have music on the go.”<br><br>“Are you interested in a headphone amp?” <br><br>“No, I want something that can be heard without headphones.”<br><br>Scurrying through a catalog and the Musician’s Friend website revealed several alternatives. Not much thought was needed to determine that just how small the “mini amp” could be was dictated by a quarter-inch guitar plug and speaker size. <br><br>Why somebody would want to play music through a 2-inch speaker was puzzling. Intuitively, we all know that a 2-inch speaker cannot approach two 12-inch speakers in sound quality or resonance. Otherwise, nobody would need 1,000 watts driving 15-inch speakers in the back of a car to let us know what music he likes. We would hear him just fine at the intersection with 2-inch speakers.<br><br>That was yesterday. This morning, I struck up a conversation with a perfect stranger. Perhaps because we were in the idyllic dairy country of California’s north coast, the conversation began with his observation of the absence of airplanes, freeways, busy streets, and city noise. Then it shifted to poor internet connectivity and how the rapidity of communication threatens reflective thought. <br><br>For awhile, we were a couple of old folks ruminating about the days when you could say, “Mail it to me, and I’ll get back to you.” That really meant, “I need to think about it.”<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/da95656f1c5dab1e320911aa6a6d699b237f105a/medium/godzilla.jpg?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="165" width="220" />Then the stranger segued into miniaturization, the conductivity of copper, and present day limits on computer storage. Of course, I cannot tell you what a terabyte is; I have no idea of what terabytes, gigabytes, or godzillabytes mean to computer operations. <br><br>The conductivity of copper? Hey, I took Russian Literature to avoid Chemistry and Physics and managed to retain nothing.<br><br>Miniaturization. That was within my grasp. After all, I checked out “mini amps” the day before. The stranger explained to me that digital cameras, smart phones, and other electronic gadgets can be made “infinitesimally small.” “Infinitesimally small”!<br><br>Then, he hit on something that I understood. “But they can’t because they are limited by the size of the human finger.” Whew! <br><br>Eschewing the opportunity to suggest that the human finger might evolve into a stylus size and shape to adapt to miniaturization, I excused myself with, “Interesting. But I have to meet some friends for breakfast. You have a nice day.” </span><br><br><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/godzilla-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2171412012-09-20T00:40:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:17-08:00Hula Hoops and History<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">The Pups are playing early on the Heavy Surf bill. Our likely job is get the crowd revved up and in the mood for the other acts on the show. Or at least provide background music while they eat, drink, talk, and wander in and out of the Beach Hut Deli for a cigarette. That means putting out 30 minutes of energy to an audience who really may not care about our music and probably may be interested only in the bands to follow.<br><br>
To ready ourselves, we have set regular band practices. This last Tuesday night was a regular band practice. I was beat. <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/1fa7ac0197bd69d444ed57a8723ac6838a49c958/medium/Hula_Hoop.jpg?1375982948" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="233" width="230" />It was “after glow” from my high school reunion over the weekend. People came from as far away as Alaska and New York. As a local, I was on the reunion committee. To practice for our place on the Heavy Surf bill, I was emcee for the reunion. The task was simple: Get and try to keep the attention of a 175 or so folks who are mostly hard of hearing, intent on catching up on years of kids and grandchildren, and not really interested in what I had to say.<br><br>
Several dry runs of the presentation revealed it was about 8 minutes long. Eight minutes can seem like an eternity to room full of impatient people. On the way to the reunion, Becky asked me to go over the talk. After we cut out anything that could be considered political, mildly controversial, or a veiled insult, it was down to seven minutes. <br><br>
The plan was to cover some of the historical events which occurred since we left high school. After all, my class witnessed or participated in wars, invasions, the Cold War, the fall of the Soviet Union, 9/11, a plethora of movements (civil rights, women’s, gay rights, peace, anti-war, nuclear disarmament, Free Speech, Filthy Speech, free sex, the Tea Party, and Occupy Wall Street, just to name a few), the assassinations or attempted assassinations of our leaders, the resignation of a President, efforts to impeach a President, the space race, and man walking on the Moon. Those were the highlights.<br><br>
As I took the podium, one look at the crowd brought clarity. An abridged version was in the cards. <br><br>
Welcome. A moment of silence for the 20 percent of our classmates who had died. Introduce and thank the teachers who attended; some had left already as they were in their 80s and fading. At that point, the attention of the sexagenarians packed into the “ball room” was waning. The din was rising.<br><br>
Screw history and the planned talk. Let’s try something light-hearted. “We’ve witnessed a bunch of fads and fashions over our lifetimes. Remember the Levis that you would not let your Mom wash?” Laughter. As I ticked off other fads and fashions, the attention of the crowd progressively wandered off as did the overall sense of humor. Fat belts. Thin belts. Fat ties. Skinny ties. Anything tie-dyed. Mini-skirts. Long hair. Big hair. Mullets. Leisure suits. Beanie Babies. Pet Rocks. Pac Man. By then, the interest level was down to half the room.<br><br>
Hold on. The finale was on its way. “And one of my personal favorites. Something that was invented when we were young and is making a come back . . . the Hula Hoop!” I pulled three hula hoops out from behind the podium and asked if anybody wanted to try. Laughter. No volunteers. But, at least, we had most folks’ attention.<br><br>
“Thank you and have fun. This reunion is for you!”<br><br>
Then, I tried to hula hoop. Spin it. Wiggle hips. And it fell to the floor. Again. Same result. Some folks laughed. One brave soul tried to hula hoop with me. We were quite a team. Spin it. Wiggle hips. And it fell to the floor. More laughter. Hey, we at least tried.<br><br>
Maybe hula hoops are for the young. Or maybe . . . .<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Hula_Hoop-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2129772012-09-11T23:10:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:17-08:00Heavy Surf! We're on the Same Bill as Slacktone<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">News flash in Blog Land! If you got here through other pages of the website, it really may not be news. But don’t quibble because we are stoked.<br><br>
To set the stage, just imagine that you are a fan of a band or performer that you consider to be the best in a style of music you love. It does not have to be an icon -- just the best in your mind. How would you feel if you got to strut your stuff at the same show as that band? If your name appeared on a poster with them? If you would be stoked, this blog’s for you.<br><br>
Not too long ago, we started to plan for another gig with the Sneaky Tikis -- something in their neighborhood in late September. Then came a text from Paul the Pyronaut: “Can you guys open for The Pyronauts at the Beach Hut Deli on October 6? Still trying to firm things up. But this could be really big!”<br><br>
Instant response by instant text message: “Yes.” The plans for something in late September were put on hold.<br><br>
What could be really big? The return of the Pyronauts to Auburn? The Sneaky Tikis and the Pyronauts? Those events would be moderately -- not “really” -- big. So Paul had to be working on something with somebody from out of the area.<br><br>
Speculation. Speculation. Maybe somebody from the bay area. A reunited Pollo del Mar? The Tomorrowmen? Frankie and the Pool Boys? <br><br>
Digging deep into the optimism vault of speculation: Slacktone? The little voice then started in. “Don’t think about that. Thinking about it could jinx it (if that’s what it is)! Don’t say a word. Wait.”<br><br>
A week or so later, a new text from Paul: “Slacktone is coming to Auburn on October 6!” Holy smokes, scrape me off the ceiling. We were going to be on the same bill with the best surf band in the world! <br><br>
To maintain some semblance of nonchalance, my text response was, “Cool!” Deep down my heart was pounding; my mind was racing. We were going to be on the same bill with the best surf band in the world! <br><br>
Then Paul texted, “Will you do a poster?” What do you mean “will I do a poster”? What a privilege just to be asked. That, of course, led to immediate artist’s block. I scanned the walls of the Doghouse for an idea. Cartoon? Surfer Dude? Tikis? Woody? Hot Rod? Classic Car?<br><br>
Then the block broke. Go old school! What do you think?<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/271be692b94d4079f5f53ffd55c4d4e4d0ef6d36/medium/Poster10-6-12half.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_bottom border_" alt="" height="572" width="370" /><br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Poster10-6-12half-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2115782012-09-09T00:45:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:17-08:00Lessons Re-Learned<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">The rest of the story of our Saturday night of Summertime Fun Music at Shine concludes. Aloha Radio did get to the stage. But only after we finished.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/838ff1ef95572350522a4815e766fb760069cd7c/medium/Shine.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="260" width="350" /><br><br>
After the restart, we hit some rough patches. Our inexperience reared its head. With early show jitters and the quality of the audience, that inexperience probably was perceptible.<br><br>
Of course, we all know that stuff -- keeping it PG -- happens. Being a half-step off makes a song dissonant. But sometimes the old fingers just land in the wrong spot. This was surf music in a coffee house in Sacramento not Carnegie Hall.<br><br>
Some of the happenings were just plain laughable . . . in retrospect. About the fourth song into the set, nerves seemingly were behind me. Thoughts of why on earth am I trying to perform live music at my age or that maybe an empty room would not be so bad after all had passed. We were starting to find our groove.<br><br>
And then . . . .<br><br>
“Here’s something by a band from the Pacific Northwest that put instrumental rock on the charts.” Robert started Perfidia. We were turning a Latin jazz number into a funeral march. Try as I might, I could not get my head around playing the song that slow. Glenn gave me the “I’m perplexed” look. After getting the attention of Robert, Glenn, and Sue, I said, “We got to speed this up. Let’s do that at the da da da da da da da da da . . . part.” We did. Stuff happens. Make light of it. Laugh. Move on.<br><br>
Laughs. Brain lapses. Totally wrong phrases. Wow, we were hitting the trifecta. Then, we would nail a song. On time and all together.<br><br>
After Runaway, which we almost nailed, I introduced the band. Robert kept repeating what I said in an effort to introduce me. “Is there an echo in here?” Laughs. “No, I want to introduce you.” “No need. I am notorious.” Laughs.<br><br>
Hey, is this the start of some kind of schtick for us?<br><br>
We finished. “Thank you to Shine. Stay around for Aloha Radio. They’re really bitchin’. Thanks to all of you for being here tonight. Without you, there would be no live music!”<br><br>
On reflection, the laughable parts, the brain lapses, etc. really were few. After all, we are our own worst critics. Speaking with the audience brought the whole experience back into perspective. Nobody expects perfection. They just want to have fun. As long as almost everybody has fun and we do not take ourselves too seriously, we do what we set out to do. Entertain and share a fun time with a bunch of people.<br><br>
Wasn’t that how this whole band thing started in the first place? We just have to keep that perspective.<br><br>
So we relearned a lesson and might have the beginnings of a schtick for the future. Oh yeah, don’t worry, that schtick would be “is there an echo in here,” not the three-ring circus. Until next time, have fun!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Shine-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2107802012-09-06T22:30:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:17-08:00A Three-Ring Circus Style Sound Check<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">The rest of the story of our Saturday night of Summertime Fun Music at Shine continues.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/89a0ef7b33638f0fecaa1ccedefe93c29ef9b9dd/medium/Shine_Pups3.JPG?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="188" width="250" />We found space for the amps, mics, a stool for Sue, pedal boards, a reverb unit, and the other paraphernalia for making music. While on hands and knees on the floor connecting up gear, I wondered why I picked this night to use a pedal board and then wandered off to thoughts of how to reduce it down to something handled more easily. Sweat was dripping from my forehead, and my Reyn Spooner shirt was almost soaked through.<br><br>
In contrast, Robert walked in, put his amp at the back of the stage, and plugged in his bass. When he played at Shine on Wednesday night, no mic was necessary for his amp. I kept thinking, “if I had the Vibrolux here, no mic or pedal board would be needed.” The reality, however, was that the Vibrolux would overwhelm the room. So I continued to grope around on the floor.<br><br>
Standing up followed by stepping over the equipment was not an easy feat at my age and state of physical fitness. I managed and then announced that we were ready for the sound check. How come I always underestimate how long set up takes? Is that lack of experience? Optimism? Lack of focus? Trying to do too much?<br><br>
Sound check. We played “Midnight Run.” More bass. Less uku-tar. More lead. Glenn could not hear the lead. Change the angle of the amp. Robert could not hear the lead. Put the amp on top of the suitcase for the pedal board. New angle. More lead. Hit the boost pedal. Too much, the tone was breaking up. Nice for blues; wrong for surf.<br><br>
More adjustments. More tweaks. Finally, we had a sound which seemed to work. And we were not using any mics with the amps. But those mics were taking up space. At least the rat’s nest of cords was untangled for somebody in the future. As I was sweaty and frustrated, that bright side was not particularly forthcoming.<br><br>
I put my mouth against the vocal microphone -- hey, experience has taught me something -- and announced, “We are the Lava Pups.” We started Mr. Moto.<br><br>
We were not too far into it when Robert stopped. “I can’t hear you. You have too much reverb.” I replied, “This is surf music. You can’t have too much reverb!” Glenn had the “I can’t hear you” look too. Another click or two up in the volume. And, despite my protestations, one click down on the reverb.<br><br>
This was truly a three-ring circus!<br><br>
“Okay. We’re going to try it again. We are the Lava Pups.” I started Mr. Moto again. This time the set really was underway. <br><br>
As I looked out at the audience, I realized that any fears of playing to an empty room or only loved ones could be pushed to another day. The couches, chairs, and stools were filled. A bunch of folks had been treated to our three-ring circus. Uhrg!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Shine_Pups3-300.JPG" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2096572012-09-04T23:20:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:17-08:00Sometimes Things Just Don't Seem To Go Your Way<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">You may have read the abridged version in our last blog post. Now, the beginning of the rest of the story.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/26f58ac19c8b0c279caabe716ac66e958d043bb2/medium/Aloha_radio_ticket001.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="465" width="200" />After promoting the show, bugging our friends, and speculating about fanny count, the Saturday for Summertime Music at Shine arrived. The good news was that <i>The Bee</i> had listed the show in The Lineup page. The bad news was that the show was scheduled for the Saturday of Labor Day weekend and was smack dab against three or four music events which were sure to siphon folks away from Shine. Throughout the day, emails or text messages arrived with “sorry can’t make it, something else has come up” or “we’re going to Harlows to see Gene Loves Jezebel” or the like.<br><br>
Were we about to have the gig which every musician or band eventually faces where we were going to play only to our loved ones and the staff of the venue? Cliche after cliche flashed like a slide show through my brain. The show must go on. Play every show as if it was your last. Play to an empty room as you would to a packed room. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah.<br><br>
By 6:30, one car was packed with amps, guitars, and related stuff. Two plastic tacky tiki masks were included to hang on Robert’s and Sue’s music stands. Shine wanted us to load in at 7:00, set up, and run a sound check for an 8:30 (“Summer Hours”) start. <br><br>
Drums and hardware were stacked by the front door of the Doghouse, and I paced while waiting for Glenn. The pacing was a manifestation of my innate impatience but provided the benefit of burning nervous energy. Glenn arrived -- almost on time. We packed the drums into his car and headed off to Shine to face whatever lay ahead for the night.<br><br>
The normal 10-minute drive from the Doghouse to Shine took 15 minutes. How can a taxi park at a green light? Why are the lights synched so that we hit only reds? Just how many ambulances are racing about at 6:45 on a Saturday night in downtown Sacramento? Why is Chalk-It-Up or Gold Rush Days on the route to Shine?<br><br>
By the time I parked in front of Shine, any semblance of cool had succumbed to the aggravations of the sequence of inconveniences. As we took our gear up to the stage, the coolness factor totally was gone. The tiny stage accommodated the drum kit only. A rat’s nest of cords hid the plugs to the PA. <br><br>
I asked, “Should we mic the amps?” The reply was quick, “Yes.” The good news was that we brought instrument mics and stands. The bad -- really bad -- news was that we would have to undo the pile of twisted, tangled cords. “Can we just unplug and separate them out?”<br><br>
“You better not. Rena knows all about the PA but she is at the Gene Loves Jezebel show.” <br><br>
Urhg! </span>Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2084912012-09-02T13:20:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:17-08:00Shine: Lots of Fun (The Abridged or Cliff Notes Version)<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">The Saturday for Summertime Music at Shine arrived. We loaded in, set up, performed a sound check, and started into our set. Adjusted our sound. Restarted our set. That is the really shortened version of what, if you check our blog over the next couple of entries, was a much longer -- possibly boring -- story.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/ee815e93fcde886374c5831af46249986be67371/medium/Shine_Pups4.JPG?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="356" width="365" /><br><br>
The audience on this evening included a number of local musicians. At least four were current nominees for Sammies -- Sacramento Area Music awards. Several of the musicians knew surf and retro instrumental rock and play (or played) in surf bands. Additionally, members of Aloha Radio drifted in and out during our set. They too knew instrumental surf.<br><br>
Looking out at that audience brought home just how little experience I actually have and the short period that the four of us have played together. That realization plus the set up and sound check process must have been sending signals to every nerve in my body. Why else would Becky say on the drive home, “You were overly animated at the beginning of the set”?<br><br>
That was a first. Was it better than the usual funeral director demeanor?<br><br>
We overcame my nerves and a few glitches to play an entertaining and fun set. We mixed recognizable songs with our originals. The audience sang along with “Runaway.” Rocked out to “Surf Party.” Showed approval of “Squad Car” and Becky’s cranking the siren to start the song. Commented on and sang along with “California Sun.” Along the way, we mentioned and promoted Shine and Aloha Radio. I even used the distorted channel on the amp for our Link Wray medley.<br><br>
We finished “Jack the Ripper” together, thanked the audience, and took down our equipment.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/8c56f54ff23246400ddb12d71e55b995bbb14533/medium/Shine_AR1.JPG?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="278" width="370" /><br><br>
As we moved off the stage, Aloha Radio moved on. Their experience and preparation showed immediately. They had equipment in cases and on rollers. By the time I had worked my way around the room thanking folks for attending, Aloha Radio’s sound check was underway. Wow, that was efficient and quick! Young and professional -- quite a combination.<br><br>
The sound check was done, and Aloha Radio started its set. All vocals. All originals. The focus of the band was Lauren, whose long blond hair flowed, flew, flipped, and flopped as she sang. In looks, she was the epitome of a Southern California surfer girl. Young. Tanned. Fit. Blond. Attractive.<br><br>
Alex, who co-wrote the band’s songs with Lauren, played his Strat with precision. Unlike our brand of surf music, his guitar style was softer to complement the vocals. The sound was not reverb-drenched. Lauren announced that their music was influenced by what they heard on the beach which included pop, surf, and reggae.<br><br>
The band held the audience's attention for an entire set and tweaked its sound on the fly. Everybody had fun. The band was having fun. Photos were being taken; video being shot.<br><br>
The focal point of some of the men in the audience became clear when Lauren was adjusting the PA and Alex said, “Sometimes, we three cave men up here get too loud.” Somebody in the audience yelled out, “Are there three guys up there?” Everybody laughed. If I had not known better, you could have convinced me that that was a plant.<br><br>
Aloha Radio finished up. People hung around, talked, and congratulated the band members. Sales of Aloha Radio’s CD and other merchandise were brisk. Some folks walked out with CDs, stickers, sun glasses, and tank tops. Meanwhile, Shine’s staff worked on closing up. <br><br>
The evening had been a real success. Maybe Aloha Radio will come back to Sacramento.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Shine_AR1-300.JPG" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2067742012-08-29T13:00:00-07:002017-02-01T15:41:58-08:00Cranking Out "Squad Car" and Waiting on YouTube<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Perusing the website shows that we need to make some modifications. We do not have a good collection of photos of the new lineup. And, in the photos, we look like we are spread out all over the place.<br><br>
Then to add to the confusion and clutter, both Robert and Sue use music stands. Despite his talents as an improviser, Robert is a “mechanic” of sorts. He wants to know what the tempo, beat, and rhythms are. Sue is similar. She too wants to know tempo and beat. They both find comfort in the mathematic precision of music.<br><br>
Given their dedication to exactitude, I now am reconciled that they will use music stands for some time. That being the case, I proposed that we decorate the stands. Becky’s response is that that will call attention to them. My reply is we need a schtick. When I suggested “band stands” like the big bands use, she very tactfully told me that I had my head in my socks (or somewhere else). As a compromise, tacky tiki masks might be a nice addition.<br><br>
Not only are we photo-deficient, we have no videos of the new lineup. Actually, no videos exist since our debut gig. An excuse always seemed to be available. No place to put a camera. Too unsteady. Too windy. Too noisy. Too lazy. Too . . . .<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/17ad3e8b639d9e62a40273291c82dbdda8c56f14/medium/SquadCar.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="211" width="375" /><br><br>
All of this made shooting a video at practice seem like a good idea. We could post it to promote the Aoha Radio show, to beef up the website, and really to demonstrate to the world that we play fun music.<br><br>
Plus, in the confines of the Doghouse, a video would be easy. All that we had to do was charge up the video camera, check the lighting, tighten up our formation to get the band in a single frame, run a sound check, and play some rock ‘n roll. After all, the gig -- that is, the moment of truth -- was nearly upon us.<br><br>
The otherwise handy excuses were not available.<br><br>
Oh, yeah, we needed to pick a song. The criteria were fairly simple. It would be one that we enjoy playing. We also did not want to give too much of our show away. Finally, we did not need to do a song that already was on video.<br><br>
Given those criteria, “Squad Car” was the lucky choice. Every time we play it, we get closer to a punk or garage sensibility. Add a hand cranked siren, and we were on our way.<br><br>
Multitasking in the extreme. Look at the camera. Well, not really. Be animated. Well, not really. Find a guitar face which does not remind the audience of passing a kidney stone. Well, not really. </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Look at each other. Well, sorta. </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Remember the song. Play the song. Avoid any obvious mistakes. Then upload to YouTube, which has been "processing" the video for four hours.<br><br>
Check it out . . . . after it loads. <a target="_new" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TF_CkJcTUGM"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><u><b>How did we do</b></u></span></a>?<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/SquadCar-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2047472012-08-25T02:40:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:17-08:00Aloha Radio - Way Cool!<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">For the upcoming show with Aloha Radio, we created a Facebook event, hung posters around Sacramento, left stacks of post cards where we could, and posted the show on several event websites. We recently googled “Aloha Radio” + “Lava Pups” and had more than 400 so-called results. They included referrals to our website and our “talking” poster and a huge number of duplications.<br><br>
We also sent group and personalized emails to a bunch of folks. Whether all of this translates into fannies in the seats will not be known until September 1st. But, irrespective of the count, we know that we pulled our share of the promotion oar.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/00b597910a0db09d83127e980c78bc08e4d7b37b/medium/Aloha_Radio1.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="196" width="350" /><br><br>
Of course, you may ask, “What is Aloha Radio anyway? Why should I come out to see it on a Saturday evening?” That led us to cyberspace to give you the skinny on Aloha Radio. Read on, and you just might conclude that this is a show that you do not want to miss.<br><br>
Surf rhythms meet Hawaiian sounds describes Aloha Radio. Glissandos, reverb, echo, and whammy chords pay homage to surf while lap steel lines, ukulele strums, and clean single string fills give us Hawaii. Vocals about big wave surfers, the tidal wave, cold waters, and waiting by the shore are themes which surf and Hawaiian music share. <br><br>
Whether its music is surf-tinged Hawaiian or Hawaiian-tinged surf, Aloha Radio does not serve up Beach Party pablum. This is not Annette and Frankie. Nor is it Beach Boy style harmonies about SoCal fantasies. Rather, Lauren Mulderrig demonstrates her early musical influences: Country and folk. She and guitarist Alex Barnett write their originals. The songs are fun but have some sophisticated twists. At times, their music is introspective. “You got me wondering why. What am I working for?” is a line from Uninspired. Haven’t we all been there before?<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/4704553875c3402e1c553a72e2b8c0710b02ac94/medium/Aloha_Radio5.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="184" width="250" />You may be thinking, “Their EP Big Wave Madness is excellent. But can they play live?” Aloha Radio is gig-tested -- over 100 shows in 2011. They recently played the Doheny Surf Festival. The band has had the same line-up for a few years and includes a rhythm section of “Captin” (bass) and Chris Hori (drums). They have been on bills with Ben Harper, Weezer, Ziggy Marley, and Cake. They also opened for some surf instrumental acts which we know and love: The Surfaris (can you say, “Wipe Out”?); The Eliminators which feature John Blair; and the best surf band in the world -- Slacktone. Its opening for Slacktone sold Aloha Radio to me!<br><br>
Oh, yeah, Lauren surfs. It is, in her words, a “new found muse.” She also shares our love of surf music. “Surf is one of those genres that shouldn’t have been forgotten about but it has been. I think that the instrumental music is amazing . . . . That’s kinda my little mission with [Aloha Radio], bring surf back to the masses.” Masses may be a bit of hyperbole. But bringing surf to Sactown is a worthy mission.<br><br>
Are you convinced now that the Aloha Radio and Lava Pups show on September will be a really cool show? We are. Be there, aloha!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Aloha_Radio1-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2026262012-08-20T22:10:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:17-08:00Equipment Issues: Snap, Crackle, and Pop!<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/46705dec117e8445805cf72394aa1ad5b372d85f/medium/IMG_2378.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="300" width="225" />As we reviewed notes and annotated sheets of music during our last practice, Robert asked, “Do you have a hand-held recorder here? We could record these and hear what we’ve done.” The recorder was at home -- of course. But I made a mental note: “Bring recorder back to the Doghouse.”<br><br>
Bring recorder. Check. Set it up. Check. Something other than handwritten notes would chronicle how we had reworked and refined each of the songs in the set. <br><br>
All that was needed for practice was a band. Soon, Glenn and Sue arrived. After 20 minutes of gabbing and snacking, the three of us started the practice. Robert was running late. He texted -- a 21st Century verb -- that he was having “bass problems.” When he arrived, he had two gig bags slung over his shoulders. He explained that his regular bass was making strange sounds and probably needed a new jack. He had run back home to pick up another bass.<br><br>
His explanation gave me relief, “Oh, good. I thought that flatulent sound coming from my bass amp at the last practice meant it was on the verge of blowing up.”<br><br>
We immediately started working on the songs in the set which awaited refining. No warm up. No recap of our last practices. No easing in. But in his rush to pick up another bass and to get to band practice, Robert left his annotated music behind. My mind again flashed on relief, “Thank goodness we’re recording this.”<br><br>
At times, however, a flatulent sound returned to the bass amp. Any feelings of relief abated, “Oh, damn. Maybe it is the amp after all.” Robert fiddled with the plug. The sound was right and then . . . . Snap! Crackle! Pop! Rice Krispies on steroids! He fiddled with the plug and the jack again, and the sound was right. But . . . .<br><br>
Finally, Robert asked, “Do you have another cord?” “Sure. On that guitar stand.” He substituted cords and . . . . Problem solved! No more supercharged Rice Krispies. No more worries that my amp was failing. No more thoughts of replacing the jack in his bass. It was a low cost fix.<br><br>
No longer hindered by equipment issues, we continued through the unrefined songs. We then moved on to those that we had arranged at our last practice. </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">As we wound down, a new item joined the gig check list: Pack a couple of extra cords.</span><br><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"> <br>
After 2-1/2 hours, we were ready to congratulate ourselves on how far we had come since the Capitol Bowl gig. Each of us agreed that we were sounding more like a band. Our work and efforts as a group were paying off. That meant that we could sit, drink beer, eat cookies, and enjoy each other’s company before heading out into Sacramento summer late afternoon. <br><br>
Hey, we are becoming a band!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG_2378-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/2015252012-08-17T22:10:00-07:002017-02-01T15:35:26-08:00The Animated Pup Goes High Tech But . . . .<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">I may have too much time on my hands as we have a new “talking” poster. On the other hand, why waste a semester of being insulted -- for being both elderly and computer-impaired -- at a local community college? Or is "I find that with people your age . . . " just some polite segue used in modern education?<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/6fbb315700af873e2b4551dfce801c90288a08aa/medium/Aloha_Radio.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="285" width="350" /><br><br>
The Pup in our animations has tended to be more high tech than initially envisioned. He was introduced to the World in a Prius -- a nifty and very Twenty-First Century hybrid. A few Twentieth Century modifications -- a V-8 and supercharger -- probably set the Prius image back a long ways. <br><br>
Then, we served up the full Pup. He was quite dapper in a Nat Nast style shirt. Hip and off to camp. His cool, however, did not carry the day. Critics panned his legs. “Not dog legs.” “Too human-like.” “Not furry enough.” “Feet too big.” On and on, they complained.<br><br>
Undaunted by the critics, we did not rework the legs. Instead, our first “talking” poster featured the Pup and a new character -- the Surfer Dude. Straight ahead juvenile fun. But the critics again focused on the Pup’s legs. The good news was that they had nothing to add to their previous critiques.<br><br>
In the latest “poster,” old is juxtaposed with new. The Pup wears a traditional Hawaiian shirt (old school), checks an iPad (21st Century), and finds Aloha Radio. And the critics be damned; his legs are unchanged. <br><br>
An iPad! At this rate, is a smart phone in his future? He could be walking and texting. Or standing in line at Starbucks, talking on the smart phone, and then ordering a triple low-fat latte with a shot of chocolate and two shots of peppermint. But that would be contrary to the vision of a hip Pup. He is too cool to speak on the phone in the line at Starbucks. That is for the uncool and the uncouth.<br><br>
Or do we go back to the original concept of the Pup looking back across the rear deck of an early 60s or late 50s car and promoting an upcoming show? That would be low tech and avoid any more grief about his legs.<br><br>
The animated Pup is a work in progress.<br><br>
Hey, does anybody other than the critics really give a rip about his legs? Oh, yeah, <a target="_new" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xsUCnFPl7vs">click here to check him out</a>.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Aloha_Radio-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1996922012-08-13T23:00:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:17-08:00One Hundred Six - But It's a Dry Heat<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">The Sacramento Valley is smoldering. Temperatures are rising to the century mark and above. But, as seems to be a Central Valley mantra, “it’s a dry heat.” So 106 feels like 106 as opposed to something higher. Huh? The temperature still is 106!<br><br>
Fortunately, the Doghouse has air conditioning (a wall unit, not central). Not bad for a warehouse. Air conditioning. Refrigerator stocked with beer, soft drinks, cheese, and salami. Box fans to move the air throughout the space. Couches. Flat screen television. All of that makes the Doghouse an escape from the stifling heat -- albeit, dry -- and ideal for practice.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/bf2ba1068f70682c724cec87d84ef80aab737b06/medium/Band_Practice1.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="223" width="350" /><br><br>
Last practice session, we started at the beginning of a potential set. With 2-1/2 hours of focused work, we refined three songs. Arrangements. Tempo. Rhythms. Endings. We were moving beyond the “let’s get it so that we can play it” stage. We were tired as we left the Doghouse but had a sense of accomplishment.<br><br>
Following that model, we just might never get to the last songs in the set. So we began a practice with, “Today we’ll take the set backwards from the end.” <br><br>
That was not readily embraced. “How about we play what we practiced last time?” <br><br>
We needed to get further along in the songs. “We’ll never get to the end of the set if we keep tweaking the first three songs.” <br><br>
And we came to an understanding. “No. Let’s just hear how they sound.” “Okay.” I began Mr. Moto, and our practice was underway. Despite our understanding, we tweaked the ending. Minor tweaks came with the next two songs. We were better than last practice and substantially better than our gig two weeks ago.<br><br>
We moved to what most likely will be the last song in the set. We then were into arranging. Agreeing on tempos. Working through rhythms. Coming up with endings. Counting outros and intros out. We played a song and worked on particular parts. Some songs required that we focus on the end. Some songs required that we focus on some other particular part. Some songs were dismantled completely and reassembled.<br><br>
The process was a group effort. Becky joined us somewhere along the line and contributed her ideas. “That song is just flat. It needs some pizzazz. How about . . . ?”<br><br>
In 3-1/2 hours, we had consensus on six more songs. We were tightening up our playing. We worked at getting detail. We also were becoming more familiar with the songs and each other. Our playing was coming together as band.<br><br>
We finished practice. We really had made progress. Dicey endings were on their way to being something in the past about which we can laugh later. We were moving on to refining the songs -- making them our own. Passable was no longer acceptable. <br><br>
Even though Sue, Glenn, and Robert were gone, my “band day” was not done. I packed up posters and fliers to brave the heat -- dry heat, mind you -- and meet with the person handling the show with Aloha Radio. But I was enthused to do it. We are really sounding like a band!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Band_Practice1-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1989452012-08-10T23:05:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:17-08:00Keep Casting, and . . . Voila!<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">After allowing enthusiasm to blind good sense, the little voice sounded peeved. “You know better than to rely on people who count beans to the exclusion of a greater potential.” The little voice scolded, “You did this once before! Don’t you ever learn?”<br><br>
The little voice was right. But it said nothing about trying to reach higher. How about getting excited about something that would be real fun? Sue told me that our home town fair might be looking for bands with “strong Yolo County connections.” Hey, no harm in dropping another line in the water. Playing at your home town County Fair is worth expending both energy and some dream power.<br><br>
Of course, the reality was that fair was less than two weeks away and already booked. Maybe next year . . . . And the little voice kept quiet. Tacit agreement?<br><br>
Enough dreaming. Back to the Mac and dash off some more emails. More lines in the water. Not even a nibble.<br><br>
Then . . . from out of nowhere . . . well, really from out of the ethernet or whatever . . . an email . . . and not from anybody whom I had bugged. Thought: “That’s fortuitous.”<br><br>
The gist of the email was that a Southern California surf rock/pop group -- Aloha Radio -- was booked for a venue in Sacramento and the Lava Pups would be a great fit musically to open. Ten to twenty minutes on the worldwide web reading websites, visiting Facebook pages, listening to songs, and watching videos confirmed that opinion.<br><br>
It was a no-brainer. Aloha Radio is a surf and Hawaiian influenced band fronted by a young woman who sings and plays ukulele. They are on their “Making Waves” tour of the west coast -- their first “tour.” Originating in SoCal, they have played on the same bills as the Surfaris of “Wipe Out” fame, the Eliminators for whom John Blair now is lead guitar, and the best surf band in the world -- Slacktone. The venue is an all ages coffee house serving beer and wine. It offers comfortable seating and food. Clean and relatively new. The show starts at 8:30 -- even earlier if the audience is ready which is incentive for us to put on the maximum pimp.<br><br>
What’s not to like about any of that? Nothing from the little voice but silence. So . . . .<br><br>
We are opening for Aloha Radio on September 1 at Shine. And we are stoked!<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/d724409ae4ccc39e2a80564df75b9330fb22dba7/medium/Post9-1-12_half.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="541" width="350" /><br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Post9-1-12_half-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1981372012-08-08T22:45:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:16-08:00Getting a Gig: They All Get Prettier at Closing Time<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/0def534689421ab3f5f0256c55af84ebb4240f8e/medium/Pup_Seated1.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="315" width="225" />“Been there. Done that.” Have you ever heard that before?<br><br>
Well, that is how this band stuff feels sometimes. We had a successful performance. We are excited to play again. We are prepared to practice. And we do not want to let the momentum slip away. Hey, that really is encouraging.<br><br>
The week after the July Sunday Surf Party, our family went to brunch at a newly opened establishment. We were celebrating Mom’s 88th birthday. My family certainly is not adhering to the Pete Townsend line from “My Generation” which will not be repeated here.<br><br>
The restaurant area had a stage in it complete with curtains. Raised and very cool. The wheels started turning. All ages. Check. Has food. Check. Can control the door. Check. Could be available relatively early in the evening. Check.<br><br>
Ideal? Not really. No liquor license. No easily available parking. The overall theme of the business does not necessarily fit a summer fun music vibe. But didn’t somebody once sing something like, “They all get prettier at closing time”?<br><br>
What the heck, drop a line in the water. “Do you think we could do something here?”<br><br>
Suddenly, the table was abuzz with conversation. “You can’t play as loud as you usually do.” But that was not a show stopper. “We could use practice amps. Glenn is not an especially loud drummer.”<br><br>
Like Mickey Rooney or Judy Garland in one of those really old movies, one sister said, “We could have a Hawaiian theme party!” That led to talking to the owner who joined in the buzz and, after batting around a few ideas, ended the conversation with “Let’s talk about it next week.”<br><br>
On Tuesday, my well-chronicled impatience overwhelmed efforts to be laid-back and uber cool, and I was on the phone. “Hey, we talked about doing something. Can we get together and discuss it?” The owner’s enthusiasm of Sunday had waned, “Oh, I haven’t had the time to talk to my folks. I’ll get back to you tomorrow.”<br><br>
Tomorrow came. No call. Thursday. No call. Friday, I called again. <br><br>
“Oh, we just were sitting down to go over it. How many people do you think you can count on?” I replied 20 to 40 and pimped what we bring to the table. <br><br>
“We’ll do a catchy poster which will get some attention for your restaurant. We’ll make sure that the gig is on the internet, on Sacramento event websites, and in the print media. You’ll reach a bunch of people who don’t even know that you exist. Most everybody we get to attend will be new business for you.”<br><br>
“I’ll get back to you.” A couple of hours later, she left a voice mail. “I’m sorry it does not pencil out. I need a guarantee that you will bring 50 guests, all of whom will eat off of the menu.” As I listened, I thought, “If I could guarantee 50 people would pay to hear us play and eat, I wouldn’t be talking to a place that doesn’t sell beer and wine.”<br><br>
Oh, well, for a moment, enthusiasm had blinded me from the reality that finding a place to play is not always easy. Move forward. Step back. Resume the search.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Pup_Seated1-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1972002012-08-06T22:40:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:16-08:00Passed the First Test - What's Next?<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">“Would you do it again?” That was the question posed to Robert, Sue, and Glenn. <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/3fd58004188a7732f81a17bef1ee48db0fd68303/medium/Pups_22.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="252" width="350" /><br><br>
After all, we passed our first test. We worked our way through 18 or so tunes without any major gaffes. By the time we played our “encore” or “second” set, we were in a groove and really having fun. Both the Sunday manager and the owner of the Capitol Bowl were happy with the vibe and energy that we brought to the bowling alley.<br><br>
One friend, however, pointed out that our song endings were a little dicey. “A little dicey” was somewhat complimentary or, alternatively, a gross understatement. Actually, we pretty much played along and hoped to end in the ballpark of on time or together. Rather than my usual “what do you expect from a talent-impaired guy like me?” response, I found a convenient cover in our lack of time to practice such details as song endings. “Well, that was only our second time through the entire set.”<br><br>
“Would you do it again?” Robert and Sue both answered with, “We need to start practicing and keep up the momentum. How about next week?” Sue also muttered something about a chord sheet that has four bars and I play three or vice versa and getting the arrangements down. Robert’s response was similar but less specific, “Let’s get the set down pat.” Glenn simply said, “Sure.”<br><br>
Commitment. Practice. Getting arrangements and a set down pat. Now that sounds like a lot of fun as well as a challenge. Let’s get going. We agreed to a time for our next practice.<br><br>
Then the nagging little voice spoke up. “Not so fast. Don’t get too stoked. You’ve got to arrange a gig!” <br><br>
Yeah, but that is just one more challenge. Haven’t we had that one before? And . . . .<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Pups_22-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/516382012-08-03T22:30:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:04-08:00Closing a Chapter: How Far We Came<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Sometimes we do not realize how far we have come until we look back to see where we began. Maybe working to finish the “Last Lesson” post put me in a particularly reflective and egocentric mood. This will be the last “contemplating my belly button” kind of post -- at least for the foreseeable future.<br><br>
For the first lesson with Paul the Pyronaut, I made the 40-minute drive from Sacramento to Loomis. Driving nearly one and a half hours round trip was a small price to pay for a half hour lesson devoted to surf music. A half hour with somebody who knew the music, played the music, and was enthusiastic about the music was valuable when the usual response to "surf music" was "yeah, like the Beach Boys." <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/136060ef5e915811788ea75238ec48f14967ca77/medium/Corsair.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="174" width="225" />Paul must have been confused by the potential student who sat across from him in the tiny lesson room. He probably thought, “This will go nowhere.” I had a black Schecter Corsair -- a somewhat over-sized 335 knockoff with a Bigsby vibrato. That certainly did not give off any “surf vibe.” New wave or blues, maybe. Surf, no. <br><br>
Even though I had taken lessons for awhile, I really did not know squat. I only knew what music I wanted to learn. Musically, no skills were discernible. I could not do a glissando to save my life. Or palm mute. I did not understand the first thing about playing surf music. My skills were so deficient that I did not want to play for Paul out of fear of embarrassment.<br><br>
In view of my “stage fright,” our half hour mostly was spent talking and with Paul demonstrating some techniques. He concluded the session with “learn to palm mute and play glissandos.” As he walked me down the hallway and out to the reception area, he must have thought, “I’ll never see this guy again. He’ll have that guitar listed on eBay in a couple of months.” <br><br>
Instead of quitting, love of the music triumphed over talent deficits. Sometime after that first lesson, we started real lessons. We got together regularly twice a month for nearly six years. Even after all of that, I still am not very proficient at palm muting and glissandos. But that is no fault of the teacher.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/3d68a0204b389c2861af1a84c440dbecb9adc087/medium/IMG00329-20120219-1309.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="300" width="225" />And we played. Paul taught me songs. He assisted in writing songs. He then guided three neophytes through the recording and CD release process. He got us on stage. Over six years, Paul and I discussed music, performing, and life in general -- happiness, loss, issues, problems, and successes. Even though we delved into some serious matters, Paul always kept the goal for playing guitar in perspective for me -- let’s have fun.<br><br><br>
Yes, we came a long way from that afternoon in Loomis to his last words of advice, “It’s what you make of it.” <br><br>
Thank you, Paul the Pyronaut.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href=""></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG00329-20120219-1309-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1954162012-08-01T02:20:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:16-08:00Last Lesson? And We Handled It Like Manly Men<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">This post was started back in May, a week before the Sierra Surf Music Camp. It was subjugated, however, to other ideas, thoughts, and anything else to keep from coming face to face with the reality of having a friend move five hours away. Intervening events just pushed the post back further and further.<br><br>
Of course, denial and avoidance are the manly way to approach what can -- or should --be emotional moments or events.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/c69ccecf283ce9fb143bbe05e5aab4fcee4d7bd3/medium/IMG_2093.JPG?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="188" width="250" />The week before camp, Paul came to the Doghouse. Both Kyle -- our nephew -- and I were scheduled for a lesson. Paul and Kyle went first. As they played and talked, my attention focused on a combination of important and unimportant matters ranging from what had to be done in my day job before leaving for camp to what had to be packed for camp.<br><br>
Paul and Kyle finished their session with “Pipeline,” which certainly was a harbinger of things to come at camp.<br><br>
As I plugged in my guitar, Becky sat down at the keyboard and proudly reported that she had started lessons. She told Paul how he might be interested in the method that she was following as it did not start with notation. Paul said, “That sure is not how I learned.” She demonstrated by playing a couple of the chord progressions covered in her first few lessons.<br><br>
I interjected that Becky just had learned the chords to thousands of songs. The method covered “bubble gum chords” and the 12-bar blues progression right out of the box. That led us into “Gloria.” Paul and I started the instantly recognizable three-chord progression and invited Becky to play along. After a few minutes, stage fright -- or boredom -- brought her playing to a stop.<br><br>
Paul and I continued. Paul sang. I managed to keep up. We then talked about the long ad lib versions by The Doors and Patti Smith. We played some more. The longer we played, the more my left hand burned. When we finished, we both stretched our fingers and shook out the kinks in our hands. “Lenny Kaye must have hands of steel!”<br><br>
Famous three-chord progressions naturally took us to “Louie, Louie.” We encouraged Becky to play along. She demurred. Playing shifted to B.S. and my probably boring Paul with the story of the Wailers, Paul Revere and the Raiders, and the Kingsmen. He apparently had been less than assiduous in reading our blog as he expressed surprise at the timing of the recordings, etc.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/be13cc62e1f8bd52df01ed426b407facbf07f9f0/medium/IMG_2109.JPG?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="188" width="250" />After we went through the originals which the Pups would play at camp, Becky told us that she wanted to learn “Peter Gunn.” Paul and I launched into an extended “Peter Gunn.” We exchanged leads. Afterwards, Paul said, “I like where you play that.” I responded, “You taught me that.” Paul replied, “No, I don’t play it where you did.” That would be the revelation -- or the lesson -- of the lesson: I can do some things on my own.<br><br>
Our playing time was up. We sat on the couches for awhile and talked about camp. Becky told Paul that she would email him some information that she had found on having interactive lessons via the internet.<br><br>
Paul and I walked out together to the Pyrovan. He had a vintage Ludwig drum kit there. “It’s all original except for the sparkly look.” He said that the Ludwig kit was to be part of his inventory for the new store in Ferndale.<br><br>
As Paul climbed into the van, we shook hands. “See you at camp next week.” Deep down, I knew that we just completed our last regular lesson. Yet, like men do, we did not say so or even say good-bye. Yes, we handled it the manly way. <br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href=""></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG_2093-300.JPG">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1938152012-07-26T23:25:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:16-08:00Sunday Surf Party (3): But the Poster Says 1:00 to 4:00<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">3:10. We were finished. The Sneaky Tikis had played out what they had practiced. The Lava Pups had done so too. Glenn started to disassemble the drums. <br><br>
The Sneaky Tikis were autographing posters and fliers.<br><br>
But folks were walking into the Capitol Bowl. They were not there to bowl. They announced to us that they were there to hear music. “We’re done.” “But the poster says 1:00 to 4:00. It’s only 3:15.”<br><br>
While we had this conversation, some more people came in. Ten folks just had arrived for the last advertised hour. And 45 to 50 people still were hanging around.<br><br>
“We’ll see if the Sneaky Tikis will play.” To my surprise, the response was, “We came to see the Lava Pups.” When Glenn, Robert, and Sue said okay, the drums were reassembled. The Sneaky Tikis agreed to play some more after us. <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/3fd58004188a7732f81a17bef1ee48db0fd68303/medium/Pups_22.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="252" width="350" /><br><br>
We plugged in and started up with “Mr. Moto.” The mic was turned off. We just played by selecting songs off the set list. The retro rock stuff caught the fancy of our new audience and the folks who had not left. Once again, they were singing along. No banter between songs. Pick one and play. By request, we finished our “second” set with “Squad Car.”<br><br>
This time through we were having more fun. Kinks and jitters gone. The audience was having fun. The spontaneity added to the fun. We were loose and warmed up. I ventured out from behind the mic. Twenty feet is more cord than you might think.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/0c0f92c1d12132c6af76ccb3a81ee39f37eec55e/medium/IMG_2416.JPG?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="263" width="350" /><br><br>
The Sneaky Tikis took our place on the stage. Lukas adjusted the drum kit. Once again, high energy, fast and loud surf rock filled the bowling alley. Except for four people bowling and the staff, everybody in the Capitol Bowl was there for the music. The bands were rewarding them.<br><br>
Lucas tested out his wireless by walking around the restaurant area. Folks danced in front of him while he played. This was surf music was all about. Bands and audiences engaged with one and other. Feeding off of each other. Fun for everybody!<br><br>
In another moment of spontaneity, Cash Bobby Dickson of the Cash Profits guided the Sneaky Tikis through a fuzzed-up punk version of “Ghost Riders.” As they played and he sang, memories of “Ring of Fire” by Wall of Voodoo came to mind. Music has a way of spanning generations. I recalled a Sons of the Pioneers LP with “Ghost Riders.” But what was going on on-stage was not my parents’ or the Sons of the Pioneers’ “Ghost Riders”!<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/8a527e6ae3f079e6b7b9746846bd47d777635892/medium/IMG_2440.JPG?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="169" width="225" />At 4:30 or so, my last duty as a host was to shriek “Wipe Out, Baby!” one more time. And Lukas demonstrated his drumming prodigy talents. The bowlers stood by the front desk enthralled by his skills. They were not going to leave while he was playing.<br><br><br><br>
The late arrivers had been treated to more than an hour of fun music. Only 45 minutes were required. They thanked us and ordered another beer. One said, “We’re glad we stayed for the kids. They’re really good.” But one of the others said, “But I like your style of old-time rock ‘n roll.”<br><br>
What they had to say did not make much difference in my assessment. The two bands had put on a complete and fun show. The families of the Sneaky Tikis beamed with pride. They were enthused and excited. They too knew that this had been quite an event.<br><br>
While I decompressed with a beer and before loading out, the manager put some cash into the tip jar and said, “You guys were great. We love it when you’re here.” Her assistant and the bartender nodded in agreement.<br><br>
As I headed to the Doghouse with the back of the Prius filled with equipment, I reflected on the day and how I felt. Exhausted. Exhilarated. Excited. Elated. Enthused.<br><br>
Wow! <br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Pups_22-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/664332012-07-24T22:55:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:05-08:00Sunday Surf Party (2): Our Sneaky (First) Ending!<span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)">“Thank you. Give it up for the Sneaky Tikis! The Lava Pups will be up shortly. And the Sneaky Tikis will be back. Eat, drink, and bowl. Support the Capitol Bowl. Support the bands. Tip generously!”<br><br>
While the Pups set up, the audience began to dwindle. Do that many folks still smoke? Maybe they were going to bowl. Well, it was a break between bands after all.<br><br>
Tune. Sound check. Too loud. Adjust. Glenn changed the drum kit to suit him. Lucas (Kuhn) and Lukas (Brodie) of the Sneaky Tikis, Glenn, and I huddled over how we would do “Wipe Out” when they joined us. As we did that, the nagging voice started up again, “You did not rehearse that; it potentially is a disaster.” But, in the words of Julius Caesar, the die was cast.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/8f0dcc6062cfd9279a2071d7977f608e55bf1596/medium/IMG_2418.JPG?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="263" width="350" /><br><br>
Glenn, Sue, and Robert nodded that they were ready. Some of the smokers had returned as had many of the folks who stepped out to congratulate the Sneaky Tikis.<br><br>
I flicked on the mic and reached down for my radio voice, “How about the Sneaky Tikis?” Enthusiastic applause. “They’ll be back.” More enthusiastic applause. “How about the Capitol Bowl?” Polite applause. “We are the Lava Pups.” More polite applause.<br><br>
I began “Mr. Moto.” Robert stopped me. “I can’t hear you.” Adjust the amp. Mulligan. As we played, a glance at the audience revealed that they liked it. By our spy medley, we had them. They were feeling the primal quality of recognizable retro instrumentals and instrumental versions of rock songs. They sang or hummed along.<br><br>
We changed the pace from song to song. The set presented a contrast to the high energy of the Sneaky Tikis. Fast to slow to moderate tempos. “Runaway” to “Sleepwalk” to “Apache” and back to “Surf Party” and “Squad Car.”<br><br>
“Here’s one that we have not played before. We think that you can sing along. If you don’t know the words, you know the concept . . . because we’re out here having fun. Where? In the warm California Sun!” More singing along. Bodies swaying. That has a place in our future.<br><br>
“The Sneaky Tikis will join us after this next song.” Applause. I looked around but could not see them. Somebody reported, “They’re bowling.” After finding which lane they were on, I read the monitor for Rob’s final roll and announced, “Open frame!”<br><br>
We then went into the Link Wray Medley. More primal rock. Faster. Faster. Faster. Cymbal crash. I almost left my feet to get to the A chord.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/512228afa7fec823ff021a01486d4d3d935196d7/medium/IMG_2441.JPG?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="169" width="225" />“We’d like the Sneaky Tikis to join us.” While they plugged in, I yammered on about Link Wray, thanked the Capitol Bowl and the audience, and chided folks about the tip jar. “Looks pretty paltry from here. The musicians are playing for tips.”<br><br><br><br>
Everybody on stage was ready. “Here is the best known Link Wray song and the first instrumental to be banned from the radio.” I started up “Rumble.” Everybody joined in. Primitive. Ominous. We may have missed the ending. But what can you expect from one rehearsal? Plus nobody really cared.<br><br>
Up to the mic. “Wipe Out, Baby!” Glenn was on drums for a couple rounds. Then Lukas. Then they played together. The audience was loving it. Family and friends were taking pictures. Somebody may have had a video camera going. We managed to find an ending.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/620aa3be16a5512105c52a27ee7f4f2a4afe9ad4/medium/IMG_2450.JPG?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="263" width="350" /><br><br>
Applause. Cheers. Hoots. Hollers. I introduced both bands. More applause. More cheers.<br><br>
“One more thing to tend to. You’ve heard me talk about how old I am. Well, Glenn is having his birthday this week, and he is catching up. Here’s a song that you can sing along with.” Glissando into “Happy Birthday.” Everybody joined in. More applause.<br><br>
“Thank you for being here today. Without your participation, there will be no live music. Now, we’ll turn this over to the fourth wave. The Sneaky Tikis will take it out!” Our surprise ending for the set.<br><br>
Rob started up “Miserlou” in the style of Slacktone. Take it out they did.<br><br>
Wow! This had been a wonderful and fun show. But . . . .<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG_2450-300.JPG">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1925742012-07-23T10:00:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:16-08:00Sunday Surf Party (1): The Nagging Voice Is Back!<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Wow! <br><br>
Exhausted. Exhilarated. Excited. Elated. Enthused. How’s that for some alliteration to describe how we felt after the Sunday Surf Party?<br><br>
You now know the ending. Nonetheless, please bear with us – and read on -- for how we got there.<br><br>
When we walked into the Capitol Bowl, the prospects for the show looked bleak. At 11:30, the staff outnumbered the customers. Except for a couple of tables of young adult girls, not another patron was in sight. The girls had binders open and papers spread on the tables like they were in a college study group. But, once they moved down to the bowling lanes, the purpose of their Sunday morning meeting became clear: They were from a bowling team or league.<br><br>
No birthday parties were on the schedule. The temperature was 100 plus degrees outside. The State Fair was at full tilt. Suddenly, the little nagging voice which had been so silent for the past few weeks started up, “What if nobody wants to brave the heat to come to the air-conditioned comfort of a bowling alley? What if everybody who will go out ends up on the River or at the Fair?”<br><br>
Set up. As the scheduled start time approached, three things were missing: an audience; ear plugs; and the Sneaky Tikis’ drummer. As I drove back to the Doghouse to pick up ear plugs, that little nagging voice was getting louder, bitchier, and more annoying. Even Little Steven’s Underground Garage could not drown it out!<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/6a6a6b736247532c18d30d995e6a093b1cb8c953/medium/IMG_2410.JPG?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="188" width="250" />Luke – drum prodigy – and his family followed me into the half-full parking lot at the Capitol Bowl upon my return from the Doghouse. We now had a drummer and ear plugs. Audience?<br><br>
12:58. Despite the increasingly irritating little nagging voice, the obvious approach was, “Hey, this is music. We’re musicians and playing for tips only. Nobody expects any rock show in a bowling alley, bar, etc. to start exactly on time.”<br><br>
Luke settled onto the throne. He is 12, and adjustments were in order. Rotate the snare. Change the angle of the crash cymbal. He played around the kit. The Sneaky Tikis then ran through a song. Sound check!<br><br>
People were coming in. They were arriving to see our show. In fact, the only folks in the bowling alley were there for us. Friends who knew the routine were on their way to the lanes. The lounge area was beginning to fill. Friends and family of the Sneaky Tikis were in the restaurant area.<br><br>
Suddenly, that annoying nagging voice was silent. We were going to have 70 or more.<br><br>
I went up to the mic and welcomed everybody to the Capitol Bowl. “And, now, here is the future of surf music. The Sneaky Tikis!”<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/04590a7c31ec427bd20c3d33aea26ac87adb7b13/medium/IMG_2409.JPG?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="188" width="250" />From the opening of "Mike's Barracuda," high energy, fast, and loud surf music filled the bowling alley. Some people went for the ear plugs that required a trip to the Doghouse. Most, however, just rocked out. <br><br><br><br>
The friends and family of the Sneaky Tikis were snapping pictures, applauding, cheering, and taking video.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/a4e6801bc125de4a7da68c6d574001a199f0124b/medium/IMG_2412.JPG?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="188" width="250" />The fourth wave was taking off. As they played, I thought about how far they had come in less than two months. Even though not evident to the audience, less than two months ago, the band was created at Sierra Surf Music Camp and tutored by Dusty Watson. Practice, enthusiasm, and talent were paying off!<br><br>
Wow! And the Sneaky Tikis knocked the socks off of the growing audience.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/dc8558354dcf5ce72426910224766e088e17d3fb/medium/sneaky_tikis_cap.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_bottom border_" alt="" height="263" width="350" /><br><br><br></span> <span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/sneaky_tikis_cap-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1915652012-07-19T23:00:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:16-08:00What a Difference a Week Makes!<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">This is now.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/6423e39f59dba25209f13b0495b5fde776f14369/medium/IMG_2394.JPG?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="263" width="350" /><br><br>
Last week’s full band practice ended with we need to work some more and at least get through the set before the Sunday Surf Party.<br><br>
A new night came for band practice at the Doghouse. We expanded our fare to add sparkling mineral water, “still” water, and . . . ta da . . . brownies. Actually, the brownies were left over from our afternoon with the Sneaky Tikis. I had exercised self-restraint and did not eat all of them in the intervening days. Coffee and beer -- staples for every Lava Pups practice -- were at the ready . . . of course.<br><br>
We blocked out three or more hours for practice. Come Hell or high water we were getting through the set! Becky was there to coach us. And encourage us by repeating “the Sneaky Tikis are <i><b>UN</b></i>believable!” Hey, we have our pride.<br><br>
We played the set. What a difference a week made. Fewer glitches. No more ironing out arrangements. Improved timing. Coming together as a band. Feeling the fun of the music that we play. Becky even gave us double thumbs up on a couple of the songs.<br><br>
As the arrangements solidified, dynamics could be part of the practice. “Can you hit those chords a little softer?” <br><br>
We refined our timing on a couple of pieces. “We’re all over the lot there. Let’s get a single tempo going.” “How about a smidge slower?” “We need to play that faster.”<br><br>
This was not work, however. It was pure enjoyment. Several times Robert observed that the songs were really fun. He got the raw energy and punk sensibility of the simple rock music that the Pups play.<br><br>
After three hours, we agreed that we were ready to play on Sunday. Glenn packed his sticks. Sue put her guit-ulele (uku-tar) in a gig bag. They walked out into the coolness of the Sacramento summer night.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/46705dec117e8445805cf72394aa1ad5b372d85f/medium/IMG_2378.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="333" width="250" />While Robert and I enjoyed beers and the comfort of the couches, Becky pronounced us gig-ready. She offered how my timing was improving in this new edition of the Lava Pups. <br><br>
As she and Robert discussed how music brings people of all ages together, my mind wandered off to how much fun we just had and how far we had come in less than a month. We had a set of 15 songs plus whatever we were going to do with the Sneaky Tikis down well enough to entertain whoever shows up at the Capitol Bowl. We even had an encore in reserve. A sense of pride and accomplishment came over me.<br><br>
We were ready to rock. And importantly we had gotten this to the point where we can -- and will -- have fun. What a difference a week makes!<br><br></span><br><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href=""></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG_2394-300.JPG">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1910482012-07-18T10:55:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:16-08:00Last Week's Progress Check: Tweaks Required<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128); ">This was last week.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/817c0f6f3d70bcf8dabb2aaa68190aa21de76d17/medium/IMG_2369.JPG?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="263" width="350" /><br><br>
We have been working in pieces. Robert and I worked on the bass-lead parts. Sue and I worked on the rhythm-lead parts. <br><br>
Glenn returned from Colorado Springs. So the time came to stitch the pieces together. In reality, as the July Sunday Surf Party approached, we needed to run through the entire set as a band in one session. Keep in mind that Sue and Robert still had not played all of the songs in the set with Glenn.<br><br>
Actually, we were not looking just to stitch pieces together. Robert told me that our goal was to lock Glenn, Sue, and him in together tightly. With them synchronized, any faux pax by me -- and you can count on some -- will be less memorable or even may appear to be my interpretation of whatever we are playing. Then again, a faux pax might stand out like the proverbial sore thumb!<br><br>
Doghouse time. Beer, coffee, and water time. Stitching -- or locking -- time. Turn up the amps, turn on the PA, put in ear plugs, and settle in for the whole megillah. It was let it rip time!<br><br>
Not so fast, buddy . . . . <br><br>
We hit a couple of snags almost immediately. We certainly are not a well-oiled machine. Robert texted that he was running late. Glenn announced that he had to leave early. We plowed ahead anyway and started without Robert. After he arrived, we played whatever we could before Glenn left. <br><br>
But we still were ironing out the arrangements and the tempos. Annotations from earlier practices suddenly did not make sense. At times, it was like Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Too fast. Too slow. Just right. Glenn left; Robert, Sue, and I worked for another hour.<br><br>
By the end of the night, some pieces fit together nicely. But some were off. What did you expect? Perfection?<br><br>
The bottom line was that we needed to practice some more. And -- believe it or not -- we still had not played all of the songs in the set as a band. Work lie ahead to get us ready for July 22.<br><br>
Surprisingly, that nagging little voice has remained unusually silent. Instead, Mr. Optimist kept saying, “This is not that far from being right. It only needs a couple of tweaks.”<br></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"> <br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href=""></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG_2369-300.JPG">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1899942012-07-15T13:10:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:16-08:00Joint Practice (Sort of) -- And We Got an Ending<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">A series of emails about logistics for the July Sunday Surf Party ended with, “How about a joint practice?” Without consulting the other Pups, I responded, “Okay.”<br><br>
The question of a joint practice was prompted by the idea of bringing the Sneaky Tikis up for an “encore” or a “jam” of sorts during the Pups’ set. We had agreed on the songs and the arrangements. “Let’s play those songs in a C blues progression. We’ll segue from one to the other and introduce both bands over the course of the songs.”<br><br>
A joint practice meant getting together at the Doghouse for brats, hot dogs, and music. And beer for the adults. Originally, I was going to go for a bunch of Der Weinerschnitzel 61-cent chili dogs and hot dogs. But cleaning up the grill and barbequing seemed more hospitable and festive.<br><br>
After all, summer is here. The weather was wonderful. Nobody should spend time on the road and then be fed Der Weinerschnitzel dogs.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/1829558256237207dc126649215b52f2b5e98e32/medium/IMG_2344.JPG?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="188" width="250" />The Sneaky Tikis were not at full strength. Two guitars -- Rob and Lucas. No drummer. No bass player. We were bassless too as Robert had other plans. Clearly, Glenn was going to draw marathon drumming duties.<br><br><br><br><br>
“Let’s go through part of your set. We then will break to eat. We’ll play a couple of our songs to warm up, and all of us can see how the joint thing goes.” Everybody agreed to that plan.<br><br>
Rob and Lucas plugged into our practice amps and talked Glenn through their arrangements. I pulled the powder blue, cheap, made-in-China, No-Name bass from the closet and tested it. The dreaded fret buzz on the C was gone. Okay, let’s rock ‘n roll.<br><br>
Rob and Lucas played most of the songs that the Sneaky Tikis were going to play at the Capitol Bowl. Glenn gave them a solid drum beat. I tried not to interfere too much with what they were doing while providing some low end. Lucas would say, “A-minor.” My response was “minor, schminor, I’m playing the root.” Learned that at Sierra Surf Music Camp.<br><br>
They closed with a rousing version of “Miserlou.” The gathered parents and spouses applauded. I thought, “Man, these kids can play! They’re going to knock the socks off of the folks at the Capitol Bowl.”<br><br>
Break for brats, beer, brownies, and banter. Glenn got some rest.<br><br>
Lava Pups time. We warmed up with “Mr. Moto” and a couple of songs that we had not played yet as a full band. Amazingly, they were pretty close to gig-ready. I thought, “These will be really good once we practice them together.”<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/b445f0d8b4bc552e99f26d08b0be6a82591cc2f4/medium/IMG_2358.JPG?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="263" width="350" /><br><br>
Through the PA, I announced, “Now, we would like to bring the Sneaky Tikis up again. Give it up for the Sneaky Tikis!.” Parents and spouses went along with my schtick and applauded. We discussed the arrangement. I semi-shrieked “Wipe Out!” into the mic, and Glenn took off on the drums. A couple of times through ironed out a few rough spots.<br><br>
“That’ll work.”<br><br>
I put my chin on the mic and began. “Wella. Wella. Everybody’s heard about the bird . . . .” Jean was shaking her head and covering her face as if to say, “No. No. Don’t do that!” Becky’s face was scrunched up in disapproval. Lucas and Rob were not on board. Knowing that she was out of my view, Sue was making faces.<br><br>
“Okay, I can see that that was not quite right. Let’s try it again.” I did which elicited the same reactions.<br><br>
Wella. Wella. </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">The Bird was <i><b>not</b></i> the word! </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Back to the drawing board. Becky shouted out, “Play Rumble.” We did. Three guitars sure make for a pretty ominous “Rumble.” Parents and spouses applauded.<br><br>
After an exchange of ideas, we came up with an entirely new approach to ending the show. The scrunched up faces, frowns, and looks of disapproval disappeared.<br><br>
It is going to be fun! But to find out the ending, you will have to be at the Capitol Bowl on July 22nd.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG_2358-300.JPG" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1892212012-07-12T23:10:00-07:002017-02-01T15:20:42-08:00Practice. Practice. Practice.<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Colorado -- and Colorado Springs in particular -- was burning. Wild fires were out of control. Those were recent headlines. And Glenn had a long-planned vacation scheduled for Colorado Springs -- a round trip from Sacramento on Amtrak to visit his family. How cool does that sound . . . except for the wild fires part?<br><br>
After daily inquiries by the Wiki Weekend Warriors about the fate of his vacation, Glenn announced that the weather had changed, the fires were contained, and he and Jean were leaving as scheduled. That meant no full band practices for two weekends and the intervening week.<br><br>
But we remaining Pups were not stymied. Robert and Sue still were learning the songs for the set. As of the time that Glenn left, we had not played through the entire set list. Even though time was running, I had a sense of confidence about the upcoming gig but kept thinking, “That’s unusual. Where is the little nagging voice?”<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/c4b389e163592e00bb40e2bb03f9494c4bf0d50b/medium/IMG_2335.JPG?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="263" width="350" /><br><br>
The only real troublesome part was that Robert and Sue were looking to me for guidance. That was pretty scary! Their musicianship is light years ahead of mine. But I am the keeper of the corporate history. They get to learn songs complete with my idiosyncrasies, short cuts, dumb downs, and what-have-yous. But being the keeper of the corporate history is an opportunity to become a better musician -- or at least correct some of my many deficiencies.<br><br>
All of this meant multiple practices were on the agenda. Sue, Robert, and I spent a Sunday afternoon together getting through what was left on the set list. Again, the process was play, talk, agree, and annotate charts. <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/0d93006fd373c0dcc1f63ef46848d6b4c7fd2395/medium/IMG_2338.JPG?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="169" width="225" />Robert and I also practiced together. What could we expect from and of each other? How could we help each other? Realistically, every time he played, I understood that I could not help him very much musically. His years of improvisation and songwriting combined with the simplicity of our songs to make Robert’s learning curve short. As he became more familiar with the set, my job was to rein in some of his improvising bent. His job was to encourage me to tighten up my playing.<br><br>
Sue and I practiced together. Even though our music is simple and often repetitive, she was playing chords and making moves on her uku-tar (AKA guit-ulele) that were unusual to her. We hooked her up to a Danelectro pedal board. After trying slap echo, reverb, and vibrato pedals, we settled on the Tuna Melt tremolo pedal. Hearing herself play amplified also was unusual to her. Importantly, we worked through the structure, rhythm patterns, and the “sound” of the songs.<br><br>
Suddenly, I was practicing much more than usual. Hours here and there with Robert. And hours with Sue. A few hours with both of them. Plus I was running through the set alone and trying to focus on rough spots in songs. None of the practice was as loose as in the past. Wow, maybe this practice stuff will help in deficit reduction.<br><br>
Of course, we really will not know until July 22. <br><br>
Oh, yeah, gotta pimp the show now. Please join us and see if our hours of practice pay off. Have you checked out our <a target="_new" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6BeH7DDl64g">video poster</a>?<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href=""></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG_2335-300.JPG">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1878512012-07-09T23:15:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:16-08:00Getting Back to a Four-Piece: Rhythm Uke?<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">After recruiting the “Kool Kat,” we were back to three-quarters of a band. And we had time to get ready for the July Sunday Surf Party. Given Robert’s improvisational skills and freedom from any historical confines of surf music, we surely could perform as a trio. Power trio? No. Trio? Yes.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/0b71d9356aedce93274fe6be4bd118ed034a2a21/original/Sue_T.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="200" width="225" />This was going swimmingly. So why give up on a 4-piece? At the Sierra Surf Music Camp, when discussing Paul’s moving with Ferenc Drobronyi, I asked how to arrange songs for a trio. His advice was to have a 4-piece if at all possible. He pointed out -- correctly -- the fullness and depth added by a second guitar. <br><br>
His advice was particularly cogent at the time as I knew that my talent deficits would be exposed in a trio. We might get away with it for one or two shows but beyond that . . . .<br><br>
What is the process for getting a rhythm guitar player? An ad on Craig’s List or in the <i>News & Review</i>? <br><br>
“Wanted. Rhythm guitar player for instrumental surf and retro rock band. Lead guitar suspect. Band plays for fun and not that often. None of the members likes to stay up very late. Any tips or door money split with bass player.”<br><br>
Who would answer that ad? And posting that ad would require dealing with rejection or complete strangers. So an ad was not going to be part of the mix.<br><br>
Once again, the old mental check list was consulted. Who could play rhythm and be open to test driving the Pups for at least one gig? The answer sat across from me nearly every Sunday morning for breakfast at Willie’s: My sister.<br><br>
She knows many of our songs and has jammed with Glenn and me at the Doghouse. In the words of her music teacher, “she can play rhythm with the best.” Our jam sessions demonstrated that that assessment is absolutely correct. <br><br>
But she is a ukulele player, not a guitarist. She has set up an SG lookalike with 4 strings to that she can play it like an amplified baritone uke or a tenor guitar.<br><br>
Our almost weekly breakfast came. Initially, I tried the indirect approach. “We are willing to go as a trio but would like to find a rhythm guitarist.” “Well, maybe you’ll find somebody.” She then mentioned a friend who had expressed an interest. “He’s been sick and doesn’t have the time to get ready.” “Oh, I thought that he always wants to play.”<br><br>
“Any other suggestions?” “No.”<br><br>
Okay, how about the direct approach? “Would you like to try it?” Sue paused. I thought, “Oh, come on, don’t even think about saying ‘no.’ Say ‘yes’ please.” After what seemed like an abnormally long pause, she said, “I’ll check it out and see if it is something that I can and want to do.”<br><br>
A conditional acceptance was good enough for me. As an eternal optimist, my belief was that, once she gets into the camaraderie of the band and the flow of the music, she would play. “We’re practicing today at 1:00 at the Doghouse.”<br><br>
We were back to a four-piece. “And on rhythm uku-tar -- or guit-ulele -- or whatever, my sister, Sue T!” Hey, this is really going to be fun!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href=""></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Sue_T.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1867952012-07-05T23:15:00-07:002017-02-01T15:17:33-08:00Cowabunga! The Surfer Dude Speaks<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/d9848868db46ee99a95492f4d4c6ab98390bed1a/medium/Poster7-22-12half.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="348" width="225" />For the upcoming July Sunday Surf Party, we had to add some new items to our pre-gig check list. Changes beget changes. <br><br>
Find new bass player. Check. Find a new rhythm guitar player. Check (if rhythm “uke” counts). Learn to play enough songs together to make up a set. In progress. Practice, practice, practice. In progress.<br><br>
The check list also contains old items. Post announcements to websites. Check. Emails to critics and other media folks. Check. Create and print posters and fliers. Check. Put up and distribute posters and fliers. In progress.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/9ca0381f30eadef313b50584e899c926f18046b4/original/corazon-fair-trade_2215_45273316.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" style="width: 183px; height: 265px;" />And, of course, we have one recurring task which just will not go away and does not seem to get better with time: Work on guitar face. How about wearing a lucha libre mask with a built-in smile?<br><br>
Today, we added something else new to our promotional efforts. We did not add it out of necessity; instead, it is a product of fun. Whether it makes the pre-gig check list remains to be seen. It is a “new school” promotional tool. It is so new school that I have not seen it used. To be truthful, I really have not looked.<br><br>
Some time ago, the idea came for an animated “poster” for today’s digital world. The little voice that usually questions whatever I am doing changed its tone and asked, “What if a poster could talk?” Video posters! They could go on a website or Facebook. <br><br>
Imagining the Lava Pup turning around in a car seat, looking to the viewer, and pimping an upcoming show was easy. In another imagined feature (or “talking poster”), the Pup could promote our multi-use bag (AKA “poop bag”) dispenser. The possibilities bumping around were endless.<br><br>
A talking poster surely would be a hoot. Of course, Mr. Practical Voice threw a bucket of water on that creative spark, “Too hard. Too time-consuming. Too juvenile. You don’t know what you’re doing. You got a day job.” Etc., etc., etc. Another idea appeared to be doused by Mr. Practical Voice.<br><br>
But Mr. Practical Voice was not vigilant. While his back was turned, the smoldering embers of creativity flashed into flames. The Dreamer Voice fanned those flames and implored, “Use some of the animation stuff you have. Keep it simple. Go for ten seconds.” Mr. Practical Voice was silent, and the old MacBook and tablet were put to work.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/9e57655dc5213cb89980add8343ab98c83e39edb/original/Surf_Dude6-11.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="324" width="250" />Pixar and Disney do not have to worry. Mr. Practical Voice was right about juvenile and time-consuming. But who really cares? We do this for the fun!<br><br>
Meet the Surfer Dude, who joins the Lava Pup in our first -- a perhaps only -- video poster. <a target="_new" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6BeH7DDl64g"> <b>Check it out</b></a>.<br><br>
Cowabunga! <br><br><br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href=""></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Surf_Dude6-11.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1860672012-07-03T14:40:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:16-08:00Rerun: Reflections on the Fourth of July<b><u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Editor's Note</span></u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">: </span></b><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"> Last year on July 4, we posted "What our special 'thank yous' (the plural of thank you) mean." When you read this, you will understand why that post is being updated and rerun.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/40c6758c902539e008a60ffcdf79f79e6d3f53e9/medium/Dad17-4-12.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="364" width="350" /><br><br>
If you read the inside jacket of “Into the Flow,” you observed that we had one side headed “Thank You To.” Perhaps you were wondering what brought about the thank yous.<br><br>
Before giving some answers, I will digress a bit. Today is the Fourth of July -- Independence Day for those of us in the United States. 236 years ago, thirteen colonies declared their independence from England. Our “founding fathers” wrote in the Declaration of Independence: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”<br><br>
Those are lofty truths. But this blog is not about political or social comment. You can go to any number of blogs which call Democrats “socialists” or “Communists” or Republicans “fascists.” The “blogishere” is filled with political vitriol, hate, jingoism, racism, xenophobia, homophobia, extremism, ignorance, intolerance, misinformation, and too many more “phobias” and “isms” than we have space to list.<br><br>
The people listed on the CD jacket have not fallen or did not fall prey to the purveyors of “phobias” and “isms.” The people listed on the CD jacket all helped or inspired us in some way. Some of that help or inspiration is personal to me.<br><br>
Many are alive. Their support and roles have been regular parts of our blog. Some of the people listed are iconic and need no introduction or discussion.<br><br>
Some are dead. They are the ones about whom I am thinking today. Art Traugh mentored me professionally. He was a good friend and confidant. He had an insatiable curiosity, diverse interests, an infectious laugh and keen eye for the truth. He also had pure pitch and a wonderful and natural ear for music. I have a bagful of harmonicas, which I cannot play a lick, to keep up his memory. He played them by ear. But his inspiration and help have little to do with music. Instead, they are part of my everyday life. <br><br>
Sharon Patalon was Becky’s best friend. Like Art, she had a wide-range of interests and ready and willing laugh and quip. She was dealt a horrible hand when it came to her health. She died young. But she never complained about her fate. Rather, she made sure that she enjoyed each moment and that she shared that enjoyment with others. She was a natural musician and, despite her weakened health and hampered dexterity, joined us for jams. I had the privilege of hearing her when she was strong and dexterous. I wish that others could have had that privilege. Again like Art, her touch has little to do with music.<br><br>
Byron Blackburn was a man whom I never got to know as well as I would have liked. Like Sharon, he died young. He gave freely of his time to anybody who approached him. He was a jazz musician who had the humility to remember when he played blues or rock ‘n roll. He encouraged people to play music and promoted the importance of having a vital live music scene in Sacramento. I never saw him turn away an aspiring musician who had questions or sought guidance.<br><br>
Tommy Van Wormer was a regular on the Sacramento improvisational jazz scene. But he was no longer a performer. He kept a visual history through thousands of photographs. He was a walking encyclopedia of music and a fount of other information -- important to arcane. He approached everything that he did with passion but maintained enough cynicism to avoid becoming a zealot. He encouraged people to follow their muses. He too died young.<br><br>
Sharon, Byron, and Tommy encouraged me to play despite my limitations. Each was inspiring both in words and in example. The CD jacket is correct: “We miss each of them every day.”<br><br>
The last line on the inside of the CD jacket thank you page is “our Dads for letting us find our own way.”<br><br>
That line has a particular resonance to me on the Fourth of July. Four years ago on the Fourth of July, my Dad died. He was inspirational and an example. He truly let me and my sisters find our own ways. But this is not the place or time to redo his eulogy. Once I took up guitar in my old age, he was encouraging. Even though he was wheelchair-bound, he attended a Christmas “recital” by the East Sacramento Guitar Orchestra. When I think about that, I chuckle a bit. Even though I was past 60, I was happy to have my parents at a “recital.” My Dad helped make me feel like a schoolboy again -- nervous and hoping to be lost in the orchestra but proud to be there. I am lucky that he was alive for that.<br><br>
On this Fourth of July, in addition to thinking about what independence means to you, please reflect on those who have gone before, those who died too young or too soon, and those who inspired or encouraged you to do whatever you do or be whatever you can. That reflection gives meaning to the oft-repeated "life's too short." <br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href=""></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Dad17-4-12-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1850102012-06-30T02:50:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:16-08:00A Set List: It May Not Be Rocket Science But . . .<b><u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/8a0bbe2e2b69d6d8bc0bdf767a6c313788f1b252/medium/Lava-Pup7-4-11.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="320" width="240" />Editor’s Note</span></u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">:</span></b><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"> We are including the Independence Pup with this post. Our July 4 post will be solemn. So, today, we say, “Happy Fourth of July!”<br><br>
Figuring out what we are doing means figuring out what we are going to play. Yes, we have to have a set list.<br><br>
More than a year ago, we wrote about developing a set list in a blog. Then, the whole “live thing” was totally new. As time went by, we added songs to our “inventory” -- usually out of necessity. Somewhere along the line, we could “mix and match” depending on how long we were playing and whether we were playing with another band. Creating a set list became easier. Still, to continue growing, we tried out a new tune or two almost each time we played.<br><br>
As you know, the landscape changed. So building a set list for the July Sunday Surf Party meant going back to basics. Or was it an opportunity to tweak the focus of the band? Remember Paul’s words, “It’s what you make of it.” <br><br>
Tweaking might not be a bad idea. Most people who attend our performances are not true surf devotees. Many are family and friends who are there to support us; they are quick to say that instrumental surf is not necessarily their favorite music. Some tell us that they like the atmosphere of retro rock played in a family-friendly venue where they can sit, listen, eat, drink, commune, and maybe bowl. They sing along or nod approvingly to recognizable covers. Go too far astray, and noses wrinkle and brows furrow.<br><br>
Except for a few surf aficionados, nobody knows -- or cares -- whether Mr. Moto or Penetration or Pipeline is played true to the originals. Alternate or tremolo picked versions of some “standards” probably do not float as many boats as we might think or hope. Our audience prefers the Ventures to Dick Dale. New songs go over only if they seem or feel similar to old ones.<br><br>
Besides, the Sneaky Tikis will bring high energy, alternate picked surf music to the July Sunday Surf Party. They will play the “classics” in a style that I love: Uptempo, loud, heavy tremolo picking, glissandos, trading leads. They will demonstrate exceptional skills and talent. In Becky’s words, “they are <i><b>UN</b></i>believable!” <br><br>
So our set list should give the audience a chance to catch its breath. The set can be a contrast to the power and energy of the Sneaky Tikis. It can offer something fresh to the audience’s ears. Besides, let’s be real, we cannot come close to the Sneaky Tikis at their game of revved up surf rock.<br><br>
Finally, the Pups will not be the same as before. Our band will have a different personality. Our set list must work with that personality (whatever it is).<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/596b0474fb01482cd9e6c75b62146bc096592b3c/medium/SetList7-22001.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="323" width="250" />Creating a set list is not rocket science. But it is more than throwing darts at a list of songs. The goal is to provide those who make the effort to come out to a show with something that fits their musical sensibilities, stays fresh from song-to-song, leaves them with some pleasant memories, makes them feel welcome and appreciated, and lets them know that we are having fun. <br><br><br><br><br><br>
Thinking about this stuff could bring on a headache. Or was it spilling coffee? Wait! Have to remember this is not rocket science. <br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href=""></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Lava-Pup7-4-11-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1839472012-06-26T11:35:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:15-08:00"Band Practice": Meet and Greet and Try To Figure Out What We're Doing<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Another step in regrouping would be figuring out what we are doing. And what we have to do to perform as a band. After all, we have a gig and started promoting it in earnest. We printed up posters and fliers, listed the gig on various websites, and sent out emails to elicit interest. Obviously, we were not doing this to fall on our faces.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/ee6a14fdbd3c289dede63b8e71a1dda386528e29/medium/IMG00224-20120214-1436.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="173" width="230" />Set list in hand, Robert, Glenn, and I gathered at the Doghouse. I invited my sister, Sue, to join us and play rhythm “uke” (more about that in a later post). She did. <br><br>
We were down to business quickly. Minimum time for beer, coffee, and kibitzing. We all were curious about how this was going to work out. Apparently recognizing the enormity of the task at hand, Sue and Robert prepared for a longer haul. They grabbed stools.<br><br>
“Let’s just go down the set list.” We started with Mr. Moto. As Robert had not played the song before and the chord sheet was Spartan, we went through the arrangement and Glenn’s drum cues. Robert jotted notes on the sheet. “Play the B flat and A parts.” I did. “That’s four B flats and six A’s.” I responded, “I don’t know. I just play.” We agreed that I would strive for some semblance of consistency.<br><br>
After several tries, we had Mr. Moto down. We were on to fine tuning. “What about the transition back to the first verse? Is it two bars of D minor?” “Yes, but we could add this.” “No additions yet. We’ll play two bars of D minor.”<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/fac5dd602a125c395957006ca1e62526f439fe77/medium/MrMoto_1.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="452" width="350" /><br><br>
We followed a similar process with the first seven songs on the set list. Some were easier than others. We also came up with some new arrangements. “What if we play that a bit faster?” “What if we put this riff here?”<br><br>
After arranging and annotating, we played the first seven songs through in order. We had usable arrangements. We were in agreement on how they would be played. Robert even started experimenting.<br><br>
We looked at the clock. 4:30. We had been working for three and one-half hours. The time had sped by -- a good sign. “I have to get home and barbeque a tri-tip for a 6:00 concert in the park. We better stop here.”<br><br>
As everybody packed up, I remembered how hard we had worked in the beginning to get the Lava Pups recording-ready and then gig-ready. That required focus and intensity. It was fun. And we now were working hard and having fun regrouping.<br><br>
Robert was the last to leave. He was enthusiastic -- a good sign from an experienced musician. He summed our first band practice up, “We got a lot done. And I can tell you now that the gig is really going to be fun!”<br><br>
Fun. Isn’t that what playing music is all about?<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href=""></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/MrMoto_1-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1825692012-06-22T22:50:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:15-08:00And Now, On Bass, Robert "Kool Kat" Kuhlmann!<span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)">The first step in regrouping was finding a bass player. The Lava Pups could perform as a trio. In fact, that was something on which we were working before Don announced his sabbatical.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/a3d889cb2454a546701974bcea39561ce0d36e2d/original/Robert.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="205" width="250" />After going through a mental check list of friends who play bass and might be interested, I picked up the phone and called Robert Kuhlmann. Certainly, he would bring a lot of musicality to the Pups. He teaches guitar, writes songs, and plays guitar and bass. Back in the 1980s, he fronted -- lead guitar and vocals -- an alternative rock band which played the clubs of Sacramento. Some music aficionados say that he was the best of the crop at the time. <br><br>
For the past decade or so, he has focused on jazz -- primarily free jazz. At the beginning of that period, he was the guitarist for his eponymous quartet. For the last few years, he has played electric bass -- actually lead bass -- in Chikading, which is a SAMMIE-nominated jazz trio.<br><br>
Robert is a real musician.<br><br>
Robert is open-minded musically. Maybe that is due to his skills as a lyricist or just his outlook on life. In any event, unlike some jazz players, he does not look upon rock ‘n roll as some bastard stepchild to be shunned. Nor does he approach rock as being somehow infradignitatem. Rather, he has attended a couple of performances of the Lava Pups, complimented us, and offered encouragement of my rock ‘n roll fantasies. He repeatedly emphasizes how important playing in front of people is to becoming a better musician and getting full enjoyment out of music.<br><br>
My entreaty was straightforward. “Do you want to be in a rock ‘n roll band? I can’t guarantee that you’ll make any money at all. But so far we’ve put fannies in the seats. You’ll get to play in front of more folks than at the usual free jazz gig in Sacramento.” I then explained how Don announced a sabbatical and the Lava Pups was reduced to half of a band. The prospect of playing with the Sneaky Tikis was added to sweeten the pitch.<br><br>
Irrespective of whether it was my finely honed sales pitch or the prospect of playing live, Robert did not hesitate. “I’m on board. It may not be for the long-term. But I’ll play a couple of gigs for sure. What’s the time commitment?”<br><br>
“We probably should practice once a week.” <br><br>
“I don’t know that I can make that. But, if you give me the chord charts and MP3s, we’ll make it work.”<br><br>
Not bad. One telephone call and we were back to three-quarters of a surf band. In fact, we were an instrumental trio. With the buzz about the Sneaky Tikis and some time and practice, we could make this work. <br><br>
Isn’t it what you make of it?<br><br>
Now, I need to start rehearsing, “And on bass, Robert ‘Kool Kat’ Kuhlmann!”<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href=""></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Robert.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1809212012-06-19T22:20:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:15-08:00It's What You Make of It!<span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)">If you have been reading this blog, some of the following is not news. But, after a bunch of posts on the Sierra Surf Music Camp, a brief summary may help bring us back to the trials and tribulations of the Lava Pups. <br><br>
We went to camp and played a short set before the Pyronauts took the stage. At camp, the Sneaky Tikis made their debut performance. They were Paul’s prodigies plus a precocious bass player. We suggested a Sunday Surf Party at the Capitol Bowl. They and their parents were on board with that.<br><br>
We knew that Paul would be gone as, the week after camp, he and Cheri were moving five hours away to their dream house, lives away from the foothills and their families, and Paul’s new business -- the Ferndale Music Company. Within a few days after camp ended, Don announced that he was taking the summer off from the band. <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/6697642fc11572f13bbfae630790aae097e35768/medium/LastGig.jpg?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="186" width="240" />Suddenly, we were half a band.<br><br>
Was our Friday night appearance at camp the final curtain for the Lava Pups?<br><br>
Even though he may be five hours away, Paul’s advice potentially was an email exchange away. Compose. Send.<br><br>
I asked, “Is the glass half full or half empty?” The pertinent part of his response was four words: “It’s what you make of it.”<br><br>
As any of us knows, that advice was absolutely correct. The choice was ours. Mope or move on. Stagnate or regroup. Stop or step forward. After all, when we embarked upon the idea of recording the songs we wrote, none of what happened later was envisioned. The Lava Pups, performing, etc. were not part of the equation. I easily could say, “We did the unexpected and had fun. It is more than most folks can say. That joy ride is over. Cool.”<br><br>
The reality, however, is that playing live is almost addictive. It creates a certain elation that pumps energy and excitement through a body. No matter how nervous or apprehensive you may be, you are entertaining somebody for some brief period of time. You get to be the focus of somebody else’s attention albeit if only for two or three bars of a song. You prove to yourself that you can stand up in front of a roomful of people or a few of your family and friends, overcome inhibitions and talent deficits, and deliver something resembling music. Throw in a band, and the experience is even more exhilarating.<br><br>
So packing up and being a closet guitar player was out of the question. How do you go back to the farm after you have seen San Francisco, New York, or most other cities? Well, that is a bit of hyperbole but you get the drift. Besides we had a potential gig with the Sneaky Tikis. Thus, the task was to move on and get the Lava Pups reconstituted quickly and ready to step back on stage.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/d9848868db46ee99a95492f4d4c6ab98390bed1a/medium/Poster7-22-12half.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="371" width="240" />Within a short time after Don announced his sabbatical, we enlisted a bass player, talked to a possible rhythm guitarist, booked the Capitol Bowl, and cranked out a poster.<br><br>
Yes indeed, it is what you make of it! <br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href=""></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Poster7-22-12half-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1792322012-06-15T17:50:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:15-08:00Camp Chronicles (19): Camp's Out . . . Guitar Face 101 Next Year?<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Well, you probably thought that these posts never would end. Today, they do. Thank you for taking the time to read some or all of them.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/e4c5fdf3a45fe34e525b7c9b9de29306bf3a5289/medium/282927_324726620943055_100002171605192_748180_1839828006_n.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="233" width="350" /><br><br>
After Dan’s Fred Zeitler ghost story, we straggled down the “main street” of the Donner Mine Camp. Campers, instructors, families, and friends headed back to cabins, dorms, campsites, trailers, and (in Don’s case) pickups where they slept during camp. The excitement of Sunday night’s concert continued to pulse through everybody’s minds and memories. But they knew that the fun would end sometime after breakfast in the morning.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/f28568991d06d30c4b29af9d14f843dc83d171fc/medium/Dan_Anne.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="180" width="240" />At breakfast, the unsung pillars of the camp -- Dan and Anne Beatie -- greeted us as they had for every meal. They were incredibly gracious as hosts. They also had labored to make the inaugural Sierra Surf Music Camp a success. With the help of a few of the campers, Dan and Anne prepared, served, and cleaned up after every meal and saw that the fires were stoked. They kept the camp going. They attended to the tiniest details to assure everything went smoothly. And importantly to me, Anne gave me Motrin when like a kid I had exceeded my energy zone.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/9be1cabb35c7bb816cc73e6a2527cfdf5964ac06/medium/Happy_Campers.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="188" width="250" />Even though camp was ending, the experience had the campers smiling and jovial as we said our good-byes. Folks exchanged cards. Bruce had a supply of business cards and flyers for the Reef Riders at the ready in his car.<br><br><br><br>
Camp also was an opportunity for continuing to nurture and spread our love of surf music. I talked to the Sneaky Tikis and their parents about playing with the Lava Pups at the Capitol Bowl in the future. Later, I remembered that Dusty had announced Sunday night that he had signed them to a management contract. Did I talk to the wrong folks? Oh, surely he was joking!?!<br><br>
The end was near, but the instructors still had pearls of wisdom for us faux musicians. Bob Bitchin’: “It’s okay to be apprehensive, but don’t be afraid.” Ferenc Dobronyi: “Buying equipment does not make you better.” In the back of my mind, I wondered if Becky put him up to that.<br><br>
The inaugural camp introduced the Sneaky Tikis, allowed us hear the history of surf music from the people who lived that history, strengthened the bonds between the “Waves,” showed us that the music is participatory irrespective of talent level, and taught us that strangers can come together as performers with good coaches. We found out that, despite their immense talents, the superstars of surf music are affable, accessible, accommodating, and eager to share their knowledge and experiences. <br><br>
Yes, indeed, for a Memorial Day weekend, the hills had been alive with the sound of reverb! And that was fun.<br><br>
As Becky and I headed off to our packed car, a realization struck. We did not have a class on guitar face. That means that a second annual Sierra Surf Music Camp is necessary for Guitar Face 101. <br><br>
Be there, aloha!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/282927_324726620943055_100002171605192_748180_1839828006_n-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1786942012-06-14T21:30:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:15-08:00Camp Chronicles (18): Art and Exercise with Jim Lee and Rikki Styxx<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">We are true to our word. This is the penultimate post. Thank you for sticking with us for three weeks. <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/6d3991790e3683af82b820677c868ac00ffc66e8/medium/IMG_2155.JPG?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="263" width="350" /><br><br>
Sierra Surf Music Camp was not about just music and performance. Paul sought to interest those like Becky, Jean, Cheri, and others who did not come to camp to play music. He also wanted to add some diversion for everybody. His plan was for every camper -- musician, faux musician, and other -- to have a full and enjoyable experience.<br><br>
When I was a kid, teachers knew that they could keep a class of energetic children busy by handing out paper, pencils, crayons, and paints. Maybe Paul had the same experience. He enlisted Jim Lee to hand out paper and paints and to share his artistic ideas, techniques, and insights with any camper who had a hankering to draw or paint. <br><br>
Becky, Jean, and Cheri were regulars for Surf Art. But other campers snuck in to draw or paint. Ivan of Ivan and the Terribles demonstrated his talents with line drawings which conjured up memories of Ed Roth and other practitioners of “low-brow art.” Tim -- the Surf Miners drummer -- spent his free time on Sunday afternoon drawing away and clearing his mind for our performance. Ferenc made use of Jim Lee’s water color pens to whet his artistic cravings.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/e1e760db0cb670fcbe33d5582357d5faec5aad96/medium/Jim_Art.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="280" width="235" />Jim Lee is an artist who paints out of love for the process and his subject matter. He studied art and printmaking in Guam, Portland, Monterey, and Rocklin. Following his passions and his life experiences, his work blends surfing, Polynesian history, and Eastern philosophy. But as a resident of the California foothills, he has been unable to resist the urge to paint landscapes. The colors and textures of the foothills are Sirens for artists.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/fd35e83c9f75e665a0adef436e257139266cf11c/medium/Rikki_Paul.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="188" width="250" />Mornings at camp began with stretching and other exercises which I assiduously avoided. Rikki Styxx -- Dusty Watson’s wife -- was in charge. Her contributions to camp life extended beyond her designated role of fitness director. For two and a half days, she was a surf music fan and all-around assistant. She lent a hand where needed and took photos. Between her and Becky, a full album of photos exists. She and some of the younger campers choreographed dance moves for the performances by the Surf Camp All-Stars and Paul Johnson.<br><br>
Possibly unknown to most campers, Rikki Styxx is a musician of note in her own right. We caught a glimpse of her talents when she joined Paul Johnson and his all-star band on Sunday night on drums for one tune. Earlier this year, she drummed at Coachella with the band Kiss Kiss-Bang Bang. Their song -- “Love Me Kill Me” -- was featured on Little Steven’s Underground Garage as the Coolest Song in the World. Little Steven gets approximately one-half of my radio listening.<br><br>
Yes, camp was not just about music. It was about friendship, camaraderie, and fun. As we drove home, Becky said, “I took my Kindle and expected to be bored. But I never opened the Kindle and ran out of time to do everything that I wanted.” By that anecdotal measure, Paul’s plan succeeded.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Jim_Art-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1780682012-06-13T20:45:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:15-08:00Camp Chronicles (17): Encore and Living Up to the Hype<b><u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Editor’s Note</span></u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">:</span></b><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"> Announcing good news to you readers. Once you get through this post, only two more are coming.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/9822bba437e5f7cbc676d4ea76c2ef1bdea2e668/medium/Sneakys.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="233" width="350" /><br><br>
Often folks have difficulty living up to the hype. The buzz began on Saturday with the band listings. It built on Saturday night when Paul the Pyronaut brought the Sneaky Tikis on stage with the Surf Camp All-Stars. By 10:00 p.m. on Sunday, everything was ready to explode.<br><br>
The Sneaky Tikis played. They had lived up to the hype!<br><br>
Yells of “encore” rained down throughout the amphitheater. I am sure that the forest creatures of the night were shouting “encore” too as was the ghost of Fred Zeitler, who started the Zeibright Mine.<br><br>
Paul the Pyronaut grabbed the microphone and shouted, “Wipe Out, Baby!” Lukas pounded out the drum intro which is familiar to everybody in the world. You do not have to be a surf music devotee to recognize the beginning of “Wipe Out.”<br><br>
The surf jam was on! Soon, the Pyronauts stepped in. Instruments were handed off. Tim seamlessly moved to the drums. And the Pyronauts were playing “Wipe Out.” Then Dusty Watson took over. At some point, Dusty and Lukas were playing the kit while Tim lie on the concrete in front of the kick drum playing it with his sticks. Paul the Pyronaut moved the microphone to capture three generations of drummers playing at once.<br><br>
Campers, families, and faculty were standing. They were caught up in the excitement and energy.<br><br>
The instruments and stage returned to the Sneaky Tikis. They finished off the raucous jam which began with the shout of “Wipe Out.”<br><br>
Cheers. Hoots. Hollers. Applause. The entire camp communed on the floor of the amphitheater. Congratulations were exchanged. Proud parents grinned from ear-to-ear knowing that their sons had lived up to the hype and delivered high-energy and fun instrumental surf music. High fives. Fist bumps. Hand shakes. Hugs.<br><br>
Were we ready for the Fourth Wave? Hey, the Third Wave is not gone yet as shown by the playing of the Pyronauts, Matt Quilter, and Ferenc Dobronyi. Dusty Watson and John Blair had their feet in both the Second and Third Waves. The Third Wave still was going strong.<br><br>
“Fourth Wave” had a nice sound to it though as we just had had a glimpse of the future.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/8e81dac0acd49d4c2bffaaf7c2fe14e2e56c3ae5/medium/campfire.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="180" width="240" />But before the night could end, everybody gathered around the campfire before it flickered out to hear Dan -- our host -- told us of the ghost of Fred Zeitler. <br><br>
Pleasant dreams!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/campfire-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/624992012-06-12T21:00:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:05-08:00Camp Chronicles (16): The Sneaky Tikis Kick Out the Jams (or These Kids Can Really Play!)<b><u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Editor’s Note</span></u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">:</span></b><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"> These chronicles started out as “letters” from Sierra Surf Music Camp. But the notes and rough drafts written at the time of camp were longer than any letter. We hope that you are not exhausted yet. The good news is that we are nearing the finish.<br><br>
As the No Name IV unplugged, the grand finale was minutes away. Paul the Pyronaut, who was camp co-director and Birthday Boy the night before, had stacked the deck for the last band. He combined three of his young prodigies who had played together several times with a young bass player who has chops. They were previewed the night before when they were on stage with The Pyronauts and the Surf Camp All-Stars.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/ff61f3b76d03801b485624e3b896ba338cebe6a4/medium/IMG_2321.JPG?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="263" width="350" /><br><br>
The crowd was buzzing as the last band of the night plugged in. Dusty Watson -- their coach -- introduced his band of precocious young musicians. They dubbed themselves “The Sneaky Tikis.” Recognizing the skill to which we were about to be treated, Dusty announced into the microphone, “I’ve already signed them a management contract.” Egged on by Paul the Pyronaut and their parents, the campers, instructors, and spouses cheered after the introduction.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/0312250a96caea5963f1916a7cf0e7f748cd9c6c/medium/Sneaky_2.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="176" width="235" />Paul’s students -- Lucas Kuhn, Lukas Brodie, and Robbie Longacre -- with Greg Trujillo on bass were ready to play. In fact, Lukas and Robbie were eager to play since the concert began a little more than two hours earlier. They had been moving and fidgeting about and were unable to sit still. Amazingly, none of their energy had dissipated.<br><br>
The Sneaky Tikis launched headlong into “Mike’s Barracuda,” an alternate-picked, high energy original written by Bob Bitchin’ of the Pyronauts. One common thought filled the heads of everybody in the audience from proud parents to fellow campers to instructors: “These kids are really good!”<br><br>
Energy filled the amphitheater. Alternate picking. Tremolo picking. Glissandos. Incredibly strong drums and bass -- a rhythm section mature way beyond the years of the players. Lucas and Robbie exchanged leads as the Sneaky Tikis blasted through their set. “Mike’s Barracuda.” “Penetration.” “Pipeline.” “Miserlou.”<br><br>
Somewhere along the line, these kids had had stage presence tutoring. No guitar face lessons were needed. They strutted their stuff. As they finished “Miserlou,” the Sneaky Tikis let us know that they are part of the future of instrumental surf music. They held their hands above their heads and shouted, “Fourth Wave. Fourth Wave. Fourth Wave.”<br><br>
Standing ovation. Camera flashes. The audience moved toward the stage. Paul the Pyronaut was with the band exchanging high fives. He was as proud of his prodigies as their parents.<br><br>
Everybody emoted a collective “wow!” The future of instrumental surf music is in good hands.<br><br>
The applause and cheers continued and were building. Clearly, the night was not over.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/d3df17cb8a6d2f872a2db5dc7461f7213156b30a/medium/Sneaky_1.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_bottom border_" alt="" height="214" width="350" /><br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Sneaky_2-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1771502012-06-11T20:45:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:15-08:00Camp Chronicles (15): The Big Sound of Mosrite and the No Name IV<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><b><u>Editor’s Note</u>:</b> These chronicles started out as “letters” from Sierra Surf Music Camp. But the notes and rough drafts written at the time of camp were longer than any letter. We hope that you are not exhausted yet. The good news is that we are on the downhill side.<br><br>
Add more wood to the campfire; the night was not over by any stretch. We still had bands to go including Paul the Pyronaut’s young prodigies. Paul Johnson and the All-Stars showed to what we all could aspire. Obviously, some of us have less time to pursue that goal than others.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/e67c213a12449a83069758e8ee97ac394d7bb018/medium/IMG_2317.JPG?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="263" width="350" /><br><br>
The No Name IV was taking the stage. Coached by John Blair, the band seemed to have more seasoned players than the prior bands. Don was on bass. To me, that meant a head start on any other band of campers. Fritz, Joe, and Jim Lee made up the rest of the band.<br><br>
Fritz and Joe are both big fans of Gretsch guitars. They met before at Gretsch gatherings. For surf music camp, however, they were Mosrite guys. Fritz possibly was a luthier in a prior life. He was playing a Mosrite lookalike which he had refinished, changed out the neck, and modified or replaced the electronics.<br><br>
Jim Lee was on drums. Artist. Tai Chi instructor. And drummer! To some of us that is one well-rounded and talented man. Somebody who is less-informed or not creative-oriented might conclude those are multiple ways to waste time. To my way of thinking, folks like that are destined to lifetimes as hamsters on a wheel. We only can hope that they eventually realize the importance of creativity, diversions, and music.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/ed5f5a0d355a3a35c448bed7ac34a38bc1cd7e04/medium/IMG_2176.JPG?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="180" width="240" />John Blair’s coaching had been hands-on. The No Name IV played along with him for their four hours of band practice.<br><br>
As the No Name IV launched into “Surf Beat” to begin their performance, Fritz’ lead was a sonic explosion. Huge. Reverb drenched and powerful. While marveling to Becky about Paul Johnson’s performance, I had not paid attention to whether Fritz had adjusted the reverb unit. All I knew was that his sound was distinctive and deeper than anything we had heard on a night of Strat leads.<br><br>
Showing their experience, the No Name IV played a three-song set. They followed “Surf Beat” with “Penetration” and “Roadrunner.” Their “Roadrunner” was not based upon the classic Wailers’ instrumental song which backed “Tall Cool One.” Instead, it worked off of the later Bo Diddley song. “I’m a road runner, honey. Beep! Beep!”<br><br>
John Blair videoed part of the performance on his iPad. Ironically, no matter how much homage we pay to the past, somehow we always end up bringing some high tech gadget into the mix. <br><br>
As the No Name IV finished, John Blair yelled out his approval, accented it with a punch into the air, and applauded enthusiastically. He clearly enjoyed the band that he had coached and its performance. Hands-on. Fun. And seeing results in two days. What more could there be for a coach/instructor?<br><br>
Just how big was Fritz’ sound? Within a few days after camp, Don and I were talking about Mosrite licensed copies and a source for pick-ups to be dropped into P90 slots. Damn, here comes that gotta-have-it itch!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG_2176-300.JPG" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1767962012-06-10T20:15:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:15-08:00Camp Chronicles (14): Paul Johnson And An All-Star Band Make It Look So Easy<b><u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Editor’s Note</span></u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">:</span></b><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"> These chronicles started out as “letters” from Sierra Surf Music Camp. But the notes and rough drafts written at the time of camp were longer than any letter. We hope that you are not exhausted yet. The good news is that we are on the downhill side.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/5fb6f8d263884129b75e75a737316ebc65bebf4b/medium/IMG_2310.JPG?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="263" width="350" /><br><br>
The time had arrived for one of the highlights of the Sunday night concert. Paul Johnson took the stage again. This time, he was the star. Strat fixed to his shoulder like an appendage and backed by an all-star band, Paul Johnson was about to entertain us. <br><br>
Becky had her camera going. She understood the import of the moment. Paul Johnson, John Blair, Matt Quilter, and Dusty Watson were all on one stage -- first, second, and third waves together! The other campers got it too. Camera flashes added to the rising sparks as new logs were thrown on the camp fire.<br><br>
Paul Johnson was in his performance mode. As he played, he stripped off his ever-present parka to reveal a flannel jacket. He was there to remind us of the roots of surf music. This was not the double-picked, glissando-driven surf music which the Pyronauts and the Surf Camp All-Stars played the prior two nights. This was melodic, precisely played instrumental rock ‘n roll which showed us the role of dynamics. The camp fire provided the only pyrotechnics.<br><br>
No frills. No wasted effort. Just a master in pure harmony with his instrument and totally at peace in the environment of playing. His smile and easy-going demeanor would have lit up the amphitheater even without a fire. <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/890512f139e06cb6f800cb91093018178151de18/medium/P_JAll_Stars.jpg?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="188" width="250" />Mr. Moto. Apache. Baja. Kamikaze. Squad Car. As the band played The Theme from Endless Summer, I was so glad that the Surf Miners eschewed that song. Anything that we could have done would have paled in comparison with Paul Johnson and the All-Star Band.<br><br>
His rendition of California Dreamin’ reminded all of us of how nicely structured that song really is. Was I too hasty in tossing it aside as a candidate for California’s official rock song? If California Dreamin’ was good enough for Paul Johnson, it should be good enough for the rest of us!<br><br>
In Surf 101 on Friday night, he told us of the influence which Duane Eddy had on him and early surf music. His playing Ramrod showed that that influence remained to this day. Paul Johnson’s presentation was that of a devoted student of an earlier time and the golden years of instrumental rock.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/4a41543865b6a84caefaad9a4852d15a654dd7ed/medium/Paul_Johnson_rocks.jpg?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="307" width="230" />Ferenc moved around the stage with his camera. He also had a piece of firewood to use in place of a tripod to steady his shots. He photographed the performance from different angles adding an artistic touch to his photos.<br><br>
Paul Johnson and each of the All-Stars played with an ease and economy which we are lucky enough to see in experienced players. They know that their skills -- not histrionics -- is what an audience wants from them. Their hands are molded to the instruments that they play. In a Zen sense, they are at one with their instruments. I noticed this five years ago when Paul Johnson played with Slacktone during Dusty Watson’s fiftieth birthday at Suzy’s. <br><br>
The set closed with a medley of songs by one of the most influential guitarists of my lifetime. Rumble. Jack the Ripper. Rawhide. Three Link Wray classics.<br><br>
The audience stood, applauded, and cheered. More camera flashes. Paul Johnson acknowledged the adulation with a humble “Thank you.”<br><br>
I turned to Becky and asked, “Did you get all of that?” Her response was disappointing, “No, my memory card was full in the middle.” Well, at least, we have our memories of one really amazing performance in the Sierras on a Sunday night.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG_2310-300.JPG" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1765972012-06-09T21:25:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:15-08:00Camp Chronicles (13): "Muck Bucket" Time<b><u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Editor’s Note</span></u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">:</span></b><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"> These chronicles started out as “letters” from Sierra Surf Music Camp. But the story was bigger than a letter. We hope that you are not exhausted yet. The good news is that we are on the downhill side.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/ceafc009fe8c24cf829d9c1b81a3a60fd9065aa1/medium/SurfMiners.jpg?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="216" width="350" /><br><br>
The Surf Miners were up. We walked on to the stage. Robert went to the amp stage right and plugged in. I unzipped Brett’s double bass gig bag and pulled out the Olympic White Fender Jazz bass that he let me use. No adjustment to the strap was necessary; the bass sat right under my paunch. Bruce plugged into the amp on stage left.<br><br>
We each made some noise with our instruments. Matt Quilter adjusted the bass amp. Bruce and Robert tuned. As readers of this blog know, my approach to tuning is that that is something which might be done once a day. I tuned Brett’s bass earlier in the day. No reason to depart from my approach now.<br><br>
Paul Johnson was on stage with us. We looked around. Where’s Tim? We did not have drummer on stage with us. I walked up to the mic and made some kind of drummer and forgetting to go to the bathroom joke. How puerile was that? Or was it the Motrin and wine talking?<br><br>
Tim came running down the hill from the Lodge. Had he forgotten his drum sticks? Or that last trip to the bathroom? We did not ask. The time had come for us to play. <br><br>
Paul Johnson announced, “Here are the Surf Miners. They’re mining the depths of surf music.” Laughter. “They wrote an original song. But they’re going to start with ‘Surf Party.’ Here they are. The Surf Miners!”<br><br>
Tim yelled, “Surf Party!” He was off to the races. And I mean the races. The tempo was way faster than anything we had practiced. This was a test of the mantra. Stay on the root. Stay on the root. Bruce tried to keep up, but Tim’s pace was too fast. Bruce stopped. Tim and I then stopped. We -- the Surf Miners’ rhythm section -- really had been cooking.<br><br>
Mulligan! The Surf Miners started up again at a pace that worked for everybody. We played through the whole song. Applause. Bruce then looked to me with the inquiring look of whether I would like to introduce our original song. And I responded, “You’re on lead. It’s all yours.” <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/c024a499b998e47a76994e284eece8e298939407/medium/SurfMiners_2.jpg?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="188" width="250" />He announced “Muck Bucket,” and our song was debuting to the world. As we played, Brett’s words of wisdom and my mantra for the performance played over and over in my mind. Play the root. Play the root. Nothing fancy. Play the root. That guided me until the little walk down that Paul suggested at the end of our earlier practice. I executed the walk down with aplomb. We looked to Bruce and played the final F on cue; “Muck Bucket” was in the books.<br><br>
I felt like we hit that one. No muck ups. We had played what would turn out to be the only original song written during camp for Sunday night. Enthusiastic applause. Somebody yelled from the audience, “What was the name of that?” I leaned into the microphone, “Muck Bucket!” May not have mastered guitar face but getting better at mic.<br><br>
As I tucked Brett’s bass back into the gig bag, I thought, “Film at 11:00, and we’ll see if we did as well as this feels.” <br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/SurfMiners-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1764332012-06-08T23:30:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:15-08:00Camp Chronicles (12): A Cat with a Pompadour - Ivan and the Terribles<b><u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Editor’s Note</span></u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">:</span></b><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"> These chronicles started out as “letters” from Sierra Surf Music Camp. But the story was bigger than a letter. We hope that you are not exhausted yet. The good news is that we are on the downhill side.<br><br>
The applause for the Glitter Riptide Tiki Surf subsided. Next up. Ivan and the Terribles. Everybody in this band had a family member or two in camp, which was truly family friendly. Over the years, Paul the Pyronaut has voiced repeatedly his preference for all-age, family-friendly venues. Why should camp be any different?<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/d368269396dfe325a1e86d834fdf962a730186b8/medium/IMG_2283.JPG?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="263" width="350" /><br><br>
Ivan and the Terribles featured Dave March on guitar, our Glenn on drums, and the fathers of two of Paul’s prodigies on bass and guitar -- Defender Jon and Ivan Longacre. They had built-in cheering sections. Cheri for her grandfather Dave. Jean for Glenn. In addition to their prodigy sons, the wives of Defender Jon and Ivan were in the audience. Matt Quilter -- the band’s coach -- also had brought his wife to camp.<br><br>
If the Sunday Concert was a competition to be based on an Applause-O-Meter, Ivan and the Terribles had a leg up on the other bands. But we were at camp for fun and camaraderie, not a battle of the bands. Besides, as we all knew, the fix was in.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/97a42ae6525bb72526b0280a6f4991716274b173/medium/IMG_2281.JPG?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="188" width="250" />Ivan brought a bit of rockabilly attitude to the stage. Pompadour. Side burns. Black leather jacket with a Sun Records patch. Chain hanging off his black pants. Black Converse Chuck Taylor hightops. But rather than a rockabilly sneer, he wore a mischievous smile and a twinkle in his eye throughout camp.<br><br>
Jon, Glenn, and Dave gave the band a touch of gray hair. Not only did Matt coach and introduce the band, he joined the players on stage with his guitar. He gave them another surf guy, as Ivan clearly was not a “surf guy.”<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/c6507bcb7067917e9c3f6d739e5fc24eea867675/medium/IMG_2279.JPG?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="188" width="250" />They started with “Pipeline,” which featured Dave on lead. <br><br>
For their second song, Ivan and the Terribles turned to Ivan and Glenn to provide a Latin-influence. The band played a variation on “Malaguena” with Ivan on lead. Glenn’s rock solid beat made the song work really well. Ask him to play a Latin beat and Glenn shines.<br><br>
Ivan and the Terribles finished their two songs. Applause. Cheers. Shouts. Family members all beamed with pride. "Hey, that's my [Dad, Husband, Grandpa]."<br><br>
Add some wood to the fire. The Surf Miners were coming up.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG_2283-300.JPG" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1761342012-06-07T23:35:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:15-08:00Camp Chronicles (11): And Now the Glitter Riptide Tiki Surf!<b><u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Editor’s Note</span></u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">: </span></b><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">These chronicles started out as “letters” from Sierra Surf Music Camp. But the story was bigger than a letter. We hope that you are not exhausted yet. The good news is that we are on the downhill side.<br><br>
First up for the evening was the Glitter Riptide Tiki Surf. “Surf Miners” would sound pretty lame and unimaginative next to that. How about we use GRTS for short? “GRiTS?” “GReaTS?” Nope. We better stick with Glitter Riptide Tiki Surf.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/d74d3f34c59cf03d32dc381c1b07674dd703ec8f/medium/IMG_2252.JPG?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="173" width="230" />Coached by Tim Stephenson, the Glitter Rips (how about that?) took the stage. It included John and his daughters, Greta and Elia, from Oregon. Elia was the youngest camper at 10 and set up on keyboard stage left. No keyboard, no garage surf. Greta had a raspberry Daisy Rock bass and wore some matching clothing and nice pair of Buddy Holly style glasses. The bass amp was stage left too.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/b1686cc8fed821f95db5244cba9bf9bfbef1ad3f/medium/GRTS.jpg?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="281" width="375" /><br><br>
Between Greta and Elia and dressed in black was Kyle, Becky’s and my nephew. Even though he is a student of Paul the Pyronaut, the music that drives him is one or more of the 956 or 659 or some similarly large number genres of metal. A Schecter Omen is his guitar. Humbuckers and bats for neck markers. Not very surfy. But he was on stage and ready to go.<br><br>
On the far stage right was Greg, who is a truly hard core Dick Dale fan. Decked out in pegged denim pants and a black sleeveless Dick Dale tee, he proudly hung a gold Strat from his shoulder. That guitar displayed Dick Dale’s autograph. Over years of Dick Dale or Pyronaut shows, Greg always wears Dick Dale apparel. <br><br>
Tim walked up to the microphone and announced, “This is the Glitter Riptide Tiki Surf. Nobody can beat that name. Pipeline!” He took the drum throne. John started the opening glissando. The concert was underway.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/f21931fafcfe0b112534be8bacf714c21b7b9c8f/medium/GRTS_2.jpg?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="132" width="230" />Following “Pipeline,” the rest of the Glitter Ripped Tikis executed well-choreographed bowing down moves while Greg played a double-picked solo intro for their next song. He put his all into this tribute to the King of the Surf Guitar. John shifted to drums -- his instrument by education and training. Greta launched the recognizable bass line to “Peter Gunn.”<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/628b83714f1689198670ef0308f956ee80fd2a5f/medium/IMG_2251.JPG?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="173" width="230" />Kyle soloed. His dad and Becky stood up, cheered and applauded. Because he understood it musically, he was able to make the song his own. When he missed a part, he had the wherewithal to wait for that ever-present bass line to come around again. “Peter Gunn” is a song for second chances and patience. Quite impressive for his first ever public appearance as a musician.<br><br>
Elia punctuated the end to “Peter Gunn” with a bit on the keyboard. Applause. Cheers. Becky was texting the world before the Glitter Riptide Tiki Surf was off the stage. She had wireless.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/GRTS_2-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1757932012-06-07T01:10:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:15-08:00Camp Chronicles (10): Campfire's Stoked; Anticipation Builds for the Surf Beat to Begin<b><u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Editor’s Note</span></u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">: </span></b><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">These chronicles started out as “letters” from Sierra Surf Music Camp. But the story was bigger than a letter. We hope that you are not exhausted yet.<br><br>
By the time that the Motrin and wine kicked in, Becky reminded me twice, “The show is starting soon! Get up, the show is STAR . . . TING SOOOON!” That meant leave a comfortable chair, walk to the amphitheater, and carry Brett’s double bass gig bag. My powder blue, cheap Made-in-China No-Name bass was on injured reserve.<br><br>
No matter what your age, one thing is on everybody’s pre-gig check list -- albeit written or mental. Whether you are one of Paul’s prodigies or an old guy the last stop on the way to the stage is “the facilities.” Becky just would have to wait.<br><br>
The entire camp was gathered at the Donner Mine Camp Amphitheater. Bench-style seating was built into the small hill on two sides of a large concrete area which would be our stage for the evening and into the night. A camp fire was burning brightly and vigorously in the corner near the meeting point of the hillsides. As the evening daylight passed into darkness the flickering of the fire gave the amphitheater a glow accented by rising sparks disappearing into the night.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/52485e8e49c8ac6d92d061eb162c94df3ca7c0af/medium/IMG_2293.JPG?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="173" width="230" />The preparations and wardrobes for the first outdoor evening event of the camp varied. Don was not going risk any cold and wore gloves while loosely tapping the strings on his bass. <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/3c6bb6d636b8590032af47b317b49024ac78644d/medium/IMG_2300.JPG?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="173" width="230" /><br><br><br>
Becky and Jean put on insect repellant to ward off any swarming, stinging, sucking or biting bugs incited by the sunny day. The bugs not only would have to overcome the repellant but also would have to chew through coats to get to Becky and Jean. <br><br>
Paul Johnson, who always looked chilled and seemed inseparable from his parka and bucket hat, was in a ball cap. Parka, yes; bucket hat, no! One brave soul was in flowered board shorts and a sleeveless tee.<br><br>
The back-line of the stage was set with Fender Showman Amps, huge (to me) speaker cabinets, reverb units, and one of Dusty Watson’s blue sparkle drum kits. The amps were warmed up with volumes all the way down. Matt Quilter had dialed in the tone settings before the campers started arriving.<br><br>
Anticipation was building. Seemingly boundless energy filled some of he younger campers. They were ready to play and were not going to sit still in the meantime. Posing for a group photo meant that they sat in one place only long enough for “smile!” - click - “that’s good.” Then they were released to bounce from seat to seat, level to level, side to side.<br><br>
That group photo was the last housekeeping event. The moment of truth -- for some campers their first performance before an audience -- now was only minutes away.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/b5288c64f2e64e966b1208906be4c2e7a2609bf2/medium/543269_324698367612547_1328751083_n.jpg?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_bottom border_" alt="" height="233" width="350" /></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/543269_324698367612547_1328751083_n-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1753942012-06-05T22:20:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:15-08:00Camp Chronicles (9): This Music Stuff Sure Can Wear You Out<b><u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Editor’s Note</span></u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">:</span></b><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"> These chronicles started out as “letters” from Sierra Surf Music Camp. But the story was bigger than a letter. We hope that they convey how much fun we were having!<br><br>
Sunday was building up to the grand finale. The Camper Concert and Paul Johnson with an All-Star Band. The countdown was on. <br><br>
The weather had turned pleasant so the concert would be in the Donner Mine Camp amphitheater. So pleasant that the other three Surf Miners asked if I had a Hawaiian shirt to wear for the concert. “Nope. Going with the retro flannel look.”<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/2979e19ea2e3a55ece3a395def5b80f2b994898e/medium/IMG_2260.JPG?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="188" width="250" />Bruce’s and my two hours of working out “Secret Agent Man” and “Surf Party” did not result in a breakaway success. After hearing us shoot through “Secret Agent Man” a few times, Paul Johnson was brutally honest, “That’s nowhere near gig ready.” <br><br><br>
Ferenc nodded his head in agreement. We certainly were not going to argue with our coaches. This was music camp, not the NBA.<br><br>
But our time spent earlier in the day on “Surf Party” was not wasted. Two-bar drum intro. Guitar intro. Let her rip. Glissando. D. Two-bar drum break. Tim was not particularly familiar with the song. My job became to cue the two-bar break. Robert had captured the percussive rhythm. Yeah, we can play this baby. Paul and Ferenc agreed.<br><br>
Now, all we had to do was put the finishing touches on “Muck Bucket.” We played it. Again. Again. Paul suggested that Bruce change it up the second time through. He did. “Show me what you’re playing over the B flat.” He did. And all was right in “play the root” land.<br><br>
Paul then threw a curve ball. “We need a bass run here.” Huh? You’re talking to Mr. Play-the-Root. But who is to argue with the coach -- especially a Surf Music Laureate? “What notes?” He told me, and we then ran through “Muck Bucket” for the last time before going public to instructors, peers, families, bears, mosquitos, and whoever or whatever else might be in the forest that night.<br><br>
As we finished band practice, I realized that whatever did not ache in my body was fatigued. All this from only five hours on my feet with a bass hanging from my shoulder? Sitting down to decompress begged the question: Can you get up again? The time had come to abandon my normal caffeine elixir for a combo of Motrin and wine.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/1f48f23461f40ab73ddfd012625bf40807759710/original/Ann_B.jpg?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="255" width="200" />Anne Beatie -- Paul the Pyronaut’s Mom and a nurse by profession -- took one look and asked, “What can I do?” “Do you have a Motrin 800.” She did, and I washed it down with a Super Tuscan blend. <br><br>
Maybe rock ‘n roll is best left to the young. <br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG_2260-300.JPG">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1750412012-06-04T22:30:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:14-08:00Camp Chronicles (8): Songs with Characters and Plots. Huh?<b><u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Editor’s Note</span></u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">:</span></b><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"> These chronicles started out as “letters” from Sierra Surf Music Camp. But the story was bigger than a letter. We hope that they convey how much fun we were having!<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/54e87a03409aaa525935e65636072f7cf715448f/medium/IMG_2244.JPG?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="263" width="350" /><br><br>
12:00 p.m. -- noon -- meant gathering on the sofas, airplane seats, benches, and chairs in the living room of the Lodge. The living room provided warmth, intimacy and a resting place for the campers. There, Ferenc Dobronyi presented his class on songwriting. It was attended by professionals (real musicians) and us wannabes alike.<br><br>
The attendance was a tribute to his demonstrated skills as both a songwriter and a presenter. He was well-prepared for his recording class on Saturday and even provided a helpful, information-filled, and thought-out handout. If his songwriting class was similar, everybody knew that it would not be on the fly, off the cuff, improvised, ad libbed, or whatever term you might use for unprepared, disorganized babble.<br><br>
A look around the room showed that songwriters like Paul Johnson, John Blair, Paul the Pyronaut, Bob Bitchin’, and Tim Stephenson were interested in another songwriter’s process. Everybody listened attentively.<br><br>
Ferenc began by drawing on a flip chart sized tablet. He analogized a song to a table held up by four legs: Lyrics, melody, chords, and groove. An instrumental song has three legs as lyrics need not apply. The question is where do you start building the table. The upcoming answer was obvious. But it might have been a bit disappointing to some folks in the room. <br><br>
“I can’t tell you. It varies from writer to writer and from song to song.”<br><br>
Ferenc continued. He offered those who cannot write songs a life ring. Some people are great or exceptional musicians, but try as hard as they can, they cannot write a song. Some people are not skilled at all as musicians but can write songs.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/86b429299aefebfed3933a55cd02df9eb2db9e2d/medium/Songwriting_2.jpg?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="173" width="230" />He demonstrated how a song might begin with a couple of notes. With the assistance of Paul the Pyronaut, Ferenc showed how different chords affected the feeling of the two notes. They even threw in a bit of music theory as Paul went through the chords in the diatonic scale. Used a lot of diminished 7ths lately?<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/b4e0c154c8569af1f7f5866aa4d8dadabdf9f432/medium/Songwriting_1.jpg?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="173" width="230" />With the help of John Blair, Ferenc went over what his thought process for and what he was conveying in “Ewa at the Beach.”<br><br><br><br>
Songwriting for Ferenc is an amazingly creative endeavor. It is like writing or telling a story. He thinks in terms of plots and characters. He portrays them through sound, not words.<br><br>
I thought, “Wow, this is way more complicated than the simple melodies that bang around in my brain.” Then I remembered how Paul described what he got out of the different parts of “Lava Tube.” Was I the blind squirrel or no musical skill guy who lucked out?<br><br>
Ferenc also had a plan for generating wind when in the doldrums. Learn different scales and modes including the Hungarian Scale. Listen to all kinds of music. Explore musical differences. Fill up your smart phone and GarageBand with ideas whenever they come. Walk the dog for the quiet time needed to hear what is playing in your brain.<br><br>
After the class ended, I sat and mulled over what Ferenc said. The hour had been jam-packed with information. Could somebody go out and write a song armed only with what they heard in that hour? Paul Johnson, no sweat. We mortals, probably not. Will I look at those simple melodies differently in the future? Probably. Do I now know why so many songs are better than my “these are catchy and fun” songs? Maybe.<br><br>
Memo to Self: Hey, how about some simple plots and characters in the next batch of songs you write? <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/866260bca72017dd25aee6bd1f2cb1d41f05de5b/medium/IMG_2242.JPG?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="263" width="350" /><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG_2244-300.JPG" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1746892012-06-03T23:00:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:14-08:00Camp Chronicles (7): A Man Needs a Mantra<b><u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Editor’s Note</span></u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">:</span></b><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"> We are back to our regular programing. These chronicles started out as “letters” from Sierra Surf Music Camp. But the story was bigger than a letter. We hope that they convey how much fun we were having!<br><br>
Didn’t the Ramones sing, “Second verse, same as the first”? Sunday’s schedule was the same as Saturday’s except Ferenc’ noon class was on songwriting and the evening concert featured the Sierra Surf Music Camp bands and Surf Music Laureate Paul Johnson.<br><br>
My day potentially was out of kilter by 6:30 a.m. By then, I had used the last match in the cabin in my failed attempts at starting a fire in the stove. I had used the last measure of Starbucks Three Region roast. Matchless today. Coffeeless tomorrow. At 6:30 in the morning! Never was much of a Boy Scout.<br><br>
But a sunny morning, the brisk, clean Sierra air, and an upcoming day of surf music took the sting out of how the day had started.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/5166e05f5ac496c3a6a929311afae6fe4e164eba/medium/IMG_2238.JPG?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="260" width="215" />Now that I was the bassist for the Surf Miners, a lesson from The Brett Cole would come in handy. On Saturday morning, my powder blue, cheap Made-in-China No-Name bass was chattering to the point of distraction. Adjust the bridge. Saturday afternoon during band practice, less chattering but still some noise. Brett observed, “You sure play aggressive.” Huh? I was sure the problem was technique and not some form of sure-fingered aggression. <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/14d0471fd95022aa94f50d664786c77a7115ed11/medium/IMG_2223.JPG?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="391" width="215" />Adjust the bridge again. The result was no chatter but a buzz on a single note: C on the E string. Brett listened, looked at the neck from three angles, and said, “I have no idea how to fix this. You need to take it to a tech. You can use one of my basses.” <br><br>
He then reminded me that Fender had been making basses for more than 50 years. I joked, “The Chinese have been copying basses for at least five.”<br><br>
As a bassist, I realized that measures and not just chords suddenly seemed important. As in, "How many measures is that?" After 30 minutes and recognizing my limited skill level, Brett offered his advice for the upcoming Sunday night concert, “Keep it simple. Play the root.” That would be my bass-playing mantra for the next 12 hours.<br><br>
So for the hour and a half leading up to Songwriting Class, I kept repeating the mantra and playing the root as I worked on “Surf Party” and “Secret Agent Man.” Oh, yeah, almost every time I started the chorus of “Surf Party,” I cursed the buzzing C. Play the root. Get the fingering. Get the feeling. Forget about the buzzing. Don’t listen to the buzzing. Damn that buzzing!<br><br>
At 2:00, Bruce was playing through John Blair’s amp and reverb unit upstairs. Joe, a member of the No Name IV, was sitting and listening. When Bruce and I decided to practice “Secret Agent Man” and “Surf Party,” Joe volunteered his short-scale Mosrite bass. <br><br>
We arranged “Secret Agent Man.” A James Bondish intro followed by the “Secret Agent Man” intro and then, “There’s a man who lives a life of danger. . . .” Two verses and outro. Bruce likes two minute songs.<br><br>
“Surf Party” required no arranging. Two-measure drum intro. Verse. Chorus. Glissandos. Two measures of drums. Repeat twice. G.<br><br>
For two hours, Bruce and I worked on timing and playing together. We apparently were not all that inspiring as Joe napped on and off. But we had the songs nailed down to take back to the Surf Miners. As we played, my bass-playing mantra repeated over and over.<br><br>
Play the root. Play the root.<br><br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG_2223-300.JPG" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1744322012-06-02T23:15:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:14-08:00Ch . . . Ch . . . Changes! Remember What Does Not Kill Us Makes Us Stronger<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">We interrupt our regular programing for an important announcement! <br><br>
For some time now, an elephant has been in the room where the Lava Pups play. I have semi-written a blog post entitled “Last Lesson?” which is tucked conveniently at the end of a bunch of thoughts, ideas, etc. Denial? The obvious truth which has gone unaddressed is that Paul is on his way out of here. That somebody whom I value on many levels is moving five hours away. That Don’s best friend is moving six hours away from Cool.<br><br>
Over the last few days, blogging about Sierra Surf Music Camp kept me distracted from the elephant in the room. But I cannot walk around it anymore. Or look over it any longer. <br><br>
On Friday, Cheri listed Ferndale under “lives in” on Facebook. Paul changed his employer to Ferndale Music Company. The reality of the move hit as I posted “congratulations.” Paul was five hours away and off on a new life which except for occasional “reunion” gigs would not include the Lava Pups.<br><br>
Actually, the impact of the move registered the day before when Don announced that he was behind on projects at home and wanted to get some camping in over the summer. So he was taking the summer off from our band. He graciously said that he did not want us to stop on his account. I joked that we could do a “Pups reunited” gig in Ferndale in support of Paul’s store. <br><br>
One day later . . . . Updates from Cheri and Paul.<br><br>
Who knew that Friday night at Sierra Surf Camp just might have been the final curtain for the Lava Pups?<br><br>
One week ago, we had a band. One week later, we had half a band. At what point in the change department do we have to become the “New Lava Pups”? Can Glenn and I reinvent ourselves as something like the White Stripes?<br><br>
So the tee-shirt wisdom of the day is “what does not kill us makes us stronger.” What will happen next? Stay tuned!<br><br>
Now, we return to our regular programing.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/6697642fc11572f13bbfae630790aae097e35768/medium/LastGig.jpg?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_bottom border_" alt="" height="272" width="350" /></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/LastGig-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1742172012-06-01T23:00:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:14-08:00Camp Chronicles (6): Is It Sacrilege if Everybody Loves It?<b><u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Editor’s Note</span></u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">:</span></b><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"> One week ago tonight, a surf party (and Paul's 30th birthday) took place at the Sierra Surf Music Camp in the Bear Valley. The stars of the party were the Surf Camp All-Stars and the campers. Here’s how I remember it.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/899d1a64c639aae4d5011477c5e8b23317753ddc/medium/IMG_2205.JPG?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="263" width="350" /><br><br>
Dinner awaited the Surf Miners after their writing session. The next scheduled event was the Saturday Night Concert with the “Surf Camp All-Stars.” Paul had been planning for this for months because it was his birthday -- THE BIG THREE-0. <br><br>
Dusty Watson, John Blair, Ferenc Dobronyi, and Matt Quilter. What a line-up! As they tuned, warmed up and found their equipment settings, anticipation was growing. I rushed up to our quarters, grabbed a couple of beers, and returned to the seat that Becky had reserved. This was surely going to be a two-beer event.<br><br>
The All-Stars left the room. They were professionals and were going to make an announced entrance. They did. They returned wearing Sierra Music Surf Camp tees as their band uniform.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/9bdb909c3a266944c0556d809f843e8e95b82c25/medium/IMG_2206.jpg?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="333" width="250" />As soon as the All-Stars started playing, everybody in the room (and possibly a mile away) knew that this was going to be a take-no-prisoners, high energy night. Their first song was “Surf Party.” In your face! Wham!<br><br>
They powered their way through surf classic after surf classic. “Surf Beat” “The Wedge” “Pipeline” “Penetration” John Blair asked, “What surf band came from San Luis Obispo?” The Sentinels. “And their classic is?” Latinia, which the All-Stars played exquisitely.<br><br>
They did not limit the performance to old classics. Ferenc took the lead on “Ewa at the Beach” -- his original for Frankie and the Pool Boys.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/62951bd452022a3b64271779620b8f40c14019ee/medium/IMG_2207.JPG?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="169" width="225" />The pure energy had people dancing. The microphone was moved in front of Matt Quilter, who announced, “This is sacrilege at an instrumental surf camp.” He then reached into the perfect gravel voice for “Wella, wella. Everybody’s heard about the bird.” By now almost everybody was standing or dancing and crowding toward the stage. “Church Key” was next, and the campers knew when to say “church key.” <br><br>
Chord. The All-Stars were done.<br><br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/e836a56abbca7cffb60c44c31c06546f60341ff6/medium/IMG_2219.JPG?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="210" width="280" />Encore! Encore! “Miserlou” was off and running. Nobody was going back to their seats. John Blair handed off his Strat to Paul the Pyronaut. Ferenc’ Strat went to Bob Bitchin’. A couple of more hand-offs put The Pyronauts on stage. Playing their version of “Miserlou,” which I admired from the first time that I saw them. Then, the instruments were handed off again. This time to Paul’s young prodigy students. As the song raced along, Timmy brought Glenn on the stage to drum. <br><br>
Finally, the All-Stars were back at their instruments. They ended the grand jam “Miserlou.” On time and together. Sweat glistened on nearly everybody’s foreheads. Anybody who had been in that room for the Surf Camp All-Stars’ performance wore a smile which alternated with “Wow!”<br><br>
As we headed back to our place, I wondered why “Surfin’ Bird” was sacrilege if everybody loves it. At the end of the day, we play surf music to have fun. People listen to surf music to have fun. Fun was had at the Saturday night concert! <br><br>
And the torch -- in the form of John Blair’s Strat -- had been passed between three generations of players.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG_2205-300.JPG" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1738952012-05-31T22:45:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:14-08:00Camp Chronicles (5): Meet the Surf Miners<b><u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Editor’s Note</span></u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">:</span></b><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"> These chronicles started out as “letters” from Sierra Surf Music Camp. But the story was bigger than a letter. We hope that they convey how much fun we were having!<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/bc4140205ea328b077f515905e1920625aa573ca/medium/IMG_2168.JPG?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="263" width="350" /><br><br>
Saturday morning came both too soon -- as in, why didn’t I go to bed earlier -- and not soon enough -- as in, I am so excited why do I have to sleep. The National Weather Service’s forecast was spot on -- unfortunately. Cold. Damp. Rainy. So we were going to spend the day in the Lodge and the nearby out buildings.<br><br>
The schedule for the day was handwritten on flip chart sized sheet at the entrance to the Lodge. Individual lessons began at 10. Ferenc Dobronyi would teach a course on recording at noon. Lunch was followed by free time for jamming, etc. Then “Band Practice.” Huh?<br><br>
Another flip chart sized sheet listed 5 “bands” and coaches. No signup. The camp staff had picked out the bands. No selection day television like the NFL or NBA drafts. No choices made before blazing lights. Just five “bands” picked by the “camp staff.”<br><br>
Before camp, Paul the Pyronaut told me that we would be broken into groups of people who had not played together before. Well, one look at the list of unnamed bands showed that was not completely accurate. Four of the bands met Paul’s expressed criteria. For the fifth, 3 of the 4 had played together and were Paul’s prodigy students; I knew that the fourth member had bass chops second only to Don among the campers. Did this mean that the fix was in?<br><br>
Looking at the list, I also immediately felt some pressure. Our coach was Paul Johnson. We would be working with and representing the inventor of the surf sound and the Noble Laureate of camp. And I had chosen camp to be a bass player. Experience level: Can hold instrument; knows where roots are (sorta); played bass three times in the privacy of the Doghouse; sucks at guitar face; but has played in a band and written songs.<br><br>
Paul the Pyronaut announced the goals for the first “band” practice were coming up with a name and a couple of songs to play for Sunday night. The next night! Fortunately, we would have the help of Paul Johnson and Ferenc Dobronyi as our coaching team.<br><br>
We introduced ourselves. Bruce was the guitarist for the Reef Riders, a San Francisco Bay Area surf trio. Over the course of next 24 hours, I would learn that his band had played at Otto’s Shrunken Head in New York and the Hotel Utah and was scheduled for a 3-gig tour of Southern California, culminating in Huntington Beach at the International Surfing Museum.<br><br>
Robert was our other guitarist. He had a nice Fender Jaguar, Gretsch tee, and limited experience. Tim was our drummer. He came from the San Fernando Valley and had seen the movie “Valley Girl.” He, however, was not so old as to know the song that Frank Zappa wrote and performed and that did not merit serious consideration for the California State Rock Song in our earlier blog posts. He played by instinct.<br><br>
We started to search for songs that we all knew which were not named "Pipeline" or written by Paul Johnson. How about ___? Don’t know that one. How about ___? Don’t know that one. We clearly were going nowhere with that. Maybe we just can start jamming through the blues progression. What’s that?<br><br>
We were stuck, and then Bruce started playing a riff. What is that? “I don’t know. It is just something that I’ve been fiddling with.” Okay, let’s go with it. What key? Bruce played. When are you going to the IV? What? The B flat. Oh, about here. How many bars? What? <br><br>
We played. The chord changes were not necessarily consistent -- the riff still was jelling in Bruce's head. So Ferenc wrote the chords down -- a map for the band. Eight bars of F; two of B flat; back to F. This was beginning to feel like a song in creation. What are we going to use for a key change, mood shift, or chorus? Paul Johnson suggested C and B. We played that while Robert noodled over it. He came to something that he thought worked.<br><br>
Again. How about doubling the chorus the second time through? More noodling. Ferenc updated the chord sheet. From the top. Again. How about some change ups on the drums? Tim put them in. From the top. Again. Again.<br><br>
In a little less than two hours, we had written a song. We did not have a name for the band or the song. We did not have second song. But we had an original song. Watching people dance as they walked by made clear that it was catchy and danceable.<br><br>
As the allotted practice time ended, Paul Johnson asked, “What will we call the band and the song?” In keeping with the Donner Mine, we named the song “Muck Bucket.” In keeping with the theme of the camp, we became the “Surf Miners.”<br><br>
As we put our gear away and headed off to dinner, we mentioned other possible songs to consider: “Secret Agent Man,” “Rumble,” Endless Summer,” “Surf Beat,” and “Surf Party.” Could we possibly become proficient enough at a second song when “Muck Bucket” still was a work in progress?<br><br>
We would know in 24 hours.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG_2168-300.JPG">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1735892012-05-31T00:05:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:14-08:00Camp Chronicles (4): Paul Johnson and Let's Rock!<b><u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Editor’s Note</span></u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">:</span></b><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"> This is one of our “letters” from Sierra Surf Music Camp. It is not close to real time because we are too cheap - or technology impaired - to have wireless internet. Besides, we were having too much fun!<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/4a41543865b6a84caefaad9a4852d15a654dd7ed/medium/Paul_Johnson_rocks.jpg?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="300" width="225" />Two "faculty" members were left out of our last post. Jim Lee is a surf artist whose art adorns the Pyronauts’ “Surf and Destroy” CD. In addition to being a great guy, his role was to provide a creative outlet for the non-musician campers like Becky and Jean and teach Tai Chi. We will get to him in a later post.<br><br>
The star of the faculty -- the Noble Laureate for surf music -- was Paul Johnson. His easy-going manner, accessibility and humility run contrary to what we get from "stars" today.<br><br>
His story is legendary. He and Eddie Bertrand rode to and from school together on a bus, discovered their mutual love for instrumental music, and started playing guitar together. That led to the Belairs. Their playing together without drums or bass created the percussive sounds which are the basis for much surf music. A reverb effect had not been invented yet. As a teenager, Paul Johnson wrote two enduring surf classics: “Mr. Moto” and “Squad Car.”<br><br>
The first surf song that I heard was “Mr. Moto,” which was getting airplay in Los Angeles around the same time as Dick Dale’s “Let’s Go Trippin’.” Dick Dale quickly crowned himself the “King of the Surf Guitar.” But in my mind, Paul Johnson easily could have ordained himself as the “Inventor of the Surf Sound.” Spend any time with him and you realize that he is too well-grounded and self-confident to need such a <i>nom de plume</i>. <br><br>
His merely telling us the history of and influences on surf music was enough for us to know his place in the history of the music which we love and came to make. He did so with a smile -- which was always present during camp -- and without pretense. Paul Johnson's oral history was Surf Music 101 - the first class of Sierra Surf Music Camp.<br><br>
Surf Music 101 ended, and we headed to dinner. Somehow, we seemed to be off schedule. Camp Director Paul tapped me on the shoulder and asked, “You guys ready to play?” Huh? I had semi-forgotten in the excitement of the first day of camp that the Lava Pups were going to play before The Pyronauts.<br><br>
We headed upstairs. Tune. Plug in. Sound check. Talk a little with the few folks who had moved upstairs from dinner. Some questions swirled about in my mind. “Will Paul Johnson and Dusty Watson be in the audience?” “Why didn’t I practice today?” “Is anybody coming upstairs to watch us?”<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/10dfb94493c962743d061278244af857161959fc/medium/IMG_2130.JPG?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="180" width="240" />People were trickling in. Paul said, “Let’s start. That will get the rest of them upstairs!” He announced into the microphone. “Bill T is one of my long-time students. He wrote and recorded some songs. Here are the Lava Pups and some of those songs.”<br><br><br><br>
Paul started up “Link Man.” Don, Glenn, and I came in together. We were underway. No turning back now. Finish. Applause. With the first song down, I leaned into the mic and said, “Man, I am as nervous as a whore in church.” We followed with “Sea Witch,” “Pacifica Blue,” and “Lava Tube.” We were picking up confidence, and the set ended. Four songs. Fifteen minutes in front of the campers, Dusty Watson, and Paul Johnson. I thought, "that was a fast fifteen minutes."<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/a1fad3133277f03a6e87c1a9c869493a3a4d90dd/medium/IMG_2143.JPG?1375982947" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="180" width="240" />We did our job. We got the people upstairs for The Pyronauts, who then delivered their brand of energized instrumental music. As they played, Paul brought some of his students into play. This was what surf instrumental music is about. Fun. Energy. Participation. <br><br>
They closed with “Sifaka,” and the campers headed off to bed in the dorms, campsites, and cabins. Sleep might be difficult as the music reverberated in everybody’s head along with anticipation of the next day’s events including private lessons with an All-Star faculty.<br><br>
</span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Paul_Johnson_rocks-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1734822012-05-30T08:25:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:14-08:00Camp Chronicles (3): Meet the Faculty or Have I Died and Gone Heaven?<b><u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Editor’s Note</span></u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">:</span></b><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"> This is one of our “letters” from Sierra Surf Music Camp. It is not close to real time because we are too cheap - or technology impaired - to have wireless internet. Besides, we were having too much fun!<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/15cb0b0e3f5ad86396f0fe79194ec7eb9b03c09e/medium/Instructors.jpg?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="296" width="350" /><br><br>
After the tour of the Donner Mine Camp site, the warmth of the Lodge with its wood-burning stove welcomed us. Sign-up sheets were available for individual lessons with a member or two of a star-studded line-up. The list of instructors was mind-boggling! <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/ab247c17ce05f6d3a676809db6b3aab06d76c648/thumb/John_Blair.jpg?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="145" width="125" /><b>John Blair</b> occupies a place in surf music that cannot be overlooked. He is a historian, an author, and a cinematographer. His current movie project is “Sound of Surf,” which will chronicle our California folk music. His <i>Illustrated Discography of Surf Music</i> stood for years as the only published history of surf music. He founded and was the lead guitarist for Jon and the Nightriders, which is credited with starting the second wave. He helped keep surf music going in the Pre-Pulp-Fiction period and captured its history. </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"></span><br><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"></span><br><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"> <img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/a931b1a9813abd28c4b8b14fa6801ff8d1ea91fc/thumb/Dusty.jpg?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="184" width="125" /><b>Dusty Watson</b> was the Camp Co-Director. As readers of this blog know, his name is always followed by “the best surf drummer on Earth.” His credentials as a drummer are not limited to surf. He played dr</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">ums for Lita Ford and Age</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">nt Orange. As a surf drummer, he was a regular with Dick Dale, Paul Johnson, and Jon and the Nightriders. His current band -- Slacktone -- sets the gold standard for all surf bands. He also was ordained and performed the marriage ceremony of Cheri and Paul at the Donner Mine Camp last year. <br><br><br><br><b><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/61cfc8bfc434f8230e08a07eea98c1593d893df7/thumb/Matt_Quilter.jpg?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="" height="156" width="125" />Matt Quilter</b> was new to me until I realized he was a co-producer of “Pounding Surf,” a must-have DVD on the surf beat and drumming. He also was a guitarist for the Reventlos. <i>The LA Times</i> described the Reventlos as, “at their best, . . . provide all you could want from a modern rock-instrumental band: crafty juxtapositions of styles, a good ear for inviting riffs and licks, a sure sense of structure and enticing sonic variety.” Importantly to me, he started out in the Pacific Northwest, where garage band rock then was king. <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/3a2c34fff6cc70149cd599c08f895af46e41cba7/thumb/ferenc_1.jpg?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="153" width="125" /><b><br>
Ferenc Dobronyi</b> is third-wave star and an icon -- and moving force in the San Francisco surf music scene. He is the founder, leader, and principal songwriter of Pollo Del Mar and Frankie and the Pool Boys. As the musicians in Pollo moved on to different stages of their lives, he became a guitarist with San Francisco’s up and coming TomorrowMen, who recently released an album described by Phil Dirt as “splendid” with “superb writing and playing.” He also plays occasionally with the seminal San Francisco band The Aqua Velvets.<br><br>
And each member of the Pyronauts was available for individual lessons.<br><br>
With the names on the list, choosing was difficult to say the least. What could be even comparable elsewhere in the music world? Better pinch myself to make sure that this is not a dream or that I died and (unlikely) went to heaven.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Instructors-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1732842012-05-29T17:15:00-07:002021-08-20T03:01:38-07:00Camp Chronicles (2): The Donner Mine Camp<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><b><u>Editor’s Note</u>:</b> This is one of our “letters” from Sierra Surf Music Camp. It is not close to real time because we are too cheap - or technology impaired - to have wireless internet. Besides, we were having too much fun!<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/4d7d7a7e9a570eea4e6adacd6c481be5255ca644/medium/lodgemod.jpg?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="263" width="350" /><br><br>
Over Friday afternoon, campers arrived. A father and his two daughters came from Nesika Beach, Oregon -- a 9 plus hour drive. The California campers had traveled from, among other places, the Los Angeles area, the San Francisco Bay area, Sonoma, and the Sierras. The California campers also included locals from Auburn, Cool, Grass Valley, and Sacramento.<br><br>
Giving in to the chilly and occasionally rainy weather, the instructors were around the fire place in the Lodge to meet folks as they walked in.<br><br>
Showing their dedication to promoting surf music and support for the inaugural camp, Dusty Watson, Paul Johnson, John Blair, and Matt Quilter drove up to the Bear Valley from the Los Angeles area. That drive was 8 to 10 hours and, in Matt’s case, included a breakdown at Emigrant Gap.<br><br>
Campers straggled in over the afternoon, into the night, and even on Saturday. Some could not leave work early despite the impending three-day weekend. Even though not all campers had arrived yet, camp officially began with a tour of the Donner Mine Camp site conducted by Dan Beatie, Paul’s dad.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/4ffb486d70f46429c5b0bdd7947bad73bb8cc36d/medium/MineEnter.jpg?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="188" width="250" />The Donner Mine Camp sits on the site of the former Zeibright Mine, which began operations around 1900. Mining in some fashion probably took place on the property since the time of the California Gold Rush. The Zeibright Mine was a hard-rock mine. Miners tunneled into the mountainside and followed quartz veins which contained gold. The main mine shaft descended 1950 feet. Tunnels branched off. Hundreds of feet below the ground miners picked, shoveled, and blasted away ore - known as “muck” - which then was lifted by an elevator to the surface. There, it was dumped into a series of crushers which reduced the ore to a slurry. Then, the slurry passed through a series of cyanide baths until gold emerged at the bottom of the process.<br><br>
The mine operated around the clock. Miners lived in a dormitory. Some married miners had cabins near the site. The Zeibright Mine was a working mine until 1941 when it shut down for World War II. <br><br>
Why it never reopened is up for guess. Maybe it did not reopen for multiple reasons. It was a “low grade” mine meaning that each ton of ore did not produce as much gold as many other mines. It was relatively isolated compared with other mines in California’s Mother Lode. The price of gold was regulated by the United States Government until 1972. Gold mining generally became uneconomical at the fixed price set by the government.<br><br>
Once the mine was abandoned, it filled with water. The mining had been conducted below the water table, meaning that water was pumped out constantly while the mine operated. Once the pumping ended, nothing stopped the water from filling the shafts and tunnels.<br><br>
In 1959, Paul’s family bought the mine property to donate to the Boy Scouts for a camp. Eventually, the Boy Scouts wanted to sell the property. Paul’s grandfather exercised his right of first refusal and bought back the property. Since then, the property has been used for the Donner Mine Music Camp, which is so successful that it has a waiting list for its two summer sessions.<br><br>
In the small world department, Tim Stephenson -- the Pyronauts’ drummer -- attended the Donner Mine Music Camp as a child. Maybe the Donner Mine Camp was destined to be the site of the inaugural Sierra Surf Music Camp to complete a circle.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/lodgemod-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1730352012-05-29T04:45:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:14-08:00Camp Chronicles (1): Rain, Snow, Hail, and the Surf Beat!<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/91bb101188d9cf94b12969e77a0b7187c1faee96/medium/IMG00466-20120525-1305.jpg?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="312" width="234" />When some of us were young and before the internet and smart phones, we wrote letters from camp. They were handwritten -- usually in our best cursive. We wanted to make sure that the recipient could read the fruit of our labors. The letters even might include a crude primitive drawing. Digital cameras were not invented, and Polaroid cameras (huh?) were too high tech, fragile, and expensive for young campers.<br><br><br><br>
As evidenced by the ongoing woes of the Postal Service, handwritten (or even typed) letters are becoming passe. Except to a generation of keyboard-impaired folks, letters may be relics of the past like the cassette player or boom box. Why compose when you can text, Skype, instant message, Facebook, Tweet, etc.? When did all of those words become verbs?<br><br>
Without the cursive -- as we get older it gets less legible -- this is in effect our first letter from the Sierra Surf Music Camp. Because the Donner Mine Camp has no internet connectivity, you will not read this until camp is done.<br><br>
Thursday evening, the weather took a turn from the sunny mid-80s where it seemed to be stuck. The wind kicked up. Clouds started to drift in. The 6:00 news opened with a teaser: “Weekend weather, what you’ll need.” Later, the “meteorologist” advised that temperatures would be dropping 10 to 15 degrees on the Sacramento Valley floor and that snow was expected at elevations above 6,000 feet. One “reporter” appeared live from Emigrant Gap in a parka to warn of the impending storm. He interviewed a CalTrans worker who said that chain controls might be put into effect.<br><br>
Emigrant Gap is directly up the hill from the Donner Mine Camp. The name “Emigrant Gap” derives from the place where the settlers coming west lowered their wagons from the mountainous terrain of the Sierras to the Bear Valley. Once on the floor of the Bear Valley, they were pretty much assured a safe and uneventful journey into the mines of the Mother Lode or new lives in Sacramento and San Francisco.<br><br>
Snow? Chain controls? That did not sound too surfy (or California culture). As she watched the weather report, Becky said, “I packed capris and short sleeves.” She then asked, “Is he right?” She opened her iPad. “What is near the camp?” <br><br>
She checked the weather for Emigrant Gap (directly above) and Nevada City. Stormy. 37 low. 48 high. Showers. 38 low. 48 high. The National Weather Service confirmed what she just had heard. <br><br>
Re-pack. Corduroy pants replaced capris. Sleeveless out; flannel in.<br><br>
As we headed east from Sacramento on Friday morning, black clouds hung over the Sierras. Climbing out of Auburn, the skies darkened more. Rain at Emigrant Gap. Two more miles and we hit snow. As we dropped into the Bear Valley, more snow. On the valley floor, the snow started bouncing off the hood and windshield. Hail! We turned on the dirt road into the Donner Mine Camp. Snow. Rain.<br><br>
After what seemed to be “forever,” we arrived at the Sierra Surf Music Camp. Undeterred by the weather, Camp Director Paul the Pyronaut was standing outside the Lodge and greeted us. “People are jamming already. Put your stuff away and join us.” <br><br>
A little rain, snow, hail, or cold weather was not going to stop the surf beat. Yes, the surf beat goes on!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG00466-20120525-1305-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1720382012-05-24T02:10:00-07:002017-02-01T14:58:25-08:00Sierra Surf Music Camp: Packed Up and Ready To Go!<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/fbfc5d703a9cfa2f5456a59624ff90d2ecd1bff9/medium/camp2.jpg?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="225" width="300" /><br><br>
Sierra Surf Music Camp starts tomorrow afternoon. It will feature Paul the Pyronaut and Dusty Watson -- the best surf drummer on Earth -- as camp directors. The sweet sounds of reverb, electric guitars, and the surf beat will interrupt the idyllic Sierra serenity of the Bear Valley. To paraphrase a line you may have heard somewhere or sometime, the valley will be alive with the sound of music. <br><br>
In the collective minds of the campers communing at the Donner Mine, that will put everything right with Nature. We only can hope that the bears, coyotes, and other creatures of the night feel the same. Doesn't music soothe the savage beast?<br><br>
Becky is excited to go. She made that apparent when she started a list of items to take to camp. Soap. Paper towels. Shampoo. Towels. Linens. Art supplies. She confirmed her excitement when she asked me what to add to her list. Generally, when we travel, I do not have much input. My suggestions, however, were staples for a long weekend of music: Beer, wine, coffee, and snacks. <br><br>
Armed with her list, Becky went to Trader Joe’s and then brought her purchases to the Doghouse. She boxed them and laid them out for later. “We’ll pack up and leave from here.” <br><br>
She also went through our home office and garage cabinets looking for her art supplies. “I know that my travel water color kit is here somewhere. Where did I put my travel sketch book?” Eventually, she found everything that she wanted. That saved us from a trip to University Art, which is like Costco or Home Depot for impulse buying.<br><br>
Becky plans to study Tai Chi and surf art at camp. She will get to know Jim Lee -- surf artist and Tai Chi practitioner -- well. Reading is on her agenda as is watching the instructors and music campers perform. She is looking forward to a restful and entertaining Memorial Day weekend.<br><br>
In addition to beer, wine, coffee, and snacks, my list -- mental, not physical -- included the stuff from which music is made. Guitar. Bass (maybe I will learn how to use the thing for something more than decoration) and practice amp. Cords. Tuner. Picks. Ear plugs. The list could go on -- and on <i>ad infinitum</i> -- except that most of the items were already ready to go. How is this really any different from going to practice or a gig?<br><br>
I stacked my camp essentials alongside what Becky previously laid out. A beer change was made: Downtown Brown -- brewed in Humboldt County -- in homage to Paul’s upcoming move. The stack was not quite as nice as in our Pup animation. Still, except for clothing and linens, we were ready to go. <br><br>
Maybe we are ready too soon. Wouldn’t some last minute scurrying about add some tension or confusion? Not necessary. After all, we already have waited long enough and getting to the Bear Valley will seem to take “forever.” <br><br>
If I was not driving, I would be asking, “Are we there yet? What’s taking so long?” Yeah, just like a little kid!<br><br>
P.S. - Check out our <a target="_new" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mf53Cu4nFVQ"><b>“The Pup Is Ready for Camp”</b></a> animation.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/camp2-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1716842012-05-22T23:15:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:14-08:00The 5-Star Talents of The Pyronauts<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/33d32014441ae642a40ad8dd5622f075b7d00cec/medium/196987_196832247015605_123199967712167_620497_3381145_n.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" style="width: 229px; height: 331px;" />Sierra Surf Music Camp is a couple of days closer. The excitement is mounting. The Facebook “chatter” is way up. If our intelligence agencies were monitoring (and maybe they are), they probably would divine that a big event is coming up.<br><br>
Adding to the excitement in our household is that we get to play a few of our originals before The Pyronauts take the stage on the opening night of camp. <br><br><br><br><br><br><br>
Those are the same Pyronauts we repeatedly describe as “fabulous” and as “NorCal’s premier surf band.” They are the same Pyronauts who played four shows over two days and two nights not so long ago. And . . . just in . . . they are the same Pyronauts who received a 5-star review from Phil Dirt for their “Play for Surf” CD. <br><br>
That is 5-stars from a guy who has reviewed thousands of surf instrumentals and is THE AUTHORITY. His reviews provide a measuring stick for surf music around the World -- both old and new. The Pyronauts have scored again! <br><br>
The review and upcoming camp are reminders that The Pyronauts are a group of wonderfully talented musicians. Not only will they perform at camp, but they also will be instructors. <br><br>
When they play, the musicality of each stands out. They are four skilled musicians playing together. Each makes the others in the band better. The Pyronauts -- the band -- is greater than the sum of its parts. As demonstrated by their “Play for Surf” CD, their amalgam of skills lets them take risks and expand. <br><br>
The band members also share their multiple skills with others.<br><br>
Over the last couple of months or so, Tim Stephenson -- drummer for The Pyronauts -- has displayed his talents as a jazz musician around Sacramento. His Masters’ recital was at the end of April. Yes, Tim recently earned a Masters degree in music. That is quite an accomplishment. Degree aside, his abilities are so impressive that notable jazz practitioners in Sacramento have applauded for his performances. In private conversations, they have been highly complimentary and appeared surprised when they hear that Tim drums for one of the best surf bands -- by Phil Dirt's standards -- in the World.<br><br>
Awhile ago, Bob Butler (aka Bob Bitchin’) -- The Pyronauts’ guitarist -- accompanied a singer-songwriter. In that endeavor, he played acoustic guitar and a variety of styles including folk and Celtic. That was a striking contrast to what he does as a Pyronaut and has done since the beginning of the band. There, he is a rhythm machine, and I am here to tell you that that is impossibly difficult. He combines a surf sensibility and percussive style with a true rock ‘n roll swagger. In addition to his skills as a guitarist, he has written some of The Pyronauts’ original songs including "Mike's Barracuda," which is featured in every performance.<br><br>
The Brett Cole (yes, “The” is not a typo) is in no way limited to surf. Paul describes him as “playing lead bass.” Brett also plays jazz and rockabilly. I saw him play Ska a couple of times. His resume includes performing as part of the Sacramento State and other college jazz programs. Not so long ago, he asked on Facebook, “Why am I practicing for a Community College gig when we have a major venue performance coming?” He writes lyrics and sings and has dabbled in stand-up comedy. He sang at Paul and Cheri’s wedding in front of some of the finest musicians around.<br><br>
This blog has extolled the prowess of Paul Beatie (aka Paul the Pyronaut) as a musician and a teacher from almost the very beginning. During the Sunday Surf Party and CD Release, the chef at the Capitol Bowl turned to Becky and said of Paul, “Wow, he is really good!” Chef Nathan then added that he knew because his sister lived by Dick Dale back in the day in Balboa.<br><br>
A very recent post by Brett brought The Pyronauts and Paul’s imminent move into focus. He wrote, “Final Pyronauts rehearsal for quite a while. Goodbye Barn.” Camp, a move, Paul and Cheri settling in in Ferndale, and then . . . ? In the meantime, we will be the beneficiaries of the talents of The Pyronauts at camp over the upcoming weekend.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/196987_196832247015605_123199967712167_620497_3381145_n-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1710022012-05-21T10:15:00-07:002017-02-01T14:56:11-08:00Sierra Surf Music Camp: Building Anticipation<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/11edcf9e62487c0890f1f4921dafb422549b2d06/medium/404406_10151210724705611_554250610_23015303_1895279120_n.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="152" width="300" /><br><br>
The inaugural Sierra Surf Music Camp starts this Friday. That means a return to the Donner Mine Camp at the end of a 3-mile dirt road off of Highway 20 in the Bear Valley. You may recall from a previous blog that is where Paul and Cheri’s wedding was last year.<br><br>
No hotels, restaurants, grocery stores, mini-marts, gas stations, or similar accoutrements are within miles. For some folks, that may put it in the middle of nowhere. For others, it merely is equidistant from Nevada City and Truckee. <br><br>
Given the remote location, we will be free from many of the distractions of the World to focus on surf music, surf art, having fun, and enjoying a weekend with our fellow “campers.” Nobody will be able to say (with a straight face), “Let’s go into town and have few drinks.” <br><br>
Then again, we most likely will not be freed totally from the internet or mobile phone signals. That means that, at some time during camp, somebody’s smart phone will ring, ding, or vibrate. Or some camper will sneak a glance at a ubiquitous iPhone, Droid, or Blackberry and hope that nobody noticed. Will it be while in line for breakfast? Or during an evening of performances? Or during one of the “classes”?<br><br>
Looking at the line-up of events and classes, I am baffled as to why anybody would want to be distracted by a mobile device. The events include performances by The Pyronauts, the instructors, and the campers, band practices, private and group lessons by some of the best surf musicians on Earth, gold mine tours, and a sneak preview of rough footage of the documentary “Sound of Surf.”<br><br>
The classes will cover an amazing variety of material. Surf art. The history of surf music. Songwriting and production. Stage presence (aka Guitar Face 101). Technique. Gear maintenance (bring nail polish). We even get to learn about physical exercises which will free us to play music (and maybe even jump while on stage). We might learn how to apply super glue to our finger tips to replace callouses which have been pealed away and not stick to everything in reach.<br><br>
The anticipation is building. Just the thought of all of this inspired me put what I learned in animation class to use. Check out “<a target="_new" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mf53Cu4nFVQ"><b>The Pup Is Ready for Camp</b></a>.” It may be childish -- amateurish, overworked, etc. -- but it kept my mind off of the wait for the upcoming camp.<br><br>
After all, what possibly could be better than spending a weekend immersed in the music you love with friends, family, and the gurus and pioneers of that music? <br><br>
A three-day weekend! And that is what we get. Wow!<br><br></span> <span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/404406_10151210724705611_554250610_23015303_1895279120_n-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1702302012-05-18T23:00:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:14-08:00Band Practice: Thoughts of Sierra Surf Music Camp and Super Glue<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/11edcf9e62487c0890f1f4921dafb422549b2d06/medium/404406_10151210724705611_554250610_23015303_1895279120_n.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="152" width="300" /><br><br>
Last week, as I loaded my guitar into the car for the return to Sacramento, we continued our camaraderie outside Don's garage. Not only did we agree that playing together was fun and welcome, but we also agreed to practice again. Additionally, we had the arrangement for a song to expand our repertoire. And we started to think like a trio which appears to be our immediate fate.<br><br>
Since email has replaced mouth-to-ear communication, we exchanged emails. “I’m available Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Sunday.” “Sunday is out.” “Tuesday and Wednesday won’t work.” “Then, Thursday it is.” Don wrote that he would make the drive from Cool to the Doghouse.<br><br>
Paul was privy to the exchange. His plate, however, was overflowing. Sierra Surf Music Camp. Saying good bye to student after student. Packing for the move to Ferndale. Planning for his new business there. <br><br>
Despite being overwhelmed, he found time to email us. “How about you play a few of your originals at camp before the Pyronauts play to show what can be done?” <br><br>
A few of our originals! Played to Dusty Watson, Paul Johnson, John Blair, and the gathered campers. The reply was quick and understated the excitement of the opportunity: “We can do that.”<br><br>
In addition to being fun, getting together at the Doghouse meant we could work as trio on some of our originals. We would be ready for camp. Which songs? How many is a “few”? What would we play in the ideal world? Was Paul going to join us when we played at camp?<br><br>
Mr. Inner Voice silented whatever debate was going on, "Forget the questions and play." We did. Our playing was energetic and, at times, almost instinctive. We jammed through an extended “Jack the Ripper.” Even though I have avoided the lead in “Wipe Out” like a disease in the past, we played it. Maybe that was in recognition of the reality of Paul’s imminent move. If we are going to play surf music, "Wipe Out" is a required staple.<br><br>
“California Sun” moved closer to being ready for public airing. Sure, we forgot some parts of the arrangement. And I lost track of where we were at some point. Nonetheless, it was less ragged than the first time.<br><br>
“Peter Gunn” made our Doghouse play list. Wait a minute, we have never played that tune together. Free form. Spontaneous. Experiment here and there.<br><br>
The time flew by. The next thing we knew, the clock on the Doghouse wall read 9:45. We had been playing for more than two hours. Even flat wound strings could not prevent the return of pain in my finger tips. My callouses had peeled away completely over the weekend to expose a layer of tender skin. <br><br>
Note to self: Think about taking Super Glue to camp to slather over the tender skin. Man-made instant callouses!<br><br>
We played a couple of more songs. Don and Glenn left. The enthusiasm, energy, spontaneity, and fun of the evening kept pulsing through my mind. Despite the clock reading 10:15, I was not ready to go home or to bed. So I leaned back in a chair, enjoyed a beer, and savored the time that we just had spent.<br><br>
This music stuff sure is great! What took so long to figure that out?<br><br><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/404406_10151210724705611_554250610_23015303_1895279120_n-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1689342012-05-16T04:00:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:14-08:00Getting the Passion Back - Part 3 ("They're Out There Having Fun in the Warm California Sun")<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Working on the Meet the Pup animation brought music back into my mind. Assembling the animation meant working with “Lava Tube" to create a snippet which goes with the theme. And, like a proud parent, I really love that song!<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/c46c0c7db763bab988c4edb74d82a85718cf6f3d/original/couch.jpg?1375982946" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="263" width="250" />Plus, each day the equipment and guitar case stacked behind the couch at the Doghouse seemed to say, “We need you. Why are you neglecting us? Did we do something wrong?”<br><br>
The school project was done. Three weeks had passed since the Sunday Surf Party and CD Release. Wallowing works for only so long. <br><br><br><br>
And the inner voice joined the chorus of the equipment and guitar case with a strident message, “Get off your fat butt and get back to rock ‘n roll!” I obeyed and scheduled a "jam session" with Don and Glenn. <br><br>
During our early evening drive to Cool, Glenn observed that we needed to enjoy the green in the foothills now. Soon they would be brown and, given the lack of rain, tender dry.<br><br>
After the unseasonably warm day, Don had the overhead door open to cool the garage down. Is that ironic to have to cool a place in a place called Cool? I pulled the Ocean Turquoise Jazzmaster out of its case for the first time since the Capitol Bowl. It was still in tune but the neck was a sticky with sweat from that Sunday. A wipe down with a piece of old t-shirt took care of that. <br><br>
Somebody said, “Let’s see what we can play as a trio.” I started into “Mr. Moto.” Not playing for a few weeks showed. Each of us forgot parts, and we were far from tight. In an effort to right the ship, Don said, “Let’s go to our standby.” We played “Penetration” like we had not skipped any time. Don worked in some bass fills. “We can make that work.”<br><br>
We were working together and testing songs as a trio. The unspoken theme was that Paul would be in Ferndale soon, on to new adventures, and building a following there -- five hours away. <br><br>
We were having such fun that I suggested we try to add “California Sun.” I outlined a concept which had been floating around in my brain for some time -- the Rivieras meet Handsome Dick Manitoba and the Dictators. We worked on the outline. Both Don and Glenn had ideas. In the end, we came up with arrangement which we stumbled through. At times it was cooking. Other times . . . the newness and evolving nature of the concept showed.<br><br>
I was paying the price for the few weeks hiatus. Callouses coming off. They were catching on the strings and the frets. My fingers were beginning to hurt, but I realized this was a good -- and much needed -- pain. <br><br>
“Got to stop. My fingers can’t take it any longer.” <br><br>
After unplugging and putting equipment away, we sat and gabbed. Don and Glenn each had a beer while I finished off my third cup of coffee. We talked of Sierra Surf Music Camp. <br><br>
“Paul will be by next Friday. I’ll talk to him about possibly doing something at Camp.” Don then brought reality -- the reality that had guided our work as a trio -- to bear, “Will that be your last lesson?” Being the eternal optimist, I replied, “Maybe we can do something by Skype.”<br><br>
Irrespective of the now-spoken reality, the consensus was, “This is just what we needed.” Fun. Camaraderie. Working as a group. I felt rejuvenated, enthused, and ready to play again. The passion is back! <br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/couch.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1679382012-05-14T01:50:00-07:002017-02-01T14:49:53-08:00Getting the Passion Back - Part 2 ("Pablo Picasso" and Some Air)<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Okay, the air was out of my desire-to-make-music balloon. It was flat. What was going to pump it up?<br><br>
During the week following the Sunday Surf Party, the end to the “final” 2D project came into sight. The assignment sounded simple enough: Create a 10- to 20-second animation of a character speaking. The project, however, was turning out to be more difficult than it sounded. <br><br>
Obviously, the purpose of computer-based animation is to use something that is already done. For the computer-impaired (read me), things are no always as easy as they should be. Trying to import a character from the computer memory resulted in . . . (drum roll, please) . . . Failure! <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/338a03f1403326b920d31ad304ce3ef4acb5ca0c/medium/Pablo_Picassolip_synch.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" style="width: 240px; height: 247px;" />Back to the drawing board. Scratch head. Ponder. Idea! Do “Pablo Picasso.” We all know the words. “Some people try to pick up girls and get called . . . . But that never happened to Pablo Picasso. . . .” Execution was clear: Draw a character, create a short snippet on Garageband, and push forward with lip synch. <br><br><br><br>
How about throwing in a Picasso painting for some artistic touch?<br><br>
In less than a week, I reached the point where working on it any more probably would be counterproductive. If you polish the rock enough, it disappears.<br><br>
The creative juices were flowing again. So why stop with “Pablo Picasso”? Thoughts raced through my head. How about a Pup animation? Isn’t that why I signed up for the course in the first place? So the time finally had come to start working up a Lava Pup character to animate. <br><br>
A couple of online tutorials made clear that importing a character would work if I just checked one of the boxes in the program. Just check one of the boxes! Yes, I truly am computer-impaired.<br><br>
Two days before the scheduled “Final,” a Meet the Pup animation was done. That presented a conflict between Type-A-me and trying-to-be-a-laid-back-artsy-type-me. Type A: How about submitting Meet the Pup for some extra credit? Artsy-Type: Why, Man? Then the realities of the class presented themselves. “Wait, you’re taking the class pass/fail. You don’t need no stinkin’ extra credit! That’s for the kids who want a future in ‘Art - New Media’ and may seek jobs someday.” Conflict resolved.<br><br>
The day of the “Final” arrived. One-by-one, the students went up to the podium, inserted a CD into the professor’s computer, and displayed their animations on the big screen. My turn. Presentation delayed. “How you get this thing to play?” Proof again that I truly am computer-impaired.<br><br>
“Pablo Picasso” finally was a click away. My animation filled the screen. “Some people try to pick up girls . . . .” Nineteen seconds and it was over. One of the students asked, “Is that one your songs?” I replied, “Thank you, but that was by the Modern Lovers.” Blank stares in response. Undaunted, I said, “Perhaps you heard the cover in <i>Repo Man</i> by the Burning Sensations.” More blank stares. <br><br>
Were the blank stares surprising? Not really. The song “Pablo Picasso” is 40 years old. <i>Repo Man</i> nearly 30. And, oh, yeah, previously only one person in the class knew who Morrissey was. Not only am I computer-impaired, but I also am way old. <br><br>
The creative process moved the Lava Pup back to a front burner. Was this going to put some air in the desire-to-make-music balloon?<br><br>
P.S. - Check out <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wn79Vu9A40o" target="_new"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><b>Meet the Pup</b></span></a><br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href=""></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Pablo_Picassolip_synch-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1676352012-05-12T12:40:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:13-08:00Getting the Passion Back - Part 1 (Who Let the Air Out?)<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Writing this brought back memories of the Kinks' "Around the Dial." One of our DJs is missing. . . . I've been around the dial so many times, but you're not there. . . . Did anybody miss us like Ray Davies missed his favorite DJ?<br><br>
Neglecting a blog sure is easy. A couple of weeks can get by in a blink of an eye. The keyboard to the MacBook might as well be growing hair. For two weeks, it certainly had no use for creating anything for this blog. <br><br>
After unloading from the Sunday Surf Party and CD Release, the Lava Pups seemed to shift to a back burner of the stove on which my life cooks. The air was out of my desire-to-make-music balloon. The Ocean Turquoise Jazzmaster just sat in its case. Even though it usually is treated with loving care, the sweat marks from the Capitol Bowl were not wiped away or rubbed out. Amp, reverb unit, cords, cymbals, and merchandise tub all were stacked behind a couch in the Doghouse.<br><br>
No single factor brought about this loss of interest. A few contributors come quickly to mind. <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/9b81bd6c96c770cbf3c8fde2535448eb484eb32f/medium/IMG00219-20120123-1531.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="333" width="250" />First, the Sunday Surf Party did not have the vibe for which I had hoped. Sure, it was a success. We did everything that we could to make it a success. But it was not an overwhelming success. It certainly did not surpass the previous Capitol Bowl party in either spirit, audience participation, or overall fun. Of course, that earlier event set an exceedingly high bar.<br><br><br><br><br>
Oh, yeah, unreasonable expectations lead to disappointment. No matter how many times you may recite that, disappointment does not vanish completely. And we had no photos or recording leaving us at the mercy of our memories.<br><br>
Second, despite my old age, I went back to school to take a course in 2D animation. This was sparked by something about animated posters. For the most part young folks made up the class. Early in the semester, the 30-something professor said to me, “I find that people your age have problems with dexterity and seeing.” He then demonstrated -- in front of the entire class -- how to make images on the computer screen larger. Obviously, for the sight-impaired old people like me.<br><br>
People my age! Dexterity! I may not be facile with “click, click, see how easy that was.” But I am the -- well, sort of, “the” -- lead guitarist for a surf band and have put together and edited sound tracks in Garageband. Additional thoughts also hit me, “Should I even endure such insults? I have more schooling at more prestigious universities than the professor and done more in my lifetime than he probably will. What does he know from life?”<br><br>
Concluding that a few insults should not stand in the way of learning and being a glutton for punishment, I did not drop the class. That meant that our “final” project was due shortly after the Sunday Surf Party.<br><br>
Third, Paul is moving five plus hours away. A couple of weeks before the Capitol Bowl event, Paul announced, “Cheri and I have made an offer on a house in Ferndale. It’s our dream house.” My response was heart-felt, “That’s wonderful. I hope that you get it.” I had heard of Ferndale but had no idea where it is. So, I asked, “Where’s Ferndale?” Paul replied, “Up the coast south of Eureka.” South of Eureka! He would be closer timewise in L.A.<br><br>
As Paul, Don, and Lori were leaving the Capitol Bowl parking lot in the Pyrovan, the thought of losing the close proximity of a teacher, collaborator, and friend finally struck me. I remembered something that I read recently about live performances. “Treat each performance like it is your last.” Was the Sunday Surf Party and CD Release going to be the last for the Lava Pups?<br><br>
All and all, the air rushed out of my desire-to-make-music balloon. Simultaneously, my “final” project for 2D animation tapped into whatever creative juices that might be flowing. Yeah, that meant some of my passions seemed to be gone. Music and this blog fell into neglect.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG00219-20120123-1531-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1623622012-04-29T23:15:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:13-08:00Sunday Surf Party: The Main Event - The Fabulous Pyronauts!<b><u>Editor’s Note</u>:</b> We had hoped for photos but do not have them yet. Patience is a virtue at which I am deficient. So you get another look at well-crafted CD artwork instead.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/2e3044f78e935f45538506753bc96ce8a9d4c8bc/medium/Play4SurfCD002.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="286" width="300" /><br><br>
Enough with the prelims, the time had come for the main event. “Ladies and Gentlemen, here is one of the best surf bands in Northern California -- the fabulous Pyronauts!”<br><br>
Pyronauts were at the Capitol Bowl as a trio. Paul the Pyronaut, The Brett Cole, and Timmy Stephenson. No Bob Bitchin’. <br><br>
They started off with “Mr. Moto.” Their initial energy level was down some from usual. Then again, they had to be gig weary. They played Friday night in Auburn. Then, they were outdoors in the sun -- the first hot day sun -- by the pool at Thunder Valley Casino for a private party on Saturday afternoon. On Saturday night, they were the headliners after two or three other bands in Grass Valley. A 9:00 start meant that they most likely did not play until 11:00 or later.<br><br>
Paul probably arrived home around 3:00 a.m. and was back on the road at 11:00 to make West Sac by noon. Then he played a set with the Lava Pups. Tim and Brett burned some of their energy by bowling during our set. Oh, yeah, the air conditioning was not at its best or was out entirely.<br><br>
Good thing that they all are young!<br><br>
Paul knew what the band needed for an energy boost. He looked to the audience for that. “What do you want to hear?” People started to shout out requests. Zap! Energy filled the band and the room. <br><br>
Interactive entertainment at its absolute best.<br><br>
Revitalized, the Pyronauts played some songs off of “Play for Surf.” By request, they played songs that I had not heard them play for some time. “Ghost Riders” and “Baja.” They hit some of the old dependables like “Peter Gunn.” Animated and expressive, Paul sang “Folsom Prison Blues.” They performed their great go-to songs like “Miserlou” and “Sifaka.”<br><br>
Beyond the restaurant and lounge area, a birthday party was underway. The children arrived and starting bowling during our set. By the time the Pyronauts took over, they were eating pizza and opening packages. One of the adults from the party walked up to Paul, tapped on his shoulder, and whispered to him. Soon, the Pyronauts led the entire Capitol Bowl in “Happy Birthday.” They followed that with a spirited “Wipe Out.” A 6-year old got something more tthan presents from his friends o remember for his birthday!<br><br>
As I watched from a table in the back of the restaurant, I just marveled about the skills and professionalism of the Pyronauts. About how they came out the doldrums caused by a day in the sun and a couple of late nights to be energetic and, as always, entertaining. About how they were consummate professionals who refused to “mail in” a show. About how lucky I was to have the opportunity to play on the same stage with Paul. They showed the audience what REAL musicians do.<br><br>
They closed with “Sifaka.” I walked up to the mic and remembered to put my lips to it. “Give it up for the fabulous Pyronauts! That was ‘Sifaka,’ which is on their new CD which is available at the merch table. Thank you for coming out today. Thank you to the Capitol Bowl for letting us play. And again a big thank you to the Pyronauts -- a best surf band in Northern California!”<br><br>
The audience applauded for the Pyronauts. People told us that they had had fun and had really enjoyed the afternoon.<br><br>
Our Sunday Afternoon Surf Party and CD Release was over except for packing up. The Pyronauts could rest after their busy weekend. Oh, yeah, they still had a 45-minute drive ahead to get home.<br><br><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Play4SurfCD002.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1621422012-04-29T03:45:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:13-08:00Sunday Surf Party: "We Are the Lava Pups"<b><u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Editor’s Note</span></u><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">:</span></b><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"> We had hoped for photos but do not have them yet. Patience is a virtue at which I am deficient. So you get some of our artwork instead.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/9baed49aa3e7ffa78283379c09974b1a28892be8/medium/Pup-in-Prius.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="193" width="250" />We were plugged in. We had gotten thumbs up indicating that our volumes were good. Our merch table was set up. Ear plugs in, and we were ready to rock ‘n roll.<br><br>
“Hi. We are the Lava Pups. Take it away, Glenn!” Drum intro. Then Don and Paul. My turn. Wow, where were the usual jitters? Of course, not worrying about freezing up meant that my mind was free to roam all over. Thinking can be a person’s worst enemy. Actually, thinking about thinking is!<br><br>
For some reason -- maybe thinking -- our corner of the restaurant felt smaller than before. The Pyronauts’ mic and stand really were not being very friendly. First, I forgot to put lips to mic. How was that the mic’s fault? But it was cured when the audience shouted out in what seemed to be unison, “We can’t hear you.” Fortunately, that was early in the set and allowed me to use my radio voice. Next, my guitar cord ended up wrapped around the mic stand. As I looked down at the rat’s nest of cords, I thought, “This is a disaster in the making. Fix it now or suffer indignity later!” That meant unwinding the mess while trying to make some joke.<br><br>
Immediately after wondering how I could forget parts of “Into the Flow” -- which we wrote -- we coincidentally got the set flowing. We were having fun. One guest was snapping photos through a camera with a huge, professional-looking lens. Always ready for a photo op, Paul smiled and posed. I tried. But, as readers of this blog know, multi-tasking is not my strong suit.<br><br>
As we played, I realized that we are getting better at this band stuff. “Here’s one you can sing along with,” and we went into “Runaway.” People sang along as they always seem to do. Paul’s dad even looked up the lyrics on his iPhone. We ripped through “Squad Car.” The guests at the bar and sitting at the tables were rocking along with us. Some guy actually was singing out the chords that I played when Paul took the lead.<br><br>
As we wrapped up "Squad Car," a thought hit, "Do they have air conditioning in this building?" Hot day. Air not working. I ran my forearm across my wet forehead and announced, “I’m sweating like a pig!” As Paul started into the introduction to “Pacifica Blue,” the madras shirt came off.<br><br>
After introducing the band and pimping the Pyronauts, their new CD, our merch, the Capitol Bowl, and Cap’s Grill, we lit off on the build up to the end of the set. No rest for anybody. Just pure energetic rock ‘n rock and more sweat. “Sea Witch.” “Surf Party.” “Lava Tube.” “Raw Hide/Jack the Ripper.” Faster. Faster. Glenn lost a drum stick, and our set was over!<br><br>
“Thank you. We are the Lava Pups. The fabulous Pyronauts are next. Eat, drink, bowl. Please tip Chicago style: early and often.”<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Pup-in-Prius-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1618032012-04-27T08:15:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:13-08:00Sunday Surf Party: At Least We're Not Up To Our Knees In Mud!<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/295f53ee051b26815c63c7153952e2fe7037c007/medium/photo.jpg?1375982944" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="378" width="250" />Saturday was more than a time for disposable bag dispenser market research. After Friday’s West Sac Manhunt, the Doghouse was accessible again. No road blocks. No crime scene tape. No SWAT or K-9 units. West Sac’s industrial area had returned to normal. <br><br>
The late morning and early afternoon were perfect for running through the set one last time and packing for Sunday. Guitar, amp, reverb unit, cords, and tub of merchandise were positioned by the door. The play list and list of items to pimp were finalized. <br><br>
Everything was ready to go for Sunday morning.<br><br>
On Sunday morning, the Blackberry dinged, and a text from Paul read, “Can you bring your cymbals?” The response was quick, “OK.” That was an excuse to get to the Doghouse earlier than planned and took my mind off of the gig.<br><br>
When we arrived at the Capitol Bowl, the Pyrovan was backed into the primo parking place in front of the doors. Paul and Don already were setting up. <br><br>
We looked through the window and saw some friends in a booth. Once we were inside and finished exchanging pleasantries, they said, “We just had brunch. We didn’t know you were playing here today and can’t stay. We have chores.” So much for our emails and a Facebook posts.<br><br>
As that conversation ended, Becky checked her Blackberry to discover that another friend was up to his knees in mud and gunk repairing a broken water pipe. Man, our potential audience count was dropping by the minute.<br><br>
After setting up and taping cords, set list, and pimp list to the floor, I put a madras shirt on over my Lava Pups tee. The madras shirt was a nod to the true SoCal beach look in the early 1960s. No Hawaiian shirts back in the day.<br><br>
While Don and Paul finished their meal, Glenn made the final adjustments to the drum kit and I tuned.<br><br>
Don and Paul joined us and plugged in. Each of us played a few notes. Tim -- the Pyronauts’ drummer -- indicated from a booth in the far corner of the restaurant that we needed more volume. Folks were arriving. They sat in the restaurant and in the lounge area between the restaurant and the bowling lanes. A number of our friends went directly to bowling. They knew, from our earlier gig, that they could listen from the lanes. <br><br>
Even though we knew that lightning was not going to strike twice, this was having the fifty plus feeling. Those coming to join our Surf Party and CD Release outnumbered the other patrons of the Capitol Bowl. The first really warm weekend of the year was affecting all indoor activities. Boating, hanging out along the rivers or in the parks, picnics, gardening, and the like most likely were higher of most people’s agendas.<br><br>
Hey, if we got fifty folks in the door, that was fifty who otherwise would not be at the Capitol Bowl on a Sunday afternoon. I have friends who are “real musicians” who would love to have an audience of 50.<br><br>
Plus, keeping in mind our friend with the broken water pipe, this was going to be better than being up to our knees in mud.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href=""></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/photo-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1611162012-04-25T13:40:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:13-08:00Merch Table: Disposable Bag Dispensers Are Not Just For Dog Owners<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/54f8c34c6a57ad69580d84e448459b0e27fbddb9/medium/IMG00208-20111108-1248.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" style="width: 250px; height: 224px;" />Part of planning for the Sunday Surf Party and CD Release included making sure that Lava Pups merchandise made it out of the tub for a change. We really have not habituated that . . . yet. Our merchandise includes a disposable bag dispenser. The consensus is that that is unique as band "merch."<br><br><br>
At our Saturday morning post-run “stitch and bitch” session, the Wiki Weekend Warriors seemed amazed that the Lava Pups disposable bag dispensers had been a big hit at a recent baby shower. While shopping for a shower gift, Becky noticed that disposable bags -- formerly known as “poop bags” -- were on display in the baby department. The celebrated mother-to-be seemed delighted with receiving a couple of our dispensers. And one of the guests gushed about how useful a handy supply of disposable bags was to parents of infants.<br><br>
After we semi-exhausted -- as guys at any age are prone to do -- issues relating to the disposal of dog waste, the conversation turned to both esoteric and practical matters. “Are the bags biodegradable?” “They are in all states except California.” That, of course, led to a right-left -- conservative pitted against liberal -- discussion of environmental protection or restrictions in California. It was pretty much an exercise in futility by the extremes on the two sides of the issue. “Why does California thwart industrial progress and economic growth with unreasonable environmental restrictions?” “Why don’t you move to Texas, where raping the environment is entirely legal and expected?”<br><br>
We then shifted to something more solvable. “What is the price for your dispensers? And how does that compare with Target?” The second question was a great question which obviously would require market research. <br><br>
“I’ll go by Target on the way home.” <br><br>
“You can go to Pet Extreme up the street.” <br><br>
“But I won’t get to see what is being sold for babies or what the low price alternative is.”<br><br>
My market research showed that Target offers disposable bag dispensers in two departments -- babies and pets. They are not the fashionable “Bags-on-Board” models sold at pet stores. Rather, the Target dispensers are fairly generic. The dispensers for babies appear to be indistinguishable from those for pets. The only readily apparent difference is pricing. Your basic dispenser in the pet department is $1 more than in the baby department.<br><br>
Obviously, Target views pet owners as suckers who are prone to spend more money on their “fur children” than real children. Becky has observed more than once that her Mom’s dog is treated better now than Becky was as a child. Times change!<br><br>
Now you may think that Target somehow is not Earth-friendly because it sells all kinds of Chinese-manufactured goods. We also know that Chinese-made bags are not biodegradable in California. But you could be wrong just a tad about Target. Because pet “stuff” -- we are keeping this P.G. -- is not accompanied by diapers, wipes, and other environmentally unfriendly accoutrements, bags which meet California’s standards for biodegradable are available at Target. They are made from corn starch right here in the good old U.S.A. And Target had the biodegradable bags prominently displayed.<br><br>
That means that purchasers of Lava Pups disposable bag dispensers have a source for California-compliant bags. And we can display the California-compliant bags with a "go green" sign on the merch table.<br><br>
Oh, yeah, our market research confirmed that our dispensers are more expensive than those sold at Target. When asked about that by one of the guys on Sunday morning, I responded, “We’re talking about generics versus customs . . . fashionable versus pedestrian . . . Target versus Nordstroms . . . Hyundais versus Mercedes . . . and we charge twice as much.”<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href=""></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG00208-20111108-1248-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1603092012-04-23T15:15:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:13-08:00Lightning Was Not Going To Strike Twice<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/13b29c213b2d2c15074cd6eb8b6b7adf92e89ad6/medium/ywGtu.Xl.4.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_top border_" alt="" height="221" width="350" /><br>
Early on, we hoped that, despite the odds, lightning would strike twice.<br><br>
Getting ready for the Sunday Afternoon Surf Party and CD Release at the Capitol Bowl was going way too easy. But that did not mean that the stars were aligned for a full house or topping the 100 or so folks who showed up last time.<br><br>
In the lightning does not strike twice department, our several emails to the media were not creating buzz or any real press at all. The <i>Sacramento Bee</i> -- the local mainstream newspaper -- was kind enough to reply to our email. That was impressive. But the message was not as hoped, “We already have a full slate of events for that weekend.” <br><br>
The <i>Sacramento News & Review</i> -- the local weekly -- did not respond to our emails. Hope springs eternal however. So I grabbed an issue from the newsstand and scoured it. No mention of our event was to be found. We were not in the “8 in 4 days” highlighted events, the listings of gigs, or the music column. The News & Review also had its usual stuff: Medical marijuana ads, escort ads, and exotic dancer ads. But it had nothing about either the Pyronauts or the Lava Pups.<br><br>
The Sunday Afternoon Surf Party and CD Release apparently was not newsworthy. Our sending pictures of The Pyronauts or the show poster and trying to shift the focus to their new CD did not get the attention of the print media.<br><br>
We were not getting any help from the press. No serendipity was happening this time.<br><br>
Without the power of the press, our hope to catch lightning would be a buzz among fans, friends, family, and the curious. But the Capitol Bowl was the fourth of four gigs by the Pyronauts. Two of three earlier gigs were open to the public and in the foothills -- the Pyronauts’ backyard. No matter how much you love a band, would you go to three shows in three consecutive days?<br><br>
So we were not generating buzz in the press or among the Pyronauts’ longstanding foothill followers.<br><br>
Even the elements were working against lightning striking twice. Temperatures started climbing during the week before the Sunday Afternoon Surf Party and CD Release. On Friday (West Sac Manhunt Day), the Sacramento area hit 80 degrees for the first time this year. Pushing 90 on Saturday. This was a weekend for gardening, visiting the Zoo, playing in parks, and frolicking on the rivers. Add in Picnic Day at UC Davis and Earth Day. And the forecast for Sunday was more of the same.<br><br>
By Saturday night, the writing was on the wall and read: “Lightning Was Not Going To Strike Twice.”<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href=""></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/ywGtu.Xl.4-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1594352012-04-20T08:25:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:13-08:00Two Days To Go - West Sac Traffic Jam<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Our Surf Party and CD Release is on Sunday! The Pyronauts and the Lava Pups. That is less than two days away. But it has an easy and loose kind of feel. <br><br>
The full Pyronauts or the Pyronaut trio are playing in Auburn on Friday night (oh, that is tonight), Roseville on Saturday afternoon, Grass Valley later that night, and the Capitol Bowl on Sunday afternoon. That is a bunch of gigs, loading and unloading, and driving. The Pyrovan will be loaded out so Paul said, “We’ll use the Pyronauts’ drums and bass amps.”<br><br>
Thank you very much. We do not have to bring some of our equipment. Time saved and one less worry. Need to hit that “easy” button that we bought at Staples back when “easy” buttons were cool. Or maybe we got them for free when we ordered office supplies from Staples.<br><br>
No matter. Bonk! “That was easy.”<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/9e38aef0852b402535ce824baafbc3a5e0d08564/original/staples-easy-button.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="208" width="275" /><br><br>
Paul and I went over the set list for Sunday. No new songs. Nothing that we have not done before. Maybe some new wrinkles. After all, we have to have some surprises for the people who come to see us play. But not enough to justify getting too excited. We had full band and “trio” practices. The consensus is that we are ready.<br><br>
Hit the button again. Bonk! “That was easy.”<br><br>
What could I possibly worry about now? Well . . . . This morning, as I was laying out a suit and tie for work, I heard a cell phone ringing in the front of the house. Darby (the original Lava Pup) came in and gave me an inquisitive look. He surely was asking, “Are you going to answer that?”<br><br>
So, why would somebody be calling at 7:00 in the morning? We checked and were told, “Turn on the news. The police have surrounded businesses around the Doghouse and are patrolling the area. We’ve locked ourselves in and are watching what’s happening!” Huh?<br><br>
Grab the remote. Click. “We have breaking news from West Sacramento. Shots have been fired at a business on Harbor Boulevard.” Yeah, that is just around the corner from the Doghouse. “A pick-up was hijacked at Duluth.” Oh, oh, that is even closer. “After a chase, the pick-up crashed on the Causeway. Shots were fired at the police!” Hey, maybe they drove right by the Doghouse.<br><br>
A man-hunt was underway. SWAT, helicopters, K-9 units. Interstate 80 was closed down. “Interstate 80 is a parking lot!” For the next couple of hours, we were treated to different views of West Sacramento and Interstate 80. From the air: “Here is a shot from the Live Copter 3.” From the ground: “Now reporting from the east end of the Causeway . . . .” From the ground again: “Here is our reporter near the scene on Harbor Boulevard in West Sacramento.” By computer: “Traffic Pulse 3 reporting traffic is at a standstill on Interstate 80 and the connectors from 5, 50, and Business 80.”<br><br>
So much for the longstanding efforts to clean up the image of West Sacramento as crime-infested. A few gun shots and . . . . At least, nobody mentioned its history of prostitution and drugs.<br><br>
Now I can worry about how many souls will be scared off by today’s traffic jam and parking lot on the three interstates serving Sacramento. Before that, Sunday’s Surf Party and CD Release was going a bit too smoothly.<br><br>
But why worry? We all know that stuff happens. And Paul and I agreed that goal for both bands on Sunday is to have fun and make sure that the audience has fun.<br><br>
Bonk! “That was easy.”<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href=""></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/staples-easy-button.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1580722012-04-16T10:20:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:13-08:00Surprise for Band Practice, and the Surf Beat Goes On<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">As Glenn and I drove to Cool for band practice, the extra daylight made the trip the easier than those previous trips in twilight or darkness. The ease was welcome after a day of work. Fortunately, we also caught a break between storms which had been rolling into Northern California -- well sort of rolling after our unusually dry winter. That break allowed us to observe that Spring in the foothills is pleasant. The grasses and hillsides are a lush green. Wild flowers are in bloom.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/67e42ed6395a788a14d5a05feca07279970cd2e6/medium/MrApeHead4.jpg?1375982944" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="375" width="250" />We arrived at Don’s garage to the sound of a singular guitar playing surf music. Don was noodling on his Jaguar. That reminded me that he is an excellent guitarist who took up bass so that we could record “Into the Flow.” Yeah, that's right, he took one for the team. It also made me think, “How can we work Don’s guitar playing skills into our line-up?” Of course, that would require that I become somewhat proficient with rhythm -- either on guitar or bass. Could Mr. Ape Head take that?<br><br><br><br>
I pulled my guitar and some full-color posters out of the back of the Prius. By the time I walked in, Don was putting his guitar away. Glenn opened up a beer. I had a thermos of coffee -- my fuel -- in hand. I was ready for a “trio” practice.<br><br>
Then, Don announced a surprise. Paul was on his way to join us. He had been on “Spring Break” from teaching. After a week on the North Coast and a weekend of announcing and promoting shows, Paul managed to have an evening off.<br><br>
Just as Don finished his announcement, Paul drove up. He came in with a gig bag and a Subway sandwich. He unpacked both. A six inch sub and a pink Jazzmaster. As he ate, we caught up on what lies ahead. Over the upcoming two weeks, he was preparing for five shows by the Pyronauts including the Capitol Bowl. HIs preparations included picking up “Play for Surf” at the replicator the next day and arranging to have new t-shirts air-expressed in from New York. <br><br>
Clearly, “Spring Break” was over for Paul. His plate is full again. Actually, it is overflowing. Despite that, he was sharing some of his much-in-demand time with us. So we had to make the most of the practice.<br><br>
“Let’s run the set.” We played. Paul was simply amazing. Maybe pink (as in the Jazzmaster) is his color. Or maybe he is totally focused on the upcoming two weeks. No time for distractions. No time for side issues. Just moving straight forward.<br><br>
When we finished “Midnight Run,” I said, “That was the best version that we ever played.” Paul’s embellishments were totally new. He responded, “I finally understand that song. Maybe I can remember what I did when we play it.” I knew that, irrespective of whether he remembered exactly what he just did, what he would add at the Capitol Bowl would make that song better than ever before.<br><br>
At times, the practice felt like a jam session -- loose and creative. We played an extended “Rumble.” We worked through different arrangements of and endings for “Squad Car.” We joked. We experimented. We nailed most of the songs. Any doubts that we might not be ready disappeared. That was good because Paul may not available again for a band practice.<br><br>
The fun and productive band practice was exhilarating. Now, I only had to fret about whether our promotional efforts would be equally as productive. The sum of exhilaration plus thinking about our promotional efforts plus the possibility of drinking too much coffee after 7:00 p.m. was that sleep was impossible. So I finished <i>Surf Beat - Rock ‘n’ Roll’s Forgotten Revolution</i> by Kent Crowley.<br><br>
And our music kept playing in my mind. Yes, the surf beat goes on.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/MrApeHead4-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1576072012-04-14T11:20:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:13-08:00The Pyronauts' "Play for Surf" - A Must-Have for Your Collection<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/2e3044f78e935f45538506753bc96ce8a9d4c8bc/original/Play4SurfCD002.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="286" width="300" /><br><br>
Paul handed me the Pyronauts’ latest CD - “Play for Surf.” Graced with the surf art of Shawn Griggs, its packaging set it leagues apart from the Pyronauts’ earlier CDs. The moon reflects off of the waves and froth giving them almost a neon glow or fluorescence.<br><br>
The artwork put a hook in me. As I get older and less toned, “hook” probably should be replaced “harpoon.” Great artwork on a new CD by one of the best surf bands in Northern California -- 4 excellent musicians -- makes it irresistable.<br><br>
After checking out the artwork and notes for a full 5 minutes, I gave the CD a play. Whiz! Whap! Another harpoon! <br><br>
It is not the high energy harpoon that grips you and does not let go, saying throughout the CD, “Let’s dance.” Instead, the CD features guitar centric music with a purity of tone and sophistication that exemplify some of the best of third wave surf music. The CD also demonstrates the immense musical talents of the Pyronauts. Portraying the maturity that comes with playing as a band for several years (10 years together for Paul, Bob, and Brett), they took risks in picking the songs. The risks paid off!<br><br>
“Sprinkler of Doom” starts the CD off with a tasty morsel. It reminds me of the earlier Pyronauts’ CDs. The Brett Cole’s bass works in conjunction with Paul’s lead. Bob Bitchin’ and Timmy Stephenson create a bed of rhythm. I could envision a Rain Bird going back and forth in a couple of places.<br><br>
The Pyronauts give a new spin to a couple of songs from their earlier CDs by going acoustic on “Sifaka” and “Pie.” They put a surf pulse into the Allman Brothers “Jessica” and Led Zeppelin’s “Moby Dick.” They take a chance with “Rumble in Kentucky” -- Timmy on mandolin and a bit of back woods feel. "Rumble under a Blue Moon" would have been just as appropo for a title.<br><br>
“Amazon Warrior” puts the bass out front a couple of times. The Brett Cole performs a surf sounding lead. Paul provides a flamenco sense -- that Spanish sound which underlies the music of some first wave bands like the Sentinels. Time changes. Strong bass lines. Clear and clean picking. Even though it is more masculine in its sound, this is a song worthy of its name (assuming that Amazon pertains to the mythical tribe).<br><br>
My personal favorites are “The Clearing” and “Jawbreaker.” <br><br>
“The Clearing” is down tempo. It is again clear and clean. Tremolo bar bends give it a bit of psychedelic folksy feeling which is reminiscent of The Mermen. But, unlike The Mermen, the song is structured -- not free-formed. It is well-arranged. The guitars compliment each other. Paul and Bob demonstrate that their years of playing together continue to pay big dividends. The song features a layering of finger-picked and arpeggiated chords by both guitars.<br><br>
“Jawbreaker” introduces something new to the Pyronauts’ mix: A saxophone. At one time, saxophones were staples of rock ‘n roll. Surf bands -- even Dick Dale’s Del Tones -- had saxophones. The Crossfires, Flo and Eddie’s pre-Turtles band, used two saxophones along with the heavy tremolo picking of Al Nichols.<br><br>
At times, “Jawbreaker” is pure surf -- tremolo picking and honking sax. At other times, it has that nightclub dirty jazzy-blues feeling -- a bit of sexy and sassy sophistication. Maybe that is because Joe Berry, who plays the sax lines, is well-respected as a jazz performer. The combination of surf and jazz blues takes me back to a day when instrumental rock combined elements of blues and jazz and every band cut its teeth on Henry Mancini’s “Peter Gunn Theme.”<br><br>
“Play for Surf” concludes with “Gymnopedie No. 1.” Again, the Pyronauts slow the pace down. Their rendering of the French composition from the late 1880s borders on psychedelic. The term often used in describing Erik Satie’s piece is “atmospheric.” The feeling is of gentleness or tranquility. In the 1880s, “Gymnopeide No. 1” and its sister compositions were viewed as eccentric departures from the classical tradition. <br><br>
Along this line, "Gymnopedie No. 1" is quite appropriate as its caps a CD which is not formulaic high-energy instrumental surf. Instead, it is mature, sophisticated instrumental music by a band that is mature beyond the years of its members.<br><br>
At times, I thought about turning on the lava lamps in the Doghouse. Other times, a camp fire came to mind. Hey, aren’t the Pyronauts gathered around a camp fire on the cover of the CD?<br><br>
“Play for Surf” will be released at the Sunday Surf Party at the Capitol Bowl. And the Lava Pups will be there. Years ago, Mick and Keith. Earlier this year, the Pups. Now, the Pyronauts. April 22 will be one fun and historic afternoon!<br><br>
By the way, “Play for Surf” is must-have for your surf music collection.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href=""></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Play4SurfCD002.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1569702012-04-12T08:05:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:13-08:00Coming Soon: Sunday Surf Party and CD Release - Cool!<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Enough digressing. Time to get back to the story line.<br><br>
Maybe you used the break to rush out and listen to some different recordings of “Louie Louie” after reading our blog. I heard the Feelies’ version earlier this week on Little Steven’s Underground Garage. Maybe you took a moment to write your legislator over the lack of an official California rock song. That is truly a sad state of affairs.<br><br>
Maybe you thought, “Oh, oh, senility finally set in. Bill’s gone off on a couple of tangents now just like old folks are prone to do. Will we ever get back to the Lava Pups?”<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/dc5629fb76de00a605215fbb572e729b4f7d37e7/medium/poster.2half4-22-12.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="387" width="250" />Well, the Pups are back. Actually, they never were gone. During the time that we departed from the underlying story line, we booked another Sunday Afternoon Surf Party at the Capitol Bowl. You remember that is the historic Capitol Bowl, where Mick and Keith once bowled. <br><br>
We managed to convince Paul that we could get enough money in tips to pay the Pyronauts. Memo to Bill: Pimp the tip jar -- yeah, Chicago style, early and often. <br><br><br><br>
We created and printed up posters and fliers. They were hung with care -- legally, of course. We tried to email everybody who we thought might have an interest in the show. We posted the show on various websites and Facebook. <br><br>
All of this in the hope that lightning can strike twice! As we were informed time and time again recently, the odds of that happening are better than the odds of winning the Mega-Lottery.<br><br>
At least serendipity struck again. The “flat lands release” of the Pyronauts’ brand new CD - “Play for Surf” - will be at the Capitol Bowl. We are calling it the “flat lands release” for geographical and timing reasons. The Sacramento Valley is as flat as water in a frying pan. Plus, on the Friday and Saturday nights before the Sunday Afternoon Surf Party, the foothills (Auburn and Grass Valley) will be treated to CD “release parties” by the Pyronauts. So, we are having a “Sunday Surf Party and CD Release” -- flat lands style.<br><br>
All of this means getting back into the music playing mode. For the other guys in the band, doing so is pretty easy. Don and Glenn have innate talent. And Paul probably could fall out of the back of the Pyrovan, grab a guitar, tune it, play along with any of our songs, and add embellishments to make them sound much better.<br><br>
For me, getting back into the playing mode is always a struggle. Even though I have a guitar in hand almost every day, I still have to go over songs that I should be able to play with ease by now. Sometimes, however, brain lapses, bulky fingers, and a general talent deficit translate into nothing is easy. A tiny, nagging voice keeps asking, “Why is this so hard?” On top of that voice, guitar face keeps haunting me.<br><br>
The good news is that we are band. We cover up for each other. Besides, who else knows -- or even cares -- when we screw up? As for my guitar face, we can call it our schtick and move on. That is why another voice shouts down the tiny, nagging voice. “You’re in this to have fun. Stuff happens. So shut up, stop thinking, and have fun!”<br><br>
And, really, the Pyronauts are the headliners -- biggest print on the poster. They will have a new CD, new merchandise, and new songs. The Lava Pups will provide some noise and fun while the Pyronauts’ fans fill the room. We can handle that as long as nobody throws food at us. Cool!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href=""></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/poster.2half4-22-12-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1563612012-04-10T12:45:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:13-08:00Here's A Nominee for the California Rock Song - Do You Have One?<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/6476ae5e431aada8be92899ccdbf4860734d63a9/medium/beach20boys-3.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="245" width="250" />We asked but received only one suggestion for the official California rock song. Yes, indeed, that was truly an underwhelming response. Maybe nobody really cares that California does not have an official rock song. Maybe everybody is content that California has a state song written 100 years ago that only a few folks know. <br><br>
"I Love You, California" may be good enough for most folks.<br><br>
Without suggestions, we are left to our own resources. How about something that goes like this?<br><br>
“I, I love the colorful clothes she wears<br>
And the way this sunlight plays upon her hair<br>
I hear the sound of a gentle word<br>
That lifts her perfume through the air”<br><br>
Do those words seem familiar? Now, you might say to yourself, “Oh, wow, I think I heard those words before but . . . .” Would some more lyrics help? <br><br>
“Close my eyes, and she’s somehow closer now<br>
Softly smile, I know she must be kind<br>
When I look in her eyes<br>
She goes with me to a blossom world”<br><br>
You might begin to think that maybe this tune is a tad lame. After all, you just read all of the “substantive” lyrics from the song. At least, in “Surf City,” we had two girls for every boy.<br><br>
But this tune is No. 6 on <i>Rolling Stone</i>’s list of the 500 greatest songs in the history of popular music. No. 6! It is ahead of any song by The Beatles. “Hey Jude” comes in at No. 8. It even is ahead of what may be my all time favorite -- “What’d I Say” -- which is no. 10. At No. 6, it is just behind “Respect.” <br><br>
Where would it rank with something more meaty in the lyrics department?<br><br>
This No. 6 all-time song was by the Beach Boys who became known as “America’s Band” somewhere along the way. They put our state and surfing, cars, and the California life style on the world’s radar. They probably should be known as “California’s Band.” The Beach Boys are No. 12 on <i>Rolling Stone</i>’s top 100 performers of all time. They are the first U.S. “band” on that list.<br><br>
Our nominee by the Beach Boys does not mention surfing, cars, or California. But it was written and recorded in California. It features members of the Wrecking Crew and a theremin. It was their third U.S. number 1 and first U.K. number 1.<br><br>
Clearly, a classic and important song, and the nominee is . . . “Good Vibrations.”<br><br>
Any thoughts?<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/beach20boys-3-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1552242012-04-06T08:00:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:13-08:00Viable Nominees for the California Rock Song? Help Needed!<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">This series of posts started because California does not have an official rock song despite a rich history of rock artists, innovative music producers, and renown songwriters. So what song should be nominated as the official (or unofficial) California rock song? In our last blog, we eliminated a bunch of songs about California or parts of California -- immediate scratches.<br><br>
Today, we look at some viable nominees. To show no bias on our part, they are listed alphabetically. But, in the end, each is a little less viable than first thought.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/12ee7cc3cf5cd2dd3cba23f56f429ca3f63af3c0/original/eddie18.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="332" width="250" />“California Dreamin’” by The Mamas & the Papas. This song already received a vote from -- more accurately was nominated by -- one of my friends on Facebook. <i>Rolling Stone</i> selected it as number 89 on its list of 500 Greatest Songs. It is about some guy in a cold place dreaming of the warmth of California. John and Michelle Phillips wrote it before The Mamas & the Papas were formed. The Phillips were living in New York City at the time. Even though he also wrote “San Francisco (Be Sure To Wear Flowers in Your Hair),” John Phillips did not become a Californian until sometime after “California Dreamin’.” The only connections to California are the title and Michelle Phillips.<br><br>
“California Sun” by The Rivieras. This song is my style: Catchy and really simple. “They’re out there having fun in the warm California sun.” What’s not to like about that? Well . . . “the girls are frisky in Old Frisco” potentially offends every person who ever lived in the San Francisco Bay Area and every 1970s feminist. Even though rock ‘n roll has not always been P.C., the pedigree of the song may remove it from consideration. The Rivieras were from South Bend, Indiana. That alone should eliminate the song. After all, Indiana banned “Louie Louie.” And the writing credits go to Morris Levy and Henry Glover. Mo Levy was the controversial and reputedly shady owner of Roulette Records in NYC; he was reported to have mob connections. Henry Glover was one of the few black record executives who were successful back in the day. He produced Bill Doggett, Hank Ballard, and James Brown. He wrote “Drown In My Own Tears,” which Ray Charles popularized, and the “Peppermint Twist.” Hey, those may be interesting stories, but the only connection to California is the title. <br><br>
“Everyday People” by Sly & the Family Stone. This is Sylvester Stone’s plea for peace and equality between the races and different social groups. Sly practiced what he preached with a multi-racial band which included both men and women. This was pretty idealistic stuff by a San Francisco band during the idealistic part of the 1960s! The theme of “Everyday People” may not stand up to the history of the California ballot box. The “left coast” is not as left as the folks in Iowa -- where same sex marriage is legal -- think. If California voters are to decide, peace and equality between the races and different social groups just might lose. At least, that is what history tells us.<br><br>
The next two songs make the viable list because they are by two of my all-time favorite artists. Maybe this list is not as unbiased as initially professed. <br><br>
“PCH” -- Pacific Coast Highway -- by Slacktone. It is a classic by the best surf band in the world. No lyrics. Just the energy of Dave Wronski, Dusty Watson, and Sam Bolle. California through and through, but “PCH” is not widely known. Not many folks are humming it as they walk through the mall. <br><br>
“Summertime Blues” by Los Angeles rock pioneer Eddie Cochran. Blue Cheer and The Who covered it. The song reflects an idyllic time in the past when summer jobs -- or jobs at all -- were available for teenagers. When a politician might say, “I’d like to help you, son, but you’re too young to vote.” To modernize the song, the verse would have to be changed. “I called my Congressman, and he said quote, ‘I really can’t help you, son; the chamber of commerce bought my vote.”<br><br>
“Surf City” by Jan and Dean. This is another California through and through song. Jan Berry and Brian Wilson wrote it. The “Wrecking Crew” played on the recording. It was the first surf song -- assuming that any vocal ever is -- to reach number 1 on the charts. Jan Berry was known as one of the best record producers on the West Coast. How’s that for a pedigree? Huntington Beach later became known as Surf City. So what are the warts? First, “two girls for every boy” implies promiscuity and fun. Is that something that social conservatives could tolerate in a state rock song? Wait, they probably cannot tolerate a state ROCK song! Second, their first hit (actually Jan & Arnie’s first because Dean was on Army Reserve duty) -- “Jenny Lee” -- was about a Hollywood burlesque performer. Third, Dean gave $500 to Barry Keenan, who was a former high school classmate and who, in turn, used the money when he masterminded the kidnapping of Frank Sinatra, Jr. Finally, Jan and Dean are not even in the Rock ‘n Roll Hall of Fame. Obviously, that may auger against “Surf City” as the official California rock song.<br><br>
Loyal, not-so-loyal, or first time readers, do you have any suggestions?<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/eddie18.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1540392012-04-03T02:50:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:12-08:00A California Rock Song: Early Scratches and Non-Starters<span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)">California does not have an official rock song despite a rich history of rock artists, innovative music producers, and renown songwriters. Instead, we have a single official song written nearly 100 years ago and that nobody probably has heard in the last 50 years.<br><br>
So what song should be nominated as the official (or unofficial) California rock song?<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/0f83747892a1943b559b4de8b7ebd72ff7e52535/original/w208231660.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="300" width="218" />Here are some that most likely would be scratched <i>immediately</i>. They are non-starters. Each, however, is about our state and presents a perspective -- lame, humorous, controversial, dark, or whatever -- that is worth a thought. Each was written, performed, or produced by an California icon or two.<br><br>
“California Uber Alles” by the Dead Kennedys, one of the San Francisco Bay Area’s seminal punk bands. Jello Biafra, the lead singer and songwriter, was a Green Party activist, who once ran for the mayor of San Francisco. The song focuses on an imaginary Jerry Brown’s “hippie-fascist vision” for America -- the first iteration of Jerry Brown. It was updated for Ronald Reagan's presidency and for Arnold. Punk! Hippies! Political statement! A band with an offensive name! Obviously a non-starter as a candidate for the state rock song.<br><br>
“Los Angeles” by X -- the title cut from X’s debut album. It probably is mentioned in this post because Billy Zoom is on my list of top 15 guitarists. The song is hardly P.C. “She had to leave Los Angeles. She started to hate every . . . and . . . . Every . . . that gave her lotta . . . . Every . . . and the idle rich.” Ethnic, racial, and gay insensitivity and profanity should be enough for an instant scratch. Interestingly, that kind of language fits the California that voted in favor of initiatives to uphold racial restrictions on housing and property, to do away with affirmative action, and to outlaw gay marriage. Maybe, if left to a vote of the California public, our scratch is premature.<br><br>
The Beach Boys gave us two songs on the scratch list which capture a bit of the California vibe. Both are mildly un-P.C. and might offend those 1970s feminists who found the word “girl” offensive in any context. Plus, the video for Diamond David Lee Roth’s cover turned “California Girls” into some sexist romp. “Surfer Girl” never enjoyed the same popularity of “California Girls.” Even though it probably is disqualified from consideration as California’s rock song, Aaron King -- a local Sacramento blues guitarist -- combined “Surfer Girl” with “Sleep Walk” for a very nice C major bubble-gum chords medley last year at the In the Flow Festival. That inspired the Lava Pups to combine “Sleep Walk” and “Last Date.”<br><br>
Dealing with the dark side of Hollywood and the high life in LA are “Californication” and “Hotel California” respectively. Those should not be subjects for our state rock song. After all, dark reality cannot be “official.” Is that a merely form of denial by officialdom?<br><br>
A couple of other songs came to mind. They became scratches as they symbolize specific times in California history. They feel dated today and, except for their nostalgic value, have not stood up to the test of time.<br><ul>
<li>“San Francisco (Be Sure To Wear Flowers in Your Hair)” harkens back to the Summer of Love and the Haight-Ashbury. Written by John Phillips, it was the opening song for the movie “Monterey Pop.” Mention Haight-Ashbury, “Monterey Pop,” and San Francisco to some people and you will get an earful about immorality, drugs, hippies, liberals, etc. James Watts, Ronald Reagan’s Secretary of the Interior, shut down free concerts in the National Mall because rock music was destroying the good moral fabric of America. Maybe we are not ready to return to a time that advocated peace and love. Peace and love were divisive enough the first time around.</li>
<li>“Valley Girl” is another song that does not stand up. It introduced the world to the San Fernando Valley and its language. “Totally.” The song is silly -- humorous. And it was written and produced by Frank Zappa, who played lead guitar. His rhythm guitarist on the song was Steve Vai. For a brief moment, I thought that, if Ohio had “Hang on Sloopy,” “Valley Girl” could work for California. Then, I listened to the song again. “Gag me with a spoon.”</li>
</ul>
“Walking in LA” was the last scratch. Dale and Terry Bozzio met while working with Frank Zappa. The song preserves a perception -- largely grounded in truth -- of Los Angeles and its automobile culture. Probably a bit too localized for a STATE song. But when you hear it, you think how true it must be. “Nobody walks in LA”!<br><br>
So we have eliminated a bunch of songs. What are some viable nominees for the official (or unofficial) California rock song? That is a topic for another day.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/w208231660.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1533452012-03-31T22:55:00-07:002023-10-05T16:04:54-07:00How About an Official Rock Song for California?<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/dde0119ccc40e143439feacf41198756b0d15e6e/medium/3704561965_a1952679a2.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="209" width="300" /><br><br>
Do you know what the <i>official</i> state song of California is? That would be the one which the Legislature adopted. The official song joins a menagerie of official state animals which includes the grizzly bear, garibaldi (marine fish), golden trout (freshwater fish), valley quail, gray whale (marine mammal), desert tortoise, and dogface butterfly. The official state song stands alongside the California state rock, gem stone, and mineral. We even have an official state fossil.<br><br>
I did not have slightest idea and truly did not care what the state song is. By the way, I also did not know what the state rock, gem stone, fossil, marine fish, and insect are. How come this was not covered in elementary school California history? Moreover, where would you hear the state song?<br><br>
The California official state song is not something to be performed instead of the “Star Spangled Banner.” That would be some kind of treasonous act. Then again, that just might confirm the belief held by a bunch of people in a box bounded by eastern Pennsylvania, the Gulf of Mexico, Indianapolis, and Reno that California is a land of un-American folks led by Hollywood Zionists who faked the Holocaust. Many of the people in that geographic box also believe that Ronald Reagan walked on water and, to this day, reject his association with California.<br><br>
After learning that the Washington legislature had entertained -- but not accepted -- “Louie Louie” as the state rock song, I decided to check on California’s state song. Actually, the real question I had was whether we already have a state rock song. But a little research revealed that only a few states have official contemporary or rock songs. California is not one of them.<br><br>
Colorado adopted “Rocky Mountain High” in 2007. Georgia went for “Georgia on My Mind” in 1979. And to show that it had a sense of humor, Ohio voted in “Hang on Sloopy” in 1985. <br><br>
Some states have a whole slew of songs. Oklahoma has an official song, an official waltz, and an official folk song; it is reported to have the Flaming Lips’ “Do You Realize” as its rock song. Even though it does not have a state -- or commonwealth -- rock song, Massachusetts tops Oklahoma by adding an anthem, patriotic song, glee club song, march, and polka. Glee club and polka - somebody had too much time on their hands!<br><br>
California is way behind in comparison. It simply has a state song which was adopted in 1951 when Earl Warren was Governor. That song is “I Love You, California.” “I Love You, California”? Huh? Can you hum that tune? Probably not. Do you know the words? Probably not.<br><br>
How did we Californians let this happen? We are or were home to the Beach Boys, Ritchie Valens, Eddie Cochran, X, Henry Rollins, the Minutemen, Frank Zappa, Jan & Dean, the Doors, Phil Spector, Sonny Bono, Kim Fowley, the Grateful Dead, the Jefferson Airplane, the Eagles, Van Halen, Metallica, the Dead Kennedys, Green Day, Berlin, Katy Perry, Merle Haggard, Buck Owens, Jackson Browne, and other performers, songwriters, and producers too numerous to mention. And don’t forget Richard Berry, who somehow became Washington’s favorite son with “Louie Louie.”<br><br>
We had a Governor who dated Linda Ronstadt. We had Phil Spector’s “wall of sound.” We had Leo Fender. We had the “Wrecking Crew.” Monterey Pop. Altamont. The Us Festival. Coachella. <br><br>
Near and dear to the hearts of the Lava Pups, we have our surf music -- California’s own folk music. <br><br>
“I Love You, California”! We should be ashamed of ourselves. And we do not even have an official (or unofficial) state rock song. Do you think that this needs fixing?<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/3704561965_a1952679a2-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1520612012-03-27T23:00:00-07:002021-09-19T02:51:59-07:00"Louie Louie" - The Missing Link: The Fabulous Wailers and Rockin' Robin Roberts<span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/18a9f2866b301658734d1b2d1cba6ac661702558/medium/wailers.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="208" width="300" /><br><br>
If “Louie Louie” was written by a Los Angeles R&B/Doo-Wop guy and made famous by a couple of bands from Portland, why was an effort undertaken to make it Washington’s official state song? Why did Washington have “Louie Louie Day” in 1985?<br><br>
No, as incredible as that sounds, this is not a “once upon a time” or “this is no s**t” post. The answers lie in the honest to goodness history of Seattle-Tacoma rock ‘n roll. <br><br>
One of the most influential bands from the Northwest -- Tacoma specifically -- is the missing link between the 1957 calypso-styled original and the dueling 1963 rock versions. That band was the Wailers -- “Fabulous” was added by an East Coast record executive. They influenced the Ventures, the Sonics, and Jimi Hendrix. The Wailers are considered one of the first “garage” bands. <br><br>
In the Ventures’ “Surfin’ Hits” music book, three of the songs were written by Rich Dangel and John Greek, the original guitarists for the Wailers. No other songwriters or bands -- including members of the Ventures themselves -- have that many songs in that music book. Dangel and Greek were in high school when they wrote those songs: “Tall Cool One," “Road Runner,” and “Shanghaied.” “Tall Cool One” charted twice for the Wailers -- first in 1959 and again in 1964.<br><br>
Jimi Hendrix’ “Spanish Castle Magic” was about the roadhouse on the highway between Seattle and Tacoma where, during his high school days in Seattle, the Wailers were the house band. One of the Pacific Northwest’s seminal albums is the Wailers’ <i>At The Castle</i>, which was released in 1961. <br><br>
When I “traded” my vinyl collection for a Fender Custom Vibrolux amp, I could not part with 1959’s <i>The Fabulous Wailers</i>, which featured the band’s original line-up of Rich Dangel (lead guitar), John Greek (rhythm guitar), Kent Morrill (piano, vocals), Mike Burk (drums), and Mark Marush (tenor sax). George Harrison was a fan of that album and was quoted as “having it since day one.”<br><br>
Initially, despite its calypso styling, “Louie Louie” was viewed as a R&B song. It gained popularity in the Northwest when Richard Berry toured there and local R&B bands then covered the song. That path, however, meant that “Louie Louie” was destined for obscurity. <br><br>
But the Wailers took “Louie Louie” from R&B to rock. From probable obscurity to a garage party classic. Featuring their line up after John Greek left the band, they recorded the song in 1960. Even though they were barely out of high school, they released it on their own record label -- Etiquette Records. <br><br>
They gave the song the elements that everybody recognizes now as “Louie Louie.” They came up with the instantly recognizable chord progression. They gave it a honking sax intro which the Raiders copied. Rockin’ Robin Roberts, who joined the band to give it a dynamic frontman, introduced the break with “Let’s give it to ’em, Right Now!” And Rich Dangel added the guitar solo which became the gold standard to be copied time and time again in later versions of “Louie Louie.” <br><br>
The Wailers’ 45 became a radio hit in the Pacific Northwest. Tens of thousands of copies were sold locally. Every rock band in the area had to play “Louie Louie” at every dance. It was a rite of passage for musicians. From this caldron, the dueling recordings of The Kingsmen and Paul Revere and the Raiders boiled up three years later. <br><br>
Without Washington’s own Wailers, “Louie Louie” may not have become the iconic party anthem that it is. Dueling versions would not have been recorded or released. Without the Wailers, “Louie Louie” may never have become part of the fabric of Washington and Pacific Northwest rock ‘n roll. Maybe Washington’s love affair with “Louie Louie” is not so far-fetched as it seems at first look.<br><br>
Yes, indeed, the Wailers and their singer Rockin’ Robin Roberts are the missing link in the evolution of “Louie Louie” from calypso ditty to rock staple!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/wailers-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1516612012-03-26T14:20:00-07:002021-10-14T13:30:02-07:00"Louie Louie" - The Duel: Kingsmen vs. Paul Revere & the Raiders<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/03513bf2d19c06e02f647b0d6a877d345e5988f6/medium/kingsm.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" style="width: 350px; height: 220px;" /><br><br>
Recently, we wrote that “Money” (the garage-party classic, not the Pink Floyd song) was both B.L.L. (Before “Louie Louie”) and A.L.L. (After “Louie Louie”). The original and some other recordings were before. But the Kingsmen covered and charted with “Money” so that it was A.L.L.<br><br>
Did the Kingsmen’s recording of “Money” thus complete a circle? Not really. “Money” was never B.L.L.<br><br>
“Louie Louie” evolved from a calypso-styled semi-obscurity to party rock anthem over 6 or 7 years. Richard Berry, a Los Angeles Doo-Wop and R&B performer, recorded “Louie Louie” in 1957 -- two years before “Money.” Earlier, he sang with Etta James on “The Wallflower,” which was popularly known as “Roll With Me, Henry.” Johnny Otis and Hank Ballard co-wrote the song with Etta James. They did not use the working title of “Roll With Me, Henry” out of fear of censoring. <br><br>
Censoring in the 1950s and 1960s? Really? Oh, yeah, “Louie Louie” was banned from airplay in Indiana among other places! Even “Rumble” was banned in some markets.<br><br>
Fast forward to 1963 and Portland, Oregon. Within a week of each other and at the same studio, two local bands -- the Kingsmen and Paul Revere & the Raiders -- recorded “Louie Louie.”<br><br>
Legend has it that the Kingsmen’s version was nearly moribund until a Boston DJ played “Louie Louie” as the “Worst Record of the Week.” In fact, the band had broken up. “Worst Record of the Week” did not deter the Boston listeners. They apparently loved the Kingsmen’s “Louie Louie.” And the trajectory and impact of the record is history.<br><br>
The band ended up in litigation. As you knew or read here recently, the FBI investigated the Kingsmen’s recording for obscenity.<br><br>
For a brief period after the Kingsmen’s “Louie Louie” took off in Boston, America had dueling Louie Louies. The Paul Revere & the Raiders version did well in San Francisco and on the West Coast. Those were the days before corporate radio and entertainment conglomerates. Both versions were rising on the regional charts within one week of each other. But Columbia pulled the plug on promoting “Louie Louie” by Paul Revere & Raiders.<br><br>
Even though the FBI found that it was “unintelligible at any speed,” the Kingsmen version had won out. <br><br>
From there, “Louie Louie” was covered more than a thousand times. It had a place in the careers of the Beach Boys, Otis Redding, the Sonics, Motorhead, the Flamin’ Groovies, Black Flag, Joan Jett, Iggy Pop, and Frank Zappa. It was in the soundtrack of Animal House. Dave Marsh of Rolling Stone magazine wrote a book about “Louie Louie.” KFJC played 63 hours of “Louie Louie” without playing the same recording twice.<br><br>
And . . . (drum roll, please) . . . The Pyronauts have performed “Louie Louie” with Paul the Pyronaut on vocals!<br><br>
What would have happened if Paul Revere & the Raiders had won the duel?<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/kingsm-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1511402012-03-25T00:30:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:12-08:00Classic Garage B.L.L. (Before "Louie Louie") and a Circle<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Somebody asked, “Why write about ‘Louie Louie’?” The obvious answer should be, “Why not?” But the real reason is its exalted status in rock ‘n roll lore. “Louie Louie” has been covered on more recordings than any pop song except “Yesterday” and, as you know from our last blog, was the subject of a FBI investigation.<br><br>
In my B.L.L. (Before “Louie Louie”) times, one of the classic garage band songs was “Money.” It was in the same league as “What’d I Say” and “Shout.”<br><br>
Now, younger music fans will say, “Oh, yeah. That is a pretty good Pink Floyd song.” But we older folks know that “Money” -- the real “Money” -- has nothing to do with Pink Floyd. Besides what garage or party band would play Pink Floyd songs?<br><br>
Can you hear the audience now? “After ‘What’d I say,’ how about playing ‘The Wall.’” I cannot and doubt that you can imagine that.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/45e3ca8956e6b7e7e7bb200cd31683e744951f70/original/097BarrettStrongMoneyThatsWhatIWant.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" style="width: 230px; height: 230px;" />The real “Money” was a song performed by Barrett Strong and co-written by Berry Gordy. “The best things in life are free, but you can give them to the birds and bees. I want money. That’s what I want. . . .” Reciting those words makes you wonder if the song was the basis for the amorality of the 1980s greed generation and “trickle down economics.”<br><br>
But before the hedonistic days of disco and before “trickle down economics” became way to justify benefits and tax breaks for the rich, we had raw-boned rock ‘n roll. “Money” was released in 1959. In the early 1960s, every party band was required to perform it. No fraternity party or high school dance with a live band was complete without “Money.”<br><br>
The Astronauts are known for “Baja,” “The Hearse,” “Surf Party,” and other instrumentals. But they recorded “Money.” So did the Trashmen -- the “Surfin’ Bird” guys. The Sonics -- Northwest progenitors of garage and proto-punk music -- recorded a version of “Money.” <br><br>
Other well-known performers who sang “Money” back in the day include Jerry Lee Lewis, Joey Dee and the Starliters, the Knickerbockers, and Paul Revere and the Raiders. Even the Beatles and the Rolling Stones covered it.<br><br>
And . . . oh, yeah, the Kingsmen recorded “Money.” Their recording made the top 20. Even though it is a B.L.L. classic for me, it was their follow-up to “Louie Louie.” So “Money” was A.L.L. (After “Louie Louie”) for the Kingsmen and some others.<br><br>
Does that complete a circle? Stay tuned.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/097BarrettStrongMoneyThatsWhatIWant.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1508782012-03-23T14:05:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:12-08:00"Louie Louie" - Was It Obscene Or Potentially The Downfall of America?<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/8fff615fd1936cb8898c22be9a7e2c6f592fa6da/medium/0859609.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="148" width="300" /><br><br>Many years ago, we passed hour after hour on watch in the Control Room of the USS Barb listening to a salty Auxiliaryman who entertained us with “sea stories.” We were Cold War warriors and shipmates in a steel tube designed to spend weeks or months stealthily cruising the depths of the Pacific Ocean. Our principal mission was to follow Soviet nuclear submarines.<br><br>The Auxiliaryman often asked, “Do you know the difference between a sea story and a fairy tale?” Even though we knew the answer, he always cut us off and said, “A fairy tale begins with ‘once upon a time,’ while a sea story begins with ‘this is no s**t.’” That inevitably was followed by a hearty laugh.<br><br>J. Edgar Hoover, who was alive at the time, and the FBI also were Cold War warriors. When they were not fighting the Communist “plague” or denying the existence of the Mafia, they were protecting us Americans from obscenity, immorality, or worse. They kept dossiers on legislators, judges, politicians, union leaders, the NAACP, professors, perceived “radicals,” celebrities, and each other. Because Mr. Hoover did not believe that organized crime or the Mafia existed, the Gambinos, Genoveses, Colombos, other "families," and their soldiers were not subject to scrutiny for years.<br><br>In its role in protecting us from obscenity, the FBI investigated the rock classic “Louie Louie” as recorded by The Kingsmen. The investigation was sparked in part by rumors that the lyrics were slurred intentionally to cover up profanity. The song was banned from radio airplay in various markets. The Governor of Indiana embarked on a personal crusade against "Louie Louie." Of course, the need of politicians to distract their constituents from important matters with so-called "morality" issues was -- and is to this day -- nothing new.<br><br>More than two years were spent by the FBI listening to the record over and over and at differing speeds. The FBI interviewed Richard Berry, who wrote and originally recorded “Louie Louie,” and members of the Kingsmen. Rather than find obscenity or immorality, the FBI concluded that the song was “unintelligible at any speed.”<br><br>You may think that this should have begun with “once upon a time” or “this is no s**t.” But the FBI’s investigating “Louie Louie” is not a fairy tale or sea story. <br><br>Weren’t we lucky to have such assiduous guardians of the American way?</span><br><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/0859609-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1502572012-03-21T11:45:00-07:002012-03-21T11:45:00-07:00On a Serious Note: Who Wins More Often - The Addict or the Demons?<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Every so often, the near fantasy world of playing rock ‘n roll music, drawing childish cartoons, and writing semi-humorous self-deprecating tomes must give way to real life. In fact, real life is what we do every day. Real life includes jobs, families, friends, and responsibilities. It is filled with happiness, melancholy, disappointments, successes, and a gamut of emotions too numerous to list. In real life, we deal with demagoguery, a plethora of phobias, isms, and just plain hate, intolerance, incivility, ignorance, greed, falsity, and hypocrisy. The real life that surrounds us has unemployment, homelessness, hunger, disease, and crime.<br><br>
Over the last couple of months, we got to see some success stories which are personal to us. Some of my friends reported with pride the anniversaries of their continuing sobriety -- from alcohol, heroin, painkillers, and other drugs. They were appreciative of family and friends who supported them. They had fought -- and continue to fight -- demons which once were overpowering and controlling.<br><br>
During the same time, Whitney Houston’s death and addiction were headline news in both the “legitimate” media and tabloids. But not all addicts are celebrities or front-page news. They are everyday people like my friends. Each of us knows and deals with addicts in our real lives.<br><br>
Unfortunately and on a personal level, not every story is successful. I watched with helpless horror what happens when the demons are winning. Addiction can turn a healthy, intelligent friend into a comatose recluse who cares nothing of self, friendship, or family. In the span of a few drinks or a few hours, addiction takes people from engaging to blithering, from attentive to a stupor, from dependable to useless, from conscientious to careless, and from caring to selfish. <br><br>
The demons indeed can be overpowering and controlling. Like death, they can take away someone whom we cherish. Losing a friend or family member to addiction is more difficult than losing a friend or family member to death. Watching somebody’s addiction push family members away is confounding. Watching somebody’s addiction destroy their livelihood is saddening. Watching somebody’s addiction alienate friends is gut-wrenching. <br><br>
Unfortunately, we must stand by and watch. Until the addict admits the addiction and decides to take on the demons, our attempts at bringing about change are futile. We are told that, instead of helping, we are enabling the addict. We find ourselves making excuses for the addict. We cover up for the addict. We then realize that we are being manipulated.<br><br>
And we experience a feeling that we should be doing more. Feeling helpless. Feeling that, if we back away, something bad will happen to the addict. Feeling hurt. Feeling guilty that we feel hurt by the addict. The toll on family and friends is unimaginable.<br><br>
I need all of one hand to count the number of friends I have who have said, “My dad was an alcoholic and committed suicide.” I am not so sure that this is unique to my friends.<br><br>
Incredibly, we all know addicts. Just as we all know recovering addicts, we all have lost a friend or family member to addiction. In your experience, who wins more often -- the addict or the demons?<br><br>
All of this shows why escape to the innocence of rock ‘n roll can be welcome.<br></span>Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1481122012-03-14T15:25:00-07:002017-01-13T16:30:12-08:00Sierra Surf Music Camp: Anticipation Overload<span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)">The Day Job calls. Three weeks of 12-hour days are coming up. The push is on. And writer's block set in. Still, the urge to get a post done before going totally underground pushes for something.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/11edcf9e62487c0890f1f4921dafb422549b2d06/medium/404406_10151210724705611_554250610_23015303_1895279120_n.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="152" width="300" /><br><br>
We wrote our check to go to camp. Paid in full. No fuss. No muss. No hand wringing. No dithering. We are going to be campers at the inaugural Sierra Surf Music Camp. And we are stoked!<br><br>
Becky and I selected the “couple’s plan” and took advantage of the early bird discount. <br><br>
As you get older, you may pay closer attention to those “early bird specials.” You know those opportunities to join other old people at 5:30 for reduced price meals. Rubber chicken with white gravy is what immediately comes to mind. <br><br>
Of course, those “early bird specials” often are only available at places like Denny’s or IHOP. Denny’s has not been part of my epicurean consideration since the racial discrimination suits of the early 1990s. Before that, I just did not like the food. My only experience with IHOP in the past 10 years was sticking to table saturated with several different varieties of syrups and watching people eat thick waffles lathered with whipped cream.<br><br>
The early bird discount for the Sierra Surf Music Camp was totally different. It was a chance to sign up early for a dream weekend -- a three-day weekend at that. You have read about here before. Spending quality time with some of the leading lights -- present and past -- of surf music. You can imagine the campfire stories already.<br><br>
We’re going to have so much fun. But . . . . But . . . ? But . . . !<br><br>
As I think about the agenda, I realize that the camp may offer too much to do. Too much to do! Too many choices! Learn surf art. Surf Band 101. The History of Surf Music. Songwriting. Van etiquette. Music lessons. Nightly performances. Performing for Paul Johnson. The list goes on and on. <br><br>
Pondering the choices only incites anticipation. Two months to wait. Good thing that I am about to be inundated by Day Job demands. They will take my mind off of rock ‘n roll fantasies and whether to attend classes on surf art or stage presence.<br><br>
But before succumbing to the beck and call of real life and its responsibilities, one last bit of fun flits through my mind. Thinking back to the Capitol Bowl, I wonder: What would Paul Johnson think if he had heard our arrangement of “Squad Car”? <br><br>
Hey, we may get to find out over Memorial Day Weekend at the Sierra Surf Music Camp.<br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/404406_10151210724705611_554250610_23015303_1895279120_n-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/721492012-03-09T11:30:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:05-08:00Rerun: 15 Guitarists - Who Would Be on Your List?<span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><u><b>Editor's Note:</b></u> We are interspersing some of the previous 150 or so blog entries with current material. Here is a rerun of an earlier post. My number one is pictured below.</span><br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/ae08b66c4cda4aaf33b5f557af46288b21d1a4df/medium/slacksuz4.jpg?1375982944" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="286" width="300" /><br><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><br>
Not to long ago, a musician I know challenged his “friends” on Facebook to name 15 guitarists who have “influenced you and who will always stick with you.” I responded with “my list.” I put “my list” in quotation marks here because I may have stretched the “influenced” or “will always stick” a little to appear more cosmopolitan than I really am.<br><br>
“My list” as published to Facebook was:<br><br>
1. Dave Wronski<br>
2. Dick Dale<br>
3. Hank Marvin<br>
4. Link Wray<br>
5. Mike Bloomfield<br>
6. John Cipollina<br>
7. Jeff Beck<br>
8. Steve Cropper<br>
9. Robben Ford<br>
10. Billy Zoom<br>
11. Hubert Sumlin<br>
12. Neil Young<br>
13. Jimi Hendrix<br>
14. The Kings (Albert, BB, and Freddy)<br>
15. Eddy Cochran <br><br>
The Facebook responders were up to the task and came up with many more guitarists -- most of whom were not on my list. The ones of whom I had heard included Bill Frissell, Lightnin’ Hopkins, Jim Hall, Doc Watson, Nels Cline, Pat Martino, Frank Zappa, Nils Lofgren, Alex Lifeson, Eric Clapton, Jimmy Page, Stevie Ray Vaughn, John Petrucci, George Harrison, Robert Fripp, David Gilmour, Steve Vai, John McLaughlin, Tony Iommi, Jerry Garcia, Bill Corgan, The Edge, Richard Thompson, Pat Metheny, Eddie Van Halen, Robert Cray, Django, Robert Johnson, and many more. Obviously, some would be the "usual suspects" when guitarists are mentioned.<br><br>
Some of the Facebook friends listed guitarists who were unknown to me. Did those artists make the lists because the listing friend really was influenced or simply was trying to appear even more cosmopolitan than I? If you chose the latter, you probably are correct. Many of the responders certainly wanted to show how hip they are!<br><br>
The people listed were a virtual who’s who of guitar and ran the gamut of styles and genres -- even though country and classical were not well-represented. What was clear was that everybody has a list of favorites. Seeing others’ lists made me realize how many guitarists could be on a list and the breadth of music which is available to us. <br><br>
If I had a do-over -- which I do because I am writing this story -- some names would drop out of “my list” and be replaced. Mike Bloomfield, Jeff Beck, Jimi Hendrix, and Robben Ford probably would be off my list. Sure each of them is a great guitarist. But do they really meet the criteria which are extremely personal: Influenced me and will always stick with me? Not really. My less worldly -- simple-minded music -- list would include Eddie Bertrand, Muddy Waters, Duane Eddy, and Dave Edmunds.<br><br>
In the end, naming 15 guitarists who influenced and always will stick with any musician or guitarist is more difficult than you think and very personal. My final list might not be avant garde, obscure, cosmopolitan, lofty, or particularly highfalutin. But it is mine. <br></span>
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<span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/slacksuz4-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1457832012-03-06T05:25:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:12-08:00He Asked, "Is That All You Do?"<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Hey, we are pretty much a one trick pony.<br><br>
Recently at lunch with a friend, we were discussing music. He was a teenager during the “Summer of Love” and played in a band then. Mind you, his band was not famous, but he was in a band. In San Francisco! He attended shows at The Fillmore. And he hung out in a Victorian with the Jefferson Airplane. <br><br>
That was truly San Francisco chic in that bygone era. Hanging out in a Victorian was cool. Hanging out with the Jefferson Airplane was even cooler. Then again, all of us probably have heard somebody else’s story which tops my friend’s. Becky and I once ran into a traveler who regaled us with his tales of being a bicycle messenger in San Francisco and living in the Haight upstairs from Charles Manson.<br><br>
The Jefferson Airplane and being a bicycle messenger, however, would not top my San Francisco “Summer of Love” hip list. Spending time with John Cipollina or Big Brother and the Holding Company probably would. Of course, that is a retrospective look. When I lived in San Francisco, I was an uptight student and a “veteran” of sorts who spent a couple of years hanging out in Hawaii on a nuclear submarine. Far from hip and unlikely to spend time with any of the “Summer of Love” icons.<br><br>
Enough of that stroll down Memory Lane! <br><br>
Our lunch discussion of music turned to the Lava Pups. Admittedly, my friend is not a surf music enthusiast. He really does not know much about surf music at all. He has not attended any of our gigs. He has our CD and never has said anything about it. I assume that it never saw the inside of his CD player. <br><br>
Beyond watching “Pulp Fiction,” his exposure to instrumental surf music apparently was limited to a party more than a year ago at which I played along with the Pyronauts. His historical perspective on rock ‘n roll is rooted in the “Summer of Love” and Jimi’s saying that surf music was dead.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/e24bdfc7b40208b526027640f9669cbcc4df9ec1/medium/Rockin-Out-1.JPG?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="188" width="250" />So he said, “Is that all that you do?” Huh? He continued, “You don’t sing. You just play the melody for the lead.” <br><br>
To myself, I thought, “Is that all we do? What did you expect -- Jimi Hendrix, Quicksilver Messenger Service, or the Grateful Dead? We play surf music!” Do we get any credit for writing songs? For memorizing two sets worth of songs? For four guys making music together and entertaining folks?<br><br>
At a baser level, my playing guitar is like a monkey typing. What did my friend expect? 1812 Overture, Finlandia, War and Peace or [fill in your <i>magnum opus</i> vote]? A room full of monkeys playing guitar might come up with “Lava Tube” but not 8 simple, primitive instrumentals!<br><br>
Those mental gymnastics ended with the "Charitable Bill" voice imploring, “ Give him the benefit of the doubt.”<br><br>
“Yes, that’s all we do. Play instrumental surf. We are pretty much a one trick pony.”<br></span>
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<span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Rockin-Out-1-300.JPG">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1449712012-03-03T01:55:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:12-08:00Last Post From the Capitol Bowl: Power of the Press, Paul's Prowess, and Pride<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/ded4fe250b60b1e0efb985ab7c250946ef598495/medium/IMG_2048.JPG?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="188" width="250" />Beer and packing up had to wait. What skills I lack as a guitarist -- and they are many --are made up by the knack to BS. And that knack was getting a workout. I was asked questions about the Sierra Surf Music Camp, our instruments, and our music. <br><br><br>
Usually, people with musical questions talk to Paul, and I am left to answer questions like, “Where are the restrooms?” <br><br>
For some reason, this time was different. But I am certain it was NOT because I wowed anyone with my musical talents. Maybe a certain level of wisdom was being inferred from my gray hair.<br><br>
We also had to be hosts. After all, we are not rock stars who retreat to a “green” room full of food, liquor, and groupies. Instead, as our friends left, we thanked them for coming out. They in turn told us how much fun they had had. How much they liked the Capitol Bowl. How good we sounded. How well we played. All of that was exhilarating, validated our hours of practice, and meant that I managed successfully to hide the “I am as nervous as a prostitute in church” feeling that came over me at the beginning of afternoon.<br><br>
During the “hosting” process, I learned that we missed opportunity to gain some young fans. My sister pointed out that a group of kids were having a birthday party. “You need to learn ‘Happy Birthday’ and then play it for the kids.” Hey, let’s put that on the list along with guitar face training.<br><br>
At last, I got my hands on a beer. It counteracted some of the caffeine which had fueled me through the day. But the beer had no affect on the adrenalin which continued to run through my system.<br><br>
Becky and I lingered until everybody including Paul, Don, and Glenn left. As we packed up, random thoughts flitted in and out of my mind.<br><br>
What is the power of the press? The effect of publicity in a “legitimate” newspaper? Unplanned and unsolicited by us, we were mentioned -- actually semi-featured -- in The Ticket. Some of the guests told us that they had read about us there. Good fortune --good luck -- brought some folks to the Capitol Bowl to see the Pups. <br><br>
Apparently, the publicity also brought to the forefront some guilt feelings harbored for more than 40 years. While we were setting up, middle-aged guy with a shaved head walked up to Glenn and said "hello." He continued that he saw Glenn’s name in The Ticket but could not stay for the performance. He came to apologize for punching Glenn when they were in Junior High School. In Junior High! Huh? <br><br>
Do you think that his Karma will improve after the apology? He probably is thanking his lucky stars that he read The Ticket.<br><br>
Was this our best performance? We really came together as a band. We played through rough spots. We covered for each other. We were not technically perfect, but we delivered fun to anybody who watched or listened. Fun is how we measure our success.<br><br>
Moreover, Paul’s talents really were on display. He played guitar while dancing. He played from under his leg. He stood up from splits which would have sent me to the hospital. He had encouraged us to take risks. His prowess allowed us to take chances and entertain.<br><br>
His talents and energy simply were amazing. And I wondered, “Can Paul ever teach me how to put more personality into my playing?” Of course, that assumes graduation from Guitar Face 101.<br><br>
As we hauled the gear back to the Doghouse, Becky started to count up how many folks came to the Capitol Bowl to see us. She quit counting at 87. “You probably had 100 today.” Okay, that justified my “nervous as a prostitute in church” feelings. <br><br>
A sense of pride then came over me. The Capitol Bowl was the first gig that we had done from the ground up. We found the venue. We promoted the show. We added songs to expand to two sets. We hosted. We performed. We did not ride anybody’s coattails. We had nobody else upon whom to rely. Conversely, if the gig flopped, we had nobody to blame. In the end, the success of the show depended on us and only us.<br><br>
And, with a lot of work and a bit of serendipity, we pulled it off!<br></span>
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<span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG_2048-300.JPG">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1443002012-02-29T21:50:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:12-08:00Still More Capitol Bowl: Police and Dancers<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/0417f79720314f5421294e53e3cbaa7c1176798f/medium/IMG_2044.JPG?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="188" width="250" />We were half-way done. One set was in the books. Some of new (to us) songs had been performed. The audience really seemed to like Last Date, Sleepwalk, and Miserlou. Surfin’ Bird was something else. Maybe the lyrics and delivery were too subtle.<br><br><br>
The afternoon had a party feeling. The people who came to hear the Pups were eating, drinking, laughing, talking, and socializing. Some were in the arcade. Eight or nine were bowling. Almost everybody seemed to be having fun.<br><br>
Our break ended. We returned to our corner of the restaurant. Tuned up. Put in our ear plugs. I shifted the leis around on the mic stand, turned on the mic, and announced, “We are the Lava Pups, and we’re back.”<br><br>
Mr. Moto opened the second set. “How about the food?” Applause. “Give a big hand to Chef Nathan and the Capitol Bowl!” Applause. “Here’s a song from our CD.” We then played Out of the Vortex for the first time in public.<br><br>
As we played Runaway, people at the bar and tables sang along. The audience was back with us. We were hitting our stride again. Squad Car cooked, and I made sure that everybody knew that Paul Johnson was going to be at the Sierra Surf Music Camp. The crowd sang along with our spy semi-medley -- Goldfinger and Secret Agent Man. “Goldfinger. He’s the man, the man with the golden touch. . . .”<br><br>
Play Pacifica Blue. Thank the Capitol Bowl. “If you like it here, say so on Yelp.” Introduce the band. Applause. Somebody yelled out, “How about you?” I announced, “I am Mr. Anonymous.” Laughter.<br><br>
Then a stranger came up to me from behind. He had a look on his face that he had something serious to say. I pulled the ear plug from my right ear to hear him. “Those homeless people are taking things out of that Siebring convertible in the parking lot.” <br><br>
Public service announcement time. “If you own a gray Siebring convertible . . . .” No owner responded. Huh? A staff member and couple of other people went out to the parking lot. The homeless folks shrugged their shoulders as if to say, “What? We didn’t do anything.” We watched out the window while authority confronted the underclass. I started up “Rumble” again. Laughter.<br><br>
Interruption over. “This is off of our CD.” Sea Witch. As we played, the police arrived to check out the homeless people and the Siebring convertible. We looked out the window again. Another public service announcement was not productive. No owner surfaced or spoke with the police.<br><br>
Even though we had lost some momentum to the Siebring convertible, we were building up for our finishing kick. Paul shouted “Surf Party!” After Surf Party, we went into Wipe Out. We now had a dancer -- not a typical go-go dancer but a middle-aged guy. As naturally as can be, Paul was playing his guitar and dancing with the guy out in front of the band. Paul played his guitar under his leg and did the splits. I kicked my reverb unit. Clang! Paul moved back from dancing, and we exchanged reverb unit kicks. Clang! Clang! <br><br>
Glenn wailed away on the drums. Radio announcer voice into the mic: “Glenn Kohlmeister!” Applause.<br><br>
We finished Wipe Out. “Glenn Kohlmeister on Drums.” Applause. “Paul the Pyronaut on guitar.” Applause. “And me on reverb unit!” Laughter.<br><br>
Straight into Lava Tube and then our Link Wray medley. A couple started dancing to the primitive, driving beat of Jack the Ripper. We were winding up. Faster. Faster. Cymbal crash. “A” chord. <br><br>
“Thank you. Thank you to the Lava Pup dancers. Thank you to the Capitol Bowl. We are the Lava Pups. Thank you for coming out today!” Applause.<br><br>
Done. Time for a beer before packing up.<br></span>
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<span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG_2044-300.JPG">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1437452012-02-28T09:45:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:12-08:00More Capitol Bowl: Yes, Indeed, The Bird Is The Word!<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/566669f50d300d3d344193f91d81fee9a989f7da/medium/IMG_2056.JPG?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="188" width="250" />We finished Penetration. “Thank you.” Applause. We then launched into Surf Rider. This was familiar territory as we have started every gig with those two songs. Nonetheless, the nerves came back but were ratcheted down by the internal voice, “Fun is the key.” <br><br><br>
Then somebody from the crowd shouted, “Smile!” Huh? Why was countenance being brought up so early in the afternoon? Was this a multi-tasking test? I thought, “Screw it. Just play on.” And I did.<br><br>
I looked at the set list taped to the floor at my feet. We were at the point to mention some items that were written in a Sharpie so that I would not forget. <br><br>
“We want to thank the Capitol Bowl for letting us play here today. Make sure that you eat and drink. Chef Nathan is in the kitchen. He made the pastrami right here. By the way, if you like surf music, a Sierra Surf Music Camp will be held over Memorial Day. You can pick up a flier during the break.” <br><br>
I thus was done pimping the items jotted down in oversized Sharpie print. “Now, we would like to slow things down with a couple of songs that are so old that they were popular when I was young.” Laughter. I started Last Date, the first of the new (to us) songs. We joined it with Sleepwalk for a medley.<br><br>
The afternoon at the Capitol Bowl was turning out to be fun. The audience was keeping up. We were doing our schtick. Paul was energetic, engaging, and grinning. I was the straightman while managing a joke here and there. We were playing like a real band. When I missed my opening line in Pipeline, we exchanged looks. Paul and Don held on a little longer so that I could play that opening line.<br><br>
We were coming towards the end of the first set. Miserlou - another new (to us) song. Paul played the lead. He nodded, and I played the lead. We looked at each other and then played the lead together 2 octaves apart. As Paul and I faced each other, he counted down to the ending. We hit it! Nobody could know that this was only the second time that we had done the song as a band.<br><br>
“Wella. Wella. Everybody’s heard about the bird. . . .” Surfin’ Bird was going to end the first set. Folks in the audience were singing along. Yes, they knew that the Bird is the word. <br><br>
“Blaaaaugh . . . . Surfin’ Bird!” Paul soloed. “That’s Paul the Pyronaut on guitar!” Applause. “Wella. Wella.” And I was singing -- that is subject to debate -- again. <br><br>
“Blaaaaugh . . . . Surfin’ Bird!” Glenn did some kind of rat-tat-tat on the drums, and Don soloed. The transition was a bit ragged. Maybe our not practicing it at all had something to do with that. As Don soloed, I thought that he needed a boost pedal or I needed to remove my ear plugs. “Don ‘Jet Blue’ Bazinet on bass!” Applause. “Pa Papa Papa.” The singing resumed. The audience was singing again. "Uhm mau mau . . . ."<br><br>
“Blaaaaugh . . . . Surfin’ Bird!” Glenn did his rat-tat-tat again followed by a drum solo. “That was G.K. - not Gene Krupa but Glenn Kohlmeister -- on drums.” Applause. “Wella. Wella.” The audience started singing along . . . again.<br><br>
“Blaaaaugh . . . . Surfin’ Bird!” Applause. “Thank you. We are The Lava Pups. We’re going to take a break. Eat. Drink. Bowl. Thank you.” More applause. We put down our instruments, and Glenn got out from behind the drums. Then I remembered something else. “Oh yeah, here’s a tip jar. We need gas money to get home! Thank you.”<br><br>
As I walked towards the bar, the reviews already were coming in. They were mixed on Surfin' Bird. “Great set, but I would lose the singing!” “That was fun! You guys need to work on that last song.” “I was expecting you to start doing the bird dance.” Then, I got a thumbs up accompanied by “the Bird is the word” from some stranger sitting at the bar.<br><br>
Hey, nobody can say that the Lava Pups do not take risks.<br></span>
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<span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG_2056-300.JPG" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/578102012-02-27T13:40:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:05-08:00Capitol Bowl: Where Did All These People Come From?<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/e24bdfc7b40208b526027640f9669cbcc4df9ec1/medium/Rockin-Out-1.JPG?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" style="width: 250px; height: 189px;" />Capitol Bowl time! <br><br>
One hour and fifteen minutes from the scheduled start of the gig. We loaded the drum kit, cymbals, hardware, throne, and the new $19.99 Ikea rug into Glenn’s Prius, and he was on his way. The back of my Prius was stacked to the headliner with guitars, amp, reverb unit, briefcase of mics, cables and cords, rubber tub of merchandise, mic stands, and a PA with speakers. <br><br>
Are rockers allowed to drive Priuses? Shouldn’t we have a van or Town Car? What about roadies? Should we see if Toyota will sponsor us?<br><br>
From the Doghouse to the Capitol Bowl is about two miles. I managed to hit every red light on the way. Damn traffic lights! Why aren't they timed better?<br><br>
Don and Paul were sitting in a booth in Cap’s Grill -- the Capitol Bowl restaurant -- when we arrived. They had ordered pastrami sandwiches based on my seemingly constant pimping Nathan’s pastrami. Made onsite and handcrafted.<br><br>
We picked a corner of the restaurant from which the Pups would play. Glenn and I unloaded the Priuses. As I thought about setting up the PA and mics, I began to feel overwhelmed. "Look at all of this stuff. It's like a puzzle." Other than the band and wives and a guy who looked like he had been drinking since noon, nobody was in the restaruant. So I began to wonder if anybody was going to show up.<br><br>
Setting up took longer than expected. Too many cables and cords. Where do we put these humongous speakers for the PA? People were beginning to arrive. Friends. Got to be polite and BS a little here and a little there. More people walked in. More greeting and BS.<br><br>
2:05. We were scheduled to start at 2:00, and I was crawling around on the floor taping down the mic cables and the set list. <br><br>
2:10. Sound check. Even more people coming in. We tested the mics. “How’s that?” Brett -- my son -- gave us a thumbs up from the bar. Ken -- one of our running mates -- gave us a thumbs up from the far corner of the room. <br><br>
Becky, who was in the “lounge area,” indicated that we needed some more volume. More volume? That was unusual from her. We tested our amps and adjusted until we had thumbs up from Brett, Ken, and Becky. I put a Hawaiian shirt on over my Lava Pups tee. The final touches in getting ready were setting a container of ear plugs on the bar and draping leis on the mic stands. We were going to be colorful if nothing else!<br><br>
No longer distracted by setting up, I looked around. People were at all the tables in the restaurant and the “lounge area.” All the stools at the bar were occupied. Many of the people were new. I did not recognize them. Our promotional efforts and the publicity in The Ticket apparently had been successful! I wondered to myself, “Where did all of these people come from?” <br><br>
Suddenly, I was nervous. But this time, the internal voice talked me down, “Don’t let it show. Remember, the test of success for us is whether we have fun. Rock ‘n roll is not perfect. Stuff happens.” And I was calm enough to start.<br><br>
2:15. “We’re the Lava Pups. We play surf rock. We can be loud. There are ear plugs on the bar. Glenn, take it away.” Drum intro. Don and Paul started up. I came in with the melody for Penetration. <br><br>
Our first of two sets was underway. We were only 15 minutes behind the published start time. For a rock performance, that could be viewed as starting early. As we played, I looked around the Capitol Bowl and wondered again, “Where did all of these people come from?”<br></span>
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<span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Rockin-Out-1-300.JPG">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1427672012-02-24T10:30:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:12-08:00Pre-Gig Thoughts: Beards and Promotion<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/e4f2fd389acc1ec698dcd84adbdc8addd58c40ac/medium/IMG00367-20120224-1753.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" style="width: 351px; height: 265px;" /><br><br>
In just a couple of days, the proverbial rubber will hit the road. We will pick a spot in the restaurant of the Capitol Bowl, set up our equipment, plug in, and play. We will extend ourselves with two sets which include five (really 7) new (to us) songs.<br><br>
For the last few days, I wondered if we were going to sport a new look for the upcoming Sunday performance. The band practice photos, which Becky took recently, revealed that I was the only Lava Pup without a beard. My clean shaven face is a combination of not being very hairy in the first place and a semi-tribute to the surf bands of the 1960s. Those bands generally were made up of teenagers who did not have facial hair. Zits, yes; beards, no.<br><br>
The rest of the Lava Pups, however, can grow facial hair. Glenn has had a beard off and on -- mostly on -- as long as we have known each other. Last Sunday, both Paul and Don showed up with beards. <br><br>
That sent me through our old photos. Okay, my powers of observation really suck. Don has had a close-cut beard for most of our gigs. Paul’s growth is new. But he had a beard when we recorded our CD. He appears to be a “winter beard” kind of guy.<br><br>
Initially, I wondered whether we going to turn into a garage or surf version of ZZ Top. Ironically, the only member of ZZ Top without a beard is Frank Beard. Oh, yeah, his Beard dates back to birth. Would I have to change my name to “Billy Beard”? <br><br>
But beards are not our schtick. Today, Paul showed up at the Doghouse clean shaven again. “I was hoping to bring on Winter, but the beard was too itchy.” The name “Billy Beard” remains available, and I am glad.<br><br>
Plus, Billy Beard did not appear in any of our promotional material. We hung posters around Sacramento and West Sacramento for the upcoming gig. We announced the event on Facebook, this website, and other sites and calendars. No mention of Billy Beard. Too late to change.<br><br>
Yesterday, the Sacramento News and Review hit the newsstands. We have had the good fortune of having our gigs listed in its music section before. We, therefore, emailed an announcement along with a photo. That is on our promotion check list.<br><br>
I eagerly picked up the News and Review and turned immediately to the music section. Nice article on Ross Hammond’s new CD. Other articles. Gigs to attend. Listing of venues and events. <br><br>
Nothing about the Pups. Disappointment! A promotion bust! Oh, well . . . .<br><br>
But, as Paul and I practiced today, Becky announced that she just had received an email from Glenn. Our gig was listed in The Ticket insert of the Sacramento Bee. In The Ticket? Huh?<br><br>
So we looked. Beer Week on the cover. On page 4, the Lava Pups' gig was right next to an appearance by the English Beat. In “The Line Up” -- "The Bee Picks" -- "The best things to do." Wow!<br><br>
And all that Becky could say was, “How did I miss this this morning?” My response was, “In our wildest dreams, we never would expect to be listed there.” And I thought, “From promotion bust to the ‘legitimate press’ in less than 24 hours.”<br><br>
But I could not publicize the publicity. Becky said, “You’ve put too much on Facebook already.” Oh, well . . . .<br></span>
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<span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG00367-20120224-1753-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1417692012-02-20T21:50:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:12-08:00Full Band Practice Again, and We Are Nearly Ready<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/580eecc7ce135ad564963caff5ab0058266e6ae2/medium/IMG00323-20120219-1307.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="225" width="300" /><br><br>
Our early afternoon of band practice was interrupted by Becky’s walking into the Doghouse and saying, “Have some soup.” We looked into the crock pot and said, “What’s the green stuff?” We are rock ‘n rollers. Beer (or, in my case, coffee), salami, crackers, and cheese are staples of our band practice cuisine.<br><br>
Becky responded, “Swiss chard. The soup is Swiss chard, sausage, white beans, onions, and spices in chicken broth.” Somebody said, “Swiss chard?” I came to Becky’s defense, “Yeah, we get organically grown fruits and vegetables delivered every other week. In the Winter, that means bunches of green leafy things and broccoli.” <br><br>
Some of the leafy vegetables, but not Swiss chard, have the texture of leather. But it is roughage and, according to Becky, healthy.<br><br>
As readers of our blog know, Becky has many duties vis-a-vis the Lava Pups. She is a groupie, roadie, promoter, cheer leader, supporter, fan, critic, and the Original Lava Pup’s human mommy. On this afternoon, she was the band’s executive chef and health consultant.<br><br>
She also was the band photographer. After our soup break, Becky used her Blackberry -- her ever-present and much-used Blackberry -- to take pictures. We played, and she moved in and out of our space snapping photos. She did so without interfering with our efforts. Or maybe we were so focused on playing together that we hardly noticed her. The shots were candid. Not the say "cheese”-pose-click kind of pictures. Instead, they captured our concentration and intensity.<br><br>
Band practice was the full Lava Pups -- all four of us. We ran through the two sets from beginning to end (almost). Old songs. New songs. Songs that we have played for our first gig and since. Songs that we have added along the way. Songs that we have yet to play in public. We worked out rough spots. We agreed on arrangements.<br><br>
Paul experimented with different fills and embellishments. Some elicited, “Wow, I really liked what that added.” Paul replied with humility, “I hope I remember what I did when we play next Sunday.” The good news is that I now realize that Paul will do something that strengthens our sound or improves a song. Inevitably, it is something that is totally new. But the shock factor is gone to a certain extent. That is a marked change from losing track of a song because I become so engrossed in listening and then marveling at his talent.<br><br>
At the end of the band practice, the assessment varied from “we’ll do fine” on Sunday to that was “really good.” But we all agreed that we are nearly ready. <br><br>
After everybody packed up and left, I nestled into a couple of pillows on one of the couches in the Doghouse to drink another cup of coffee. Excitement, anticipation, and satisfaction swept over me as I reflected on the afternoon. For some reason, that reflection wandered off to how far we had progressed and the fun of making music together. The digression was brief. I was jolted back to the present by nagging thoughts of what still needed to be done. That meant starting down a mental checklist of preparation.<br><br>
Certain loose ends remain. But they do not detract one wit from the reality that we are indeed close to ready to play next Sunday! The music part is mostly done.<br></span>
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<span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG00323-20120219-1307-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1415622012-02-19T23:10:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:12-08:00Rerun: What Was the First Instrumental Rock Song You Heard?<span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><u><b>Editor's Note:</b></u> We are interspersing some of the previous 150 or so blog entries with current material. When we posted this earlier, the responses favored "Walk, Don't Run" by the Ventures. But "Rumble" stands out in my sexagenarian mind.</span><br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/5ba1ca5ebdfaa4030c745603f5f3f902115a165d/original/images.jpg?1375982944" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="230" width="248" /><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><br><br>
What was the first instrumental rock song that you heard? For me, the answer is either “Raunchy” by Bill Justis or “Rumble” by Link Wray. I owned the 45 of “Raunchy” and assume that because it was released before “Rumble,” it must be the first instrumental rock song that I heard. But “Rumble” stands out more in my memory.<br><br>
In early rock ‘n roll and the halcyon days of AM radio, instrumentals played alongside vocals. AM radio of the day was not as compartmentalized into genres as FM, internet, and satellite radio now are. I can remember hearing “Rebel Rouser,” “El Paso,” “Little Darling,” “Don’t Be Cruel,” “Baby Talk,” “Rockin’ Robin,” and “Blue Suede Shoes” on the same radio station as I might hear the Dorsey Brothers, Frank Sinatra, Frankie Lane, Les Paul and Mary Ford, Bob Wills, or Patti Page. AM radio and its disc jockeys just played music. <br><br>
Or -- in the days of payola -- did they just play what they were paid to play?<br><br>
Nobody thought to look at rock ‘n roll as 40 or 100 or whatever different genres and sub-genres. Today, my nephew can tell the difference between any number of “metal” musics -- death metal, black metal, speed metal, drone metal, neoclassical metal, hair metal, etc., etc. In an earlier time, music fell in two categories: rock ‘n roll and our parents’ music. <br><br>
Of course, that may be over-simplistic. It overlooks “Black” vs “White” music -- Fats Domino’s “Ain’t That a Shame” vs Pat Boone’s version. Maybe that racial divide is why Bill Doggett’s “Honky Tonk” was not the first rock instrumental that I remember. Maybe, more accurately,1955‘s “Honky Tonk” just happened to precede my consciousness of music on the radio.<br><br>
When I was young, AM radio entertained me with shows like The Lone Ranger, Sgt. Preston of the Yukon, My Little Margie, Big John and Sparky, and Our Miss Brooks. Later, the entertainment shifted to broadcasts of baseball games. At some point, I became of aware of music on AM radio. Maybe that was because we finally had a television and a “transistor” portable radio. We no longer were tethered to some box plugged into the wall.<br><br>
Once I became aware of music on AM radio, “Black” vs “White” music did not drive our market totally. Little Richard, Chuck Berry, Larry Williams, and Fats Domino received air play along with Elvis Presley, Buddy Holly, and Ricky Nelson. Little Anthony and the Imperials or Shep and the Limelites could be heard on the same AM station as the Fleetwoods or Danny and the Juniors. Instrumental music received air play too -- Duane Eddy, Dave “Baby” Cortez, the Champs, Freddie King, The Ventures, Johnny and the Hurricanes, and Cozy Cole. <br><br>
The pre-surf instrumentals which come to mind are numerous and run the gamut of what would be called “genres” today. Today, they would fall into rock, rockabilly, country, pop, R&B, jazz, and possibly sub-genres. <br><br>
Luckily for us, iTunes will categorize them. According to iTunes, my Link Wray anthology is country music. That, of course, means that somebody at iTunes needs to study some rock history. <br><br>
In the late 1950s and early 1960s, the the pre-surf instrumentals simply were rock ‘n roll. The tunes were not our parents’ music. They were songs which are the foundation of instrumental rock. Many still would be played 45 to 50 years later. “Walk Don’t Run” “Sleepwalk” “Rumble” “Teen Beat” “Apache” “Hide Away” “Rebel Rouser” “Last Night” “Perfidia” “Peter Gunn” “Tequila” “Last Date” “Road Runner” “Forty Miles of Bad Road” “Ramrod” “Raunchy” “Tall Cool One” “You Can’t Sit Down” “Because They’re Young”<br><br>
Surf music then came along with its great guitar-centric instrumentals and the rediscovery of songs by the Fireballs and the Wailers. Summer fun, however, could not last long -- particularly outside of California. And the British Invasion and radio’s focus of vocals drove instrumental rock music from radio airplay. If aspiring rock musicians did not hear instrumentals, they were not going to write or perform instrumentals. A vicious cycle started. People played what was commercially appealing; radio determined what was commercially appealing; if vocals were commercially appealing, vocals were created.<br><br>
Listeners and audiences do not know what they are missing from the musical palette until they hear instrumental rock. Then they say, “I like that and the energy it has.” But you have to get them to listen in the first place. That is the tall order.<br><br>
Maybe someday, when asked what was the first instrumental rock song you heard, somebody will answer, “Tidal Wave” by Slacktone, “Pacifica” by Los Straitjackets, “Sifaka” by the Pyronauts, or, implausibly to me, “Lava Tube” by the Lava Pups. Implausible, yes. Impossible, no. After all, KDVS has listeners.<br><br>
Dream on! <br></span>
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<span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/images.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1412802012-02-18T01:55:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:12-08:00A Friday "Appointment Out of the Office" Silences that Little Voice<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/260b7f45162c12ef512aed8fa6517090b9edcf2f/medium/lunchbreak.jpg?1375982944" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="188" width="250" />We are a few practice sessions into getting ready for the Capitol Bowl. In actuality, that is a few practice sessions towards re-familiarizing ourselves with what we have played publicly before and 5 new (to us) songs. Much of our time is spent on those songs. <br><br><br><br>
A little voice keeps nagging in the back of my head, “Are we setting our sights too high? What happens if we screw up the new ones? Will your weaknesses as a guitar player be exposed, Mr. Weak Link? Why not stick with what you have played before?” <br><br>
The response is, “Shut up, Little Voice! Growth comes from stress and with risk. Atrophy results from resisting change. Besides, I’m not in the ‘real’ musician category. People expect fun, not perfection.” <br><br>
That is followed by a pep talk, “For our rock ‘n roll fantasy ride to continue, we cannot stagnate. Having fun wiht five new songs should be a piece of cake!”<br><br>
The Lava Pups trio practiced three of the five new songs together. As a trio, we put off working on two of the new songs because they require either the full band or Paul’s sage input. And then . . . when the four of us tried those two songs, we were less than successful. For one of them, Paul and I needed to work on the timing. The last song was a bit outside of our comfort zone, and we still had not come up with a workable structure.<br><br>
On a recent Friday afternoon, I had an “appointment out of the office.” That is a euphemism for a lesson with Paul at the Doghouse. It was an opportunity for a snapshot of our readiness and to figure out the last two new (to us) songs.<br><br>
“Last Date/Sleepwalk” was very close. “Goldfinger/Secret Agent Man” was the same. Then we shifted gears to the two songs that are perplexing me and do not lend themselves to practice as a trio. <br><br>
We took on the harder song first. “We need to arrange this.” “I envision it as a 12-bar 1-4-5 blues progression but that’s not working.” Paul and I played it through. “That’s not right. How does the original go?” “We’re not really following the original. We’re doing it our way.” We played it again. As if a lightbulb came on, Paul said, “The turnaround needs to be twice as long.” We tried it. Not bad. Again. Part of the problem solved!<br><br>
To finish off the arrangement, Paul noted that we need to have Glenn add a “little something here and we’ve got it.” Paul then said, “I’ve got tell Don that we’ve worked this thing out!” A simple solution, and we moved from “I’m not sure we should risk it” to “we have no excuse not to go for it.”<br><br>
One left. This is all about timing. Oh yeah, and my learning to play the chords. “Let’s give it a try.” As we played along, I realized that my rhythm guitar technique really sucks. I thought, “Good thing Paul knows what he’s doing.” <br><br>
Then the lead shifted to me. And I realized that Paul’s rhythm guitar technique pushed me to semi-correct timing. I thought, “Good thing Paul knows what he’s doing.”<br><br>
Then Paul said, “We need an ending.” I noodled some, and Paul latched on, “That’s our ending.” We went over it. “Too fast. It’s 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4 . . . .” Again. “That’s better. Just stop there.” Try. Not right. “Here’s how it sounds. Try it.” Try. Closer. Again. “Yeah, now you’re getting it.” Again. Again. And we had an ending. <br><br>
“I need to play along with your CD to get the chord changes and then add that ending.” <br><br>
“No, the Pyronauts play it differently. Try Slacktone or Dick Dale for the changes.”<br><br>
The clock on the wall read 2:30. Lesson over. But, as usual, an hour with Paul made the prospects for our performance brighter. All five new (to us) songs are arranged. We are down to practice and execution. Funny how an “appointment out of the office” can be so productive.<br><br>
I am glad that something inside me stood up to that nagging little voice.<br></span>
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<span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/lunchbreak.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1410702012-02-17T01:40:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:11-08:00Rerun: Guitar Face Makes Music Even More Confounding<span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><u><b>Editor's Note:</b></u> We are interspersing some of the previous 150 or so blog entries with current material. Here is a "rerun" of Guitar Face from May 2011.</span><br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/af5b28703845385e02a0248c0a569a667bc6fc27/original/billy-hank.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" style="width: 234px; height: 234px;" /><br><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><br>
As the realization of a “CD Release Party” or playing the album live registered, another level of frustration was added to my musical endeavors. Thanks to the miracle of video and a bunch of still pictures, I learned that my guitar-playing demeanor – that is “guitar face” -- sucked! Not only did I have to work on how to stand up, “guitar face” came into play.<br><br>
“Guitar face” apparently gets ugly as age deepens the lines around the mouth and skin sags. Concentration turns into a frown or a solid bite down on the lower lip. The lines running down from the mouth make it look like it belongs on a ventriloquist’s dummy. Pouts look the same – just plain ugly. Grimaces are ugly too. What I thought was a “confident cool” wasn’t. My “guitar face” was anything but cool.<br><br>
This was something else to work on. Playing music was becoming more than notes, riffs, sensing a count, feeling a beat, making fingers work, hearing a tune in my head, and remembering what comes next. “How do I look” had to be part of the equation. <br><br>
Of course, the starting point is a relatively simple question: How do I want to appear? The possibilities are endless. Angry? No. Like I’m “turning Japanese”? No. Focused on the fretboard to the exclusion of all else? No. Nonchalant? No. Like some irregular old man desperately in need of Metamucil? No. Fixated on my shoes? No.<br><br>
Yikes! I should practice demeanor too. How long could I play before I was biting my lower lip, with a down-turned mouth, and deep lines running down past my chin? Two bars? Half of a song? Until I hit a clinker? Could I smile through a whole song? When would a smile morph into some kind of moronic grin? Was I gritting my teeth or smiling? <br><br>
If playing music is fun, I should look like I’m having fun. But is having fun cool? In fact as I watched drummers, my observation was that often the veins in their neck stand out. Was that part of advanced drum training? I wondered if drum face was more prevalent than guitar face. Drummers looked like they were trying to pass a kidney stone while guitar players seldom seemed to go to that extreme. <br><br>
My problem was not drum face, however. Rather, I needed to work on my guitar face. Maybe I should select a model – an example of cool – somebody whose countenance could be copied.<br><br>
But countenance apparently does not depend upon what is being played. Billy Zoom is my all time favorite grinner/smiler, but X’s music was far from merry or uplifting. “She had to leave . . . Los Angeles . . . because she started to hate every . . . [well you know the rest]”<br><br>
We have guitar heroes who play with their mouths open. Dave Wronski and Steve Vai are examples. And they play great!<br><br>
Those who bite their lower lips like Carlos Santana. And they play great!<br><br>
Those who are contemplative. Look at Jeff Beck or Eric Clapton. And they play great!<br><br>
Those who have attitude. Link Wray comes to mind. And he played great!<br><br>
Choosing a model is difficult because they all play great and I really don’t. But, in the end, smiles look good on old guys. Doesn’t Hank Marvin appear to be having fun when he is smiling? Does Billy Zoom look like he’s 62?<br><br>
I not only had to think about what I was playing, but I also had to think how I might look when I am playing. This added more confusion about something that should be natural. I wondered, “Have I ever thought about smiling or my countenance while writing, drawing, reading, or concentrating on something else?” <br><br>
Of course not. That’s why this music stuff is so confounding.<br></span><br><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/billy-hank.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1406132012-02-15T06:55:00-08:002020-06-27T10:20:22-07:00Band Practice: A Sunday at the Doghouse<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/ee6a14fdbd3c289dede63b8e71a1dda386528e29/medium/IMG00224-20120214-1436.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" style="width: 250px; height: 188px;" />We are getting serious about being ready for the Capitol Bowl. The <b><i>FULL</i></b> Lava Pups got together at the Doghouse. No trio, the real thing. I was so excited that I spent a good part of Saturday afternoon setting up the drum kit, printing out posters and fliers, plugging cords into each of the practice amps, vacuuming the rugs, and dusting off music stands. I even tested the lava lamp which sits on top of the PA.<br><br>
Sunday came. Practice was scheduled for 11:00. We are not stereotypical musicians however (assuming that you are kind enough to put me in the “musician” category). Everybody arrived early! Don and Paul were waiting outside the gate when Glenn and I pulled up at 10:40. <br><br>
While they plugged in their instruments and Glenn adjusted the drums to his liking, I laid out tortilla chips, salsa, crackers, hummus, salami, and cheese -- food for an early afternoon of rock ‘n roll. Everybody except I pulled a beer out of the refrigerator. Caffeine is what fuels me. Red Tail Ale, Long Hammer IPA, and Corona fueled the others. Paragons of healthy eating? Not us!<br><br>
A little food and liquid fuel, share some stories, and we were ready to rock ‘n roll. Generally, Glenn, Don, and I work our way up to the tough songs. We play four or more familiar songs to get warmed up. <br><br>
Paul, however, is more of a risk taker: “Let’s start with Goldfinger/Secret Agent Man.”<br><br>
We told him what we had done arrangement-wise. He started into the chord sequence. Don joined. Then Glenn. My turn. I sang to myself, “Goldfinger.” Wait for Don and Paul to play that first note. “He’s the man, the man with the Midas touch.” But singing to myself and listening to Paul and Don overloaded my multitasking skills.<br><br>
“Oh, damn, I’m screwing this thing up. Let’s start over.” <br><br>
Paul started the chord sequence again. Don joined. Then Glenn. My turn. “Goldfinger.” Wait. “He’s the man, the man with the Midas touch.” This time, my multitasking skills were up to the test. We played through Goldfinger. Chords to end it. Transition and into Secret Agent Man.<br><br>
When we finished, Paul said, “That’s pretty close. Let’s try it again.” We did, and we were better. “We’ll have that together for the gig.” That was assuring.<br><br>
Paul obviously wanted to assess where we were with the songs that we are adding. He called the next song to practice. “Last Date.” I started. Everybody came in, and we made it through Last Date. Paul said, “I’m still learning that song. Let’s try it again.” We did, and I know that I liked how it sounded. <br><br>
Paul seemed to like it too and said (jokingly), “We can ask Paul Johnson how he does the song at Camp.” I thought, “Yeah, and we can play it for him and ask his opinion. Fat chance! “<br><br>
We talked about the transition into Sleepwalk. I grabbed a slide, and Paul played some 1950s sounding intro. We played. When we finished, Paul said, “You’re late on the harmonics part.” He showed me what he thought it should be. I played it. “Still a little late.” I played it quicker. Then, Paul looked at the notation, “Maybe you’re not that far off after all.” But I liked the quicker version.<br><br>
We played Sleepwalk again. Better. Then we played Last Date and Sleepwalk together -- the way that we’ll perform them at the Capitol Bowl. “Hey, that’s pretty good.” Paul agreed but said, “Let’s do it again.” We did. Paul gave it his approval, “That’s almost ready.”<br><br>
We ran through Out of the Vortex. And we semi-nailed it. Pretty good for the four of us not performing that song for more than one year. Again. Even better. That one will be ready by the end of the month.<br><br>
We tried the other two “new” songs. We were not as successful. Yeah, they need work. The good news is that we have time which shortens by the day.<br><br>
We shifted to some songs we have played before. But they were among our newer material or pieces that seem to give us a bit of trouble. This Sunday afternoon, they gave us very little trouble. With Paul’s playing, we sounded really good. We closed our full band practice with Rawhide and Jack the Ripper. Wow!<br><br>
After grabbing new drinks, we settled onto the couches and easy chairs in the Doghouse. The guys finished their beers. I nursed my fifth cup of coffee for the afternoon. Our conversation ran the gamut from the artwork for the Pyronauts’ new CD to coming up with a list of what to bring to music camp. <br><br>
This was a perfect way to spend part of a Sunday: Food, music, engaging conversation, fun, and friends.<br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG00224-20120214-1436-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1403632012-02-14T09:55:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:11-08:00Rerun: Our First Rehearsal as the Lava Pups<span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><u><b>Editor's Note:</b></u> We are interspersing some of the previous 150 or so blog entries with current material. Here is a "rerun" of our first rehearsal as the Lava Pups. We got together for the CD. The photo below is from our recording sessions and is one of the first of the four of us together.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/55801e24a7d8bd39b5c7a59f3cc1ecd6bd7917d3/medium/IMG_0526.JPG?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_absMiddle border_" alt="" height="225" width="300" /><br></span><br><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"> Time for the rubber to hit the road. The day for our first rehearsal came. I was both excited and apprehensive. <br><br>
A litany questions popped in and out of my mind in staccato rapidity Would I even remember my own songs? Would I be able to play them? Would I be the weak link? After all, I had the least musical experience. Had I been spending too much time on a project which was going to fall on its face? Would the songs stand up when played by a band?<br><br>
Possibly food would help. Becky made a steak soup. How about alcohol? I bought a bottle of Italian sangiovese -- 90 points from Wine Advocate -- and 12-pack of Red Tail Ale -- amber ale brewed in Mendocino County.<br><br>
The warehouse had been christened “the Doghouse” somewhere along the line. It was ready for REHEARSAL. Video camera and recorder set up. 3 guitar stands with cords. 3 amps ready to go. <br><br>
Darby, Becky, and I were ready. Darby was ready for the human companionship and attention. Becky was ready for this ordeal to be over so that she would not have to hear me talk about it. <br><br>
Glenn and Jean arrived first and then Paul, Don, and Lori. Musicians and their fans/groupies/critics/wives/support group/captive audience. Whatever. The bottom line was food, drink, camaraderie, and music. Paul set the bar at a realistic level: "Let's have fun!"<br><br>
We played all 8 songs. Some were more ragged than others. I completely blew the bridge in “Into the Flow.” Wrong notes. Wrong starting point. I thought: Is this what is in store for me today?<br><br>
Becky and Jean needed ear plugs. Did that mean that we were louder than usual? Or that bad? <br><br>
By the second time through “Link Man,” I found my groove. But not perfection. A mistake here; a mistake there. Losing grip of a pick. Hitting the volume knob on my guitar with my pick and turning the volume down. At times, finding total peace in the realization that I did not have to rush.<br><br>
Each of us had a lapse at sometime during the session. I found solace in that.<br><br>
The rehearsal was collaborative and creative. We went over intros. We changed some. We went over outros. We changed some. A bass intro to “Out of the Vortex” emerged. We agreed to a drum intro to “The Cruncher.” My original idea of a tremolo picked intro followed by drums to “Lava Tube” changed. No intro -- just a count down to “Magma Runner.” Hold for the ending of “Link Man.”<br><br>
“Is that an E minor? An A minor sounds better. Oh, yeah, I wanted to get a James Bond type sound there.”<br><br>
Every song was improved by the process. Everybody participated. The session ended with everybody saying how much fun we had. We agreed to the next rehearsal, a menu, and discussed availability for recording in January. Paul, Don, and Lori left. Glenn and Jean followed.<br><br>
Becky, Darby, and I collapsed on the couches. We were exhausted. I also was exhilarated by knowing that the “Into the Flow” project was a step closer to reality. In fact, rehearsal showed me that the project was not a pipe dream. Instead, it was a viable musical endeavor.<br><br>
I said to Becky, “This was a good session but we are nowhere near being ready.” She resisted saying “I told you so.” Instead, she responded, “You’re right, and you have the time to put together a good CD.” Always the optimist!</span><br><br><br type="_moz"><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG_0526-300.JPG" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1397672012-02-12T11:20:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:11-08:00Band Practice: Spy Medley (Well, Sort Of)<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/67e42ed6395a788a14d5a05feca07279970cd2e6/medium/MrApeHead4.jpg?1375982944" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="375" width="250" />Break over. I stood up from sitting atop Mr. Ape Head. We looked at the beginning of the proposed second set. “We should change the order of these songs. Otherwise, we have a couple of ‘sing-along-types’ back-to-back.” <br><br>
Motioning to the list, Don said, “Yeah, why don’t we put Surf Beat here?”<br><br>
Mr. Moto was first in the second set. I kept thinking, “Don’t speed up. Don’t speed up.” That helped some. The intro did not seem to get away from the pace set in the first two bars. A couple of ragged spots followed including one of those “where am I now” moments. Back on time. Back into the song. End. Cha, cha, cha. <br><br>
Out of the Vortex was next. Don started. Glenn and I came in. The first couple of bars after the intro were rough. But soon we were playing together. Lead and bass were in sync. We finished together. <br><br>
“That was pretty good for having not played it for awhile.” <br><br>
“What do you mean awhile? We last played that when we recorded it, and that was a year ago.” In some ways, the recording sessions seem a long time ago. In others, they feel like they were just a few months ago.<br><br>
After Runaway, we took on Goldfinger. I played. Don looked at the music. We just could not get into the same stanza at the same time. Glenn tried to help us by keeping time on the high hat. Finally, Don put the music on the bass drum. I walked over to look. Crash! The short cord -- remember the short cord? -- pulled the reverb unit over. Oops, going farther than I originally thought.<br><br>
Don moved the music closer to my short tether. As we looked at the music, we realized that the spacing of the song required that I wait for Don to fill some space. We played it again. Better. Again. Better. Wait for Don. Better. Again. Wait for Don. Better.<br><br>
Now for the transition from Goldfinger to Secret Agent Man -- a semi-spy medley. How about this? Bass or no bass? More collaboration. Glenn on the high hat. “Shouldn’t we go through this twice like we do in other places?” “That makes sense.”<br><br>
“Let’s put them together . . . . From the beginning.” We played. Goldfinger . . . transition . . . Secret Agent Man. Again. “Damn, I missed that last chord.” Again.<br><br>
“Hey, that sounds pretty good for the first time that we have taken it on.” Wasn’t that the same thing that we said about our Last Date/Sleepwalk medley?<br><br>
We had been working hard and were more than two hours into band practice. Time had flown by. The process had taken energy and concentration while being fun. “Let’s play our closing song.” Rawhide and Jack the Ripper. That took the last bit of energy that I had for music. What a productive practice!<br><br>
As we drove home, Glenn offered, “We sounded really good.” I thought, “This night was well worth the time and the drive. Fun. A respite from a very demanding week. Tomorrow morning, my day job will require every bit of energy that I can muster.”<br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/MrApeHead4-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1395362012-02-11T06:25:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:11-08:00Rerun: And, Now, Don "Jet Blue" Bazinet on Bass!<span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><u><b>Editor's Note:</b></u> We are interspersing some of the previous 150 or so blog entries with current material. Here is a "rerun" of our post introducing Don.</span><br><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/6e959af3e58ca867f40bb4e7f2355f05473f979c/medium/IMG_1956.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" style="width: 230px; height: 336px;" />Several years ago, Becky, Darby, and I attended the Bark Festival at Squaw Valley -- 2 days of wine tasting, music, and dog-related paraphernalia. It was a fund raiser for the Tahoe-Truckee SPCA. But the dogs and people in attendance generally did not want for much. The vendors offered a wide-array of products. Jewelry. Organic and natural foods. Animal artwork. Everything for a pampered pooch and pampering “dog parents.”<br><br><br><br><br>
There, as we were heading into the parking lot, I noticed a couple. The guy was wearing a Pyronauts tee shirt. I went, “Whoa!” And showed him my Pyronauts hoodie. At the time, that hoodie was a one-of-a-kind as I had taken a hoodie to the silk screener on the day that he was running the tees.<br><br>
We introduced ourselves. They were Don and Lori. They too had a pampered pooch and were fans of the Pyronauts and friends of Paul. Don was learning surf guitar from Paul. We spoke about Paul’s contagious enthusiasm for surf music and his guitar prowess.<br><br>
After that and over a couple of years, Don and I saw each other at the Pyronauts’ gigs. We rode in the Pyro-Van to see the Insect Surfers on a “Surf Sunday” at the Utah Hotel in San Francisco. We spent an afternoon with Paul Johnson and Gil Orr listening to them spin stories of surf music and tell us about how they wrote some of their famous songs. Along with Paul, we jammed a couple of times. Don certainly was further along the musician continuum than I.<br><br>
But I only knew Don as “Don.” He had no last name or nickname to me. I also knew that he was an electronics whiz. Somewhere along the line, I inferred from something Paul said that Don built his own tube-driven spring reverb unit. <br><br>
A separate tube-driven spring reverb unit is the gold standard for playing surf music. True affectionatos say that no pedal or onboard reverb can duplicate the sound of a separate reverb unit. I have three reverb pedals and am not satisfied with the sound that I get. Maybe someday, I will own the gold standard. Don, however, had built his own.<br><br>
We had 8 original songs. The bucket list entry. Two guitarists. A drummer. We needed a bass player if we were to record. “Bass player?” became a recurring question.<br><br>
In November 2010, as Paul and I were trying to schedule out recording -- and rehearsals? -- he emailed me the answer to our recurring question. “Don will play bass.” “I didn’t know Don played bass.” “He doesn’t really but he will learn for this.” <br><br>
Let's see. Don knows and loves surf music. Paul recommends him. <br><br>
My response to Paul was, “Great!" Wow, we have a band.</span><br><br><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG_1956-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1388772012-02-09T11:30:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:11-08:00Band Practice: Escape From the Pile of Work Sitting on my Desk<span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/67e42ed6395a788a14d5a05feca07279970cd2e6/medium/MrApeHead4.jpg?1375982944" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" style="width: 250px; height: 371px" />As we drove the winding road between Auburn and Cool, my mind kept wandering to the consuming work and deadlines that lay ahead in my day job. Glenn interrupted one of those thoughts when he observed, “In a few more months, we’ll be making this trip in the daylight.” We then navigated one of the tight turns where the centerline reflectors have been worn off the road. I thought, “Daylight will make this turn feel less treacherous, but for now I need to focus on the road.”<br><br><br>
We arrived at Don’s to the sound of his bass coming from the garage. He was warming up or practicing. His smashed finger is healed fully. Glenn took the stool behind the drum kit and started making adjustments. He then warmed up with some drum rolls, cymbal crashes, and other drummer-kinds of things.<br><br>
I took the Ocean Turquoise Jazzmaster out of its case, hooked up a strap, and inserted the tremolo bar. I looked around for a cord and realized that the only one in the case was 6 feet or so long. Did that really matter? I did not plan on going very far.<br><br>
Tune. Play a few notes through the amp. Put in ear plugs. Adjust the sound. “Do you want to start into the new songs?” <br><br>
We are not really that big of risk takers. So . . . . “No, we haven’t played together for almost two months. We need to get used to each other again.”<br><br>
“Okay. Penetration.” We took off like we have since we first settled on a set. Glenn started us up. Don came in. Then the lead. We finished. “Hey, that was really good.” Funny, as soon as we started, we played like we had not been on sabbatical.<br><br>
Surf Rider, Into the Flow, and Midnight Run followed. Our timing was right on. We remembered the songs. Our errors were few and small. Our time away from playing together showed in our Perfidia/Walk Don’t Run medley. But we were back on the money for Magma Runner.<br><br>
Warmed up and playing like we had played together forever. We looked at the new split set list. “Okay, are we ready to try one of the new ones?” We started into Last Date. Slowly and bit-by-bit, we worked our way through the song. The bass and drums provided bottom for the song -- a bottom and fullness that were missing when I practiced it alone. <br><br>
“Whose version did you have in mind?” <br><br>
“I love the original Floyd Kramer song but for guitar I’d go with Los Straitjackets but their version probably is too complicated for me to play.”<br><br>
After we worked our way through Last Date, we segued into Sleepwalk. “Paul will provide a few bars here. His interpretation is so much better than what I play.” Sleepwalk went easier than Last Date. We then played the two songs a couple times as a medley.<br><br>
“Hey, for the first time that we played that together, that was good.”<br><br>
We took a break. Glenn and Don opened beers -- Red Tail Ale, of course. I sat on Mr. Ape Head. We laughed and talked about the rest of the first set. Each of us expressed surprise that we sounded as good as we did. We also talked about Sierra Surf Music Camp and how much fun we thought it will be.<br><br>
The fun of the evening made me think, “What a pleasant way to spend an evening! I am so lucky to have this escape from the pile of work sitting on my desk.” Rock ‘n roll truly can be an escape.<br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/MrApeHead4-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1383202012-02-07T23:20:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:11-08:00Rerun: Meet GK - That's Glenn Kohlmeister not Gene Krupa<span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><u><b>Editor's Note:</b></u> We are interspersing some of the previous 150 or so blog entries with current material. Here is a "rerun" of our post introducing Glenn.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/9fd15783d4f85831b9777c688fa98c6f8f4d6fd7/medium/IMG_1959.JPG?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" style="width: 231px; height: 174px" />In late 2009, Becky and her brother renovated a warehouse. The concept was he could clean out his garage and store his “toys” and I could have a place to play music.<br><br>
Like many of my “projects,” my plans were somewhat grandiose. My vision was a place where different ages would get together to draw or paint, play music, and maybe share ideas. Discourse between ages would expand the horizons and open the minds of young and old alike -- a bridge over the “generation gap.”<br><br>
That plan fell flat on its face. Jamming on weekends did not appeal to young people. Music may soothe the savage beast, but it does not necessarily bring generations together. Only a few people like to draw and even fewer will admit to drawing. Nobody seems to want to paint in a communal place. The reality was very few of my friends are bohemian enough to participate in the type of coffee house collective which I envisioned.<br><br>
Something worthwhile, however, came from our attempts at jamming. We learned how good and versatile Glenn Kohlmeister was on the drums. <br><br>
Glenn and I met when I was allowed to intrude upon the inner sanctum of the threesome in which he ran every Saturday morning. They would run and then, over coffee and cinnamon rolls, solve the problems of the World. They let me walk and join them for coffee. Saturday mornings became a male version of “stitch and bitch.”<br><br>
We really did not “solve” anything. But we had and have lively discussions which range from current events, social issues, politics, and other esoterica to “do you remember . . . ?” The do you remembers have included such lively subjects as “Where was Harrold Ford on Broadway?” “Where exactly was the Alameda, the last burlesque house in Sacramento?” “What was the card room where Starbucks and Noah’s Bagels on J are now?” “Who was in Blind Faith?” Many times the Saturday session led to a Google search and e-mails.<br><br>
Glenn is a jazz devotee. Ask him about a Blue Note performer, and he knows the answer. Until recently, his vanity license plate was “JAZZLVR.”<br><br>
Glenn also was a closet drummer for 40 plus years. He started out in junior high school band. But, until we started our warehouse jams in the Fall of 2009, he had not played with a group since he was in his teens. He had not played an acoustic kit for some time.<br><br>
Even though the warehouse jams center of rock and blues, Glenn became our metronome. I am sure that he would prefer playing “Take Five” or classic jazz drum rhythms and even more exotic meters. Instead, we are pretty much stuck with 4/4 rock and occasionally 12/8 blues. Glenn keeps the beat.<br><br>
Glenn also learned to play drums for our surf jams or Paul’s and my renditions of surf or early rock instrumentals. For Christmas, I gave him Dusty Watson’s DVD on surf drumming. Glenn soaked up the information like a sponge.<br><br>
As Paul added chords and harmony to the melodies which were kicking around in my head, Glenn gave them a drum beat. “How about a drum intro here?” “What do you want?” Paul would say, “A snare roll.” Glenn played. “Great!”<br><br>
From the beginning of the “Into the Flow” concept, I knew that Glenn would be the drummer.<br><br>
Once I knew that I was committed to the project, I asked, “Do you want to play on our CD?” He did not ask what CD or what kind of music. Instead, Glenn’s response was instantaneous, “Sure.” </span><br><br><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href=""></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG_1959-300.JPG">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1379722012-02-06T09:00:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:11-08:00Back To Band Practice: Quality Time From Paul<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/aef95d288b63931d482302c56ab3b8be180f83ff/medium/Img_0815.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" style="width: 225px; height: 330px;" />The Lava Pup “Trio” started up band practice again last week. <br><br>
We need it after taking more than a month off, then agreeing to expand our music by five tunes, and now being three weeks away from playing at the Capitol Bowl. The time has come to renew our camaraderie, feel our way through the new songs, and get back to evolving as a band. Importantly, practicing together has been fun for the three of us and a diversion from our day-to-day routines.<br><br><br>
The Pyronauts’ busy January may be done, but they are working on a new CD and playing more gigs. They are a real working band. In addition, Paul gives lessons into the evening four nights each week, is focused on making the inaugural Sierra Surf Music Camp a success, and has responsibilities which go beyond music. He has little time for rest. <br><br>
Given his schedule, we are lucky for whatever time Paul gives us for practices. Unlike for the three of us, the Lava Pups is not necessarily a diversion from his real life. Instead, it probably can be a burden or an unwelcome demand which takes away what small amount of free time he has.<br><br>
Despite that, the time that Paul gives us always is “quality time.” Because of his talent, creativity, and experience, he is very efficacious in joining up with the band on the fly. Paul does not need the same amount of practice that we do. He does not rely on brute memorization like I do. A couple of times through a song is enough for him to know the structure and notes. In a single practice, he knows exactly what we are doing and what he will add to improve our performance.<br><br>
Paul also knows how to spend his time to maximize our opportunity to get the most out of our varying degrees talents. For us to add five songs, we need to have arrangements that work for us and put the Lava Pup imprimatur -- whatever it is -- on them. That may be shorthand for “dumb it down enough so that Bill can play it.”<br><br>
Paul’s and my focus for an hour on a recent Friday afternoon was working through the five songs. The process was simple. First, we identified the songs that we really did not need to arrange and determined how much effort is required to get them gig ready. That was almost a thumbs-up-thumbs-down proposition. Three of the five songs fell into this category.<br><br>
After that, we devoted our energy to the remaining songs which required arranging. We worked out intros, transitions, and endings. Paul and I played the songs through -- lead and chords. Once we felt that we had a structure and feeling for the songs down, we made rough recordings to give Don, Glenn, and me something to practice.<br><br>
“Rough” means solid rhythm from Paul and enough of a lead to cut and paste the song together. Repetition is a nicety of what we play. If a line appears three times in a song, the odds are that one reasonably coherent version of that line -- that is, I did not manage to screw up every phrase every time -- can be pieced together on Garageband. Convert to mp3, and email.<br><br>
Those mp3s gave us a head start for band practice. That meant that we could get back to having fun and making music.<br><br>
After all, that is why we do this. We certainly are not giving up our day jobs for the Pups!<br></span> <span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Img_0815-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1376742012-02-04T09:30:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:11-08:00Rerun: How Did We Come Up With "The Lava Pups"?<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Our blog started about a year ago, and we are up to over 150 posts. That is more than anybody can expect somebody -- who is not a masochist -- to read. So, we are interspersing some of the older posts with new material.<br><br>
People actually ask, "How did you come up with the Lava Pups?" Here is an early post telling the story.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/6165d55bb5e1892d4dcf6a08829720b3bdd5b511/medium/lava-pupwebsite.jpg?1375982943" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="220" width="220" />Let’s see. We have 8 original songs. Primitive, garage-style surf instrumentals. I have “record a CD” on my bucket list. But, of course, a CD cannot be recorded without a band.<br><br>
Somewhere along the line, I created a fictitious band known as the “Lava Pups.” It was "fictitious" because no band existed at the time.<br><br>
Initially, the thought was the “Lava Dogs.” That sounded manly and ferocious. The “Lava Dogs” would play “lava tube” and have a snarling dog logo. Fiery eyes and flashing teeth. Maybe even some dripping saliva or frothing at the mouth.<br><br>
Two problems arose. First, a Google search revealed that “Lava Dogs” was used by the Marine Corps as the nickname for the First Battalion, Third Marines. They had shoulder patches, decals, websites, and Facebook pages. They had history. In any event, the name was taken. And I am certain that the Marine Corps would not want to have anybody believe that I somehow was involved with "the Corps."<br><br>
Second, “Lava Dogs” really was way too serious sounding. A snarling dog really was way too serious looking. Fiery eyes and flashing teeth do not convey fun. Dripping saliva or mouth froth does not covey fun either. The concept for my bucket list was to have fun . . . to do something within my limited talents . . . and to walk the tightrope between creating a product of which I could be proud and of not offending the many serious musicians whom I know and respect.<br><br>
Once “Lava Dogs” was not available, I looked at our good-natured, fluffy Bichon Frise -- Darby -- and thought “Lava Pups.” I certainly can draw a caricature of him. Add sun glasses for fun and to create an air of mystery. No snarling and nothing ferocious. Just a smiling, friendly dog. Put a little spike in his hair to arouse suspicions. Just how good-natured is he?<br><br>
Pencil to paper. Voila. A “Lava Pup” emerged from my brain and found its way to my sketch book.<br><br>
Wow, that was easier than writing any single song!</span><br><br><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/lava-pupwebsite-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1374292012-02-02T12:20:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:11-08:00What If a Poster Could Talk?<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/5ea00570a9fb1352804691f40ee6a22b24ffa3d2/medium/Poster2-26-bubble.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" style="width: 260px; height: 248px;" />Getting back to the Lava Pups means more than band practices and learning five more songs. We have other things to consider. <br><br><br>
What about that little jump at the end of the last show of 2011? Is a repeat in my future? At my age and conditioning, would I be risking serious injury? Becky, who is pretty forgiving of my silly ideas, was blunt in saying that it looked downright stupid and not worthy of repeating.<br><br>
Will Don, Glenn, and I take on demeanor training? Do our dour countenances -- or my look of passing a kidney stone -- serve as a foil for Paul’s energy and enthusiasm? Or is that just part of our act? Bill Wyman and Charlie Watts always appeared to be really detached from or impervious to whatever Mick was doing out in front of them. If it was good enough for the Rolling Stones . . . ? <br><br>
The list of items to consider could go on and on.<br><br>
But important to giving us an opportunity to repeat at the Capitol Bowl will be promotion. We want to get folks in the door who will eat and drink. We want the Capitol Bowl to feel that we brought something of value in addition to a fun afternoon and some more background noise. We want to be in position potentially to show some other venue that the fun and energy of instrumental surf makes cash registers ring.<br><br>
We need to promote this puppy! A poster emerged during the brief respite from my day job. That poster had several predecessors which had potential but, in the end, did not make the cut. <br><br>
A couple of the predecessors worked off of the “Surf Bowl I” concept. But February 26th is three weeks after the Super Bowl. The passage of time and the 49ers’ fumbling away a trip to the Super Bowl took some of wind out of any campy humor of “Surf Bowl I.” Like ‘Niner fans, we can say, “Wait ‘til next year.”<br><br>
Some time ago, Surfer Dude found his way into my imagination and on to my sketch pad. Some day, he may find his way to some flier or poster. But not right now.<br><br>
As I enjoyed the diversion of working up a poster, no theme or clever slogan popped up. The process went concept, draw, be perplexed over the background, manipulate a photo of the Capitol Bowl, erase, draw, move elements, and get some comments. Rework. Print out. Erase, draw. Print out. Oh, yeah, that will do.<br><br>
We will put that poster up the old-fashioned way: Tape, tacks, or staples. And the somewhat updated old-fashioned way: Magnets. And the current modern way: Upload and post on the web. We will give fliers to the Capitol Bowl and other businesses who have taken an interest in the Lava Pups.<br><br>
This is be old school promotion. A “very new school” promotional tool -- so new school that I have not seen it used -- will not be part of the arsenal.<br><br>
That tool still is kicking around in my head. Some time ago, the idea came for an animated “poster” for today’s digital world. Animated posters on a website or Facebook could be a hit. Imagine the Lava Pup turning around in the car seat, looking to the viewer, and pimping our upcoming show. Text could emerge from the background into the viewer’s face. That emergence could be sequential or in unison. In another feature (or “talking poster”), the Lava Pup could promote our multi-use bag (AKA “poop bag”) dispenser. The possibilities are endless.<br><br>
A talking poster would be a hoot. The steps are fairly straight forward. Buy an animation program. Learn to animate. At 24 frames per second, a 10-second animation would require 240 frames. Create frames. . . .<br><br>
Wait one minute! I have a day job and still want to play music, to write some new songs, to learn some new songs, to work my guitar face . . . all while having fun!<br><br>
Yes, indeed, time and fun-inspired energy can be a dangerous combination.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Poster2-26-bubble-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1371032012-01-31T22:50:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:11-08:00Oh My, 150 Posts!<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">Hey, this is post 150. That should be a milestone of sorts -- the result of persistence or verbosity. What should I write? Maybe a bombastic diatribe, which as some who know me well would say totally fits my style. But that would be contrary to the PG, non-political, non-confrontational, minimum-opinion nature of this blog. How about some sentimental piece about the last year? That would fit neither my style nor this blog. Instead of something new, let’s reprise one of the early blogs. After all, we are 149 posts into this endeavor. And who has time to go back too far -- or at all?<br><br><b>Blog No. 4: Paul the Pyronaut: Surf at Last!</b><br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/33d32014441ae642a40ad8dd5622f075b7d00cec/medium/196987_196832247015605_123199967712167_620497_3381145_n.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" style="width: 250px; height: 361px;" />The struggle to learn surf and instrumental rock did not keep me from loading 500+ rock instrumentals on my iPod. I just lacked the talent to get that music from the iPod to a guitar fretboard. The songs were not limited to music of my youth. My iPod included Los Straitjackets, The Mermen, The Halibuts, The Eliminators, and The Aqua Velvets.<br><br>
Somehow I learned that Pollo del Mar -- a San Francisco surf band -- was going to play in Nevada City. I convinced Becky that we should spend a Saturday in Nevada City. Walk around town. Visit the shops. Eat. Stay at the National Hotel, which is dog friendly. Hang out in a bar. See Pollo del Mar at Cooper’s.<br><br>
Of course, neither of us had been out to see a rock band in a bar since the late 1980s. In those days, we could drink and dance all night, close the bar, and go out for breakfast before going home. But we are older -- and possibly more responsible -- now. <br><br>
And nowadays shows in bars do not start until 9:00 or later. Whatever happened to going to the bar after work?<br><br>
After a day of walking the streets of Nevada City -- we were there for lunch -- we ate dinner at 7:00. Let’s see, we had eaten two meals, visited most of the stores in Nevada City, had coffee and sweets at the coffee shop, stopped for wine tasting, visited the coffee shop again, and located Cooper’s. That was a full day for us, and we still had to wait an hour and a half before the opening band was scheduled to take the stage.<br><br>
I suggested that we go to Cooper’s early to get a good seat. After all, at my age I did not want to stand from 9:00 to midnight. We made sure that Darby was comfortable in the room and headed off to Cooper’s, which was one block from the National Hotel. Actually, almost everything in Nevada City is a block or two away.<br><br>
At Cooper’s, we found a table. That was lucky as only a few tables were in the space where bands play. The opening band was setting up. Drums, guitars, amps, and a palm tree already were on stage. A palm tree! A young man and woman were setting up the “merch table” -- CDs, tees, and stickers -- and another palm tree.<br><br>
We struck up a conversation with them. What they had to say peeked our curiosity. He was Paul, and the band was The Pyronauts. The band played surf music and had opened for Dick Dale in the past. The Pyronauts were from Auburn -- a truly local band. <br><br>
Paul also taught guitar. He switched from Grunge to Surf after seeing Dick Dale. Playing guitar was easier than playing guitar and singing. And more fun. "Teen Spirit" versus "Wipe Out" is no contest in the fun department. Paul was engaging, knowledgeable, and enthusiastic about surf music.<br><br>
The space was beginning to fill with people. Paul seemed to know most of them. Many were wearing tees or hats displaying a stylized “Pyronauts” logo. Paul excused himself, worked the crowd, and headed into a room to the side of the stage.<br><br>
Soon The Pyronauts emerged and took the stage. Immediately, they played a classic -- “Penetration.” An energy filled the room. “Walk, Don’t Run.” “Mr. Moto.” “Pipeline.” “Apache.” They put on dark glasses and played “Peter Gunn,” which became increasingly faster. Humor. Personality. <br><br>
Their version of “MIserlou” featured Paul and Bob Bitchin’ exchanging the melody and solos. This was old school surf played by young men.<br><br>
Some patrons danced. Others just rocked out. The music was fun, energetic, and loud. Ear plugs were available at the “merch table.” They were florescent yellow foam and adorned with flames and came pre-packaged in pairs. And they were free!<br><br>
The music slowed for “Surfer Girl.” More dancers. Then back to loud and fast. “Wipe Out.” The Pyronauts played some original songs. Those sounded like surf music. Double-picked. Glissandos. <br><br>
Paul the Pyronaut and Bob Bitchin’ kicked their reverb units. Crash! The band had fun. The audience had fun. They and the band shared the moment. The band played for the crowd. This was rock ‘n roll as I remembered it from my youth. Non-pretentious. Open to everybody. Simple. Primitive.<br><br>
The Pyronauts finished their set. Becky and I looked at each other and simultaneously said, “Wow!”<br><br>
Our long day -- and a couple of glasses of wine -- caught up with us. Becky was tired. We were worried about Darby at the hotel. We walked back to the National.<br><br>
I was enthused and thought: “Surf at last. Maybe I should take lessons from Paul the Pyronaut.” This was the end of blank looks, shoulder shrugs, and the questions that were like finger nails on a chalk board, “Surf, huh? Is that like The Beach Boys? The Ventures?”<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/196987_196832247015605_123199967712167_620497_3381145_n-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1365422012-01-29T03:40:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:11-08:00Working To Have Fun - Is That an Oxymoron?<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/04d103b332a6478ca195d6eaee6422bbf40538df/medium/Posterhalf-2-26-12.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" style="width: 250px; height: 377px;" />The Pups' sabbatical is over. Time to get back to “work.” But we are in this to have fun. Is working to have fun an oxymoron?<br><br>
Actually, while the Lava Pups took time off, my day job and other responsibilities were unusually demanding. Sometimes, real life gets in the way of fun. As the pendulum swings between reality and fantasy, we all hope to find a balance point. Generally, the swings into the fantasy zone always seem short. So, we have to find a way to put fun into the real life zone.<br><br>
During a brief respite from my day job and other real world responsibilities, the energy that fun generates rushed in. Time unexpectedly was available for planning, drawing, arranging, and daydreaming. <br><br>
Of course, available time and fun-generated energy can be a dangerous combination. In tandem, they may drive us to set lofty goals, overestimate what we can do, unduly expand our to-do lists, develop an overly ambitious agenda, and just plain lose sight of reality. As you grow older, you know that the reality of work, family, pets, and other commitments is a telephone call, email, or fax away. Despite knowing these risks and proclivities, I wanted to get back to the Lava Pups and the rock ‘n roll fantasy -- escape -- that a band provides.<br><br>
Can we expand to two sets? That could be a goal for February 26th. We will be in an experiment-friendly environment because people will have no economic commitment to listen to us. Plus, most folks in the Capitol Bowl really will not care much about four guys playing instrumental rock. Bowling balls will be rolling. Pins will be flying and crashing together. Folks will be talking “bowling talk” (whatever that is). The Lava Pups might be just some more background noise in the cacophony of a bowling alley.<br><br>
Worth a try. Divide up what we have practiced and played already into two columns. Uh . . . too short time-wise for two conventional or “real” sets. What to do? Add songs! Let’s work on 5 “new” songs. And, while we are adding, let’s venture outside our comfort zone with something far removed from the usual Lava Pups schtick. Split up the 5 new songs -- that is, new to us songs. Wow, we have two sets. <br><br>
Oh, yeah, we will have to learn the five songs. Wait a minute! Can I do that? After all, I am the weak link in this band. And keep in mind that, for all of us, the Lava Pups is an outside activity. We should keep to small bites. Is 5 a small bite?<br><br>
Irrespective of the answer to that, lofty ambition trumped reality or caution. The newly created set lists were attached to an email, and the “send” icon clicked. That put the fate of expanding our repertoire into the hands of all of us.<br><br>
Don responded, “Do you have any particular recordings in mind so that I can start practicing?” Particular recordings? Maybe but not really. Versions -- really, dumbed down arrangements -- of certain “standards” kick around in my brain. My hope is to get them to my fingers and committed to memory.<br><br>
Don’s response reminded me that lofty ambition without a good plan may be nothing but a dream or a recipe for failure. Maybe I jumped the gun. Maybe a little more thought . . . . But I was not going to give in to paralysis by analysis.<br><br>
After hearing my “not really” answer, Don did not say, “Damn, you are crazy” or anything like that. Instead, he and I went over the songs one-by-one. The amount of work ahead then was evident. <br><br>
“That sounds sketchy.” “Are we sure about those chords?” “Is that the correct first note?” “What will we use as an introduction?” “That needs a better transition.”<br><br>
We made some of the songs sound musically okay after a few tries. Others left us looking at each other and shrugging our shoulders. We knew where this was headed. When in doubt, turn to the professional. We agreed that Paul probably could pull our bacon out of the fire.<br><br>
Having a naturally-talented professional musician available sure helps.<br><br>
This getting back to the business of having fun will require some work. Is work antithetical to fun? But playing the same songs over and over without change or growth would suck all fun from being a band. So working to have fun is not as oxymoronic as it may sound.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Posterhalf-2-26-12-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1363302012-01-27T08:55:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:11-08:00Sierra Surf Music Camp - Be There, Aloha!<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/11edcf9e62487c0890f1f4921dafb422549b2d06/medium/404406_10151210724705611_554250610_23015303_1895279120_n.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_absBottom border_" alt="" height="152" width="300" /><br><br>
Okay, folks, before any more blogs about the Capitol Bowl, West Capitol Avenue, West Sacramento, or the Lava Pups performing there on February 26th clog up the ethernet, we need to spread the word about the Sierra Surf Music Camp. THE INAUGURAL SIERRA SURF MUSIC CAMP!<br><br>
Sometime in the relatively recent past -- November 17 to be exact -- Rock ‘n Roll Fantasy Camps were the subject of our blog. Swapping licks with Zak Wylde or Steve Vai just was not part of my rock ‘n roll fantasy. Attending a “fantasy camp” to do that did not float my boat. The price tag made sure the boat had no buoyancy.<br><br>
My “fantasy camp” was described as including, among others, Dave Wronski, Dusty Watson, Eddie Bertrand, and Paul Johnson. Paul the Pyronaut would be the “camp director”; he would be assisted by the other Pyronauts and some surf music players from the Bay Area. Yeah, that would float my boat.<br><br>
A short time ago, Paul announced on Facebook that he and Dusty Watson -- the best surf drummer on Earth -- were putting together a surf music camp. “Oh, wow,” I thought, “Is this the 'fantasy camp' of my fantasies?” Paul posted just enough to titillate.<br><br>
Over the next couple of weeks, he started to build excitement by posting something new. First, Paul Johnson will be an instructor. That is the very same Paul Johnson, who wrote “Mr. Moto” and “Squad Car.” Depending on who is giving the history lesson, either Paul Johnson and Eddie Bertrand of the Belairs or Dick Dale “invented” surf music. “Mr. Moto” was the first surf song that I ever heard -- probably in 1962 -- and gives the Belairs the edge. Besides Dick Dale derived "Surf Beat" from the Fabulous Wailers' "Road Runner."<br><br>
Paul followed with the announcement that John Blair also would be an instructor. Another “guiding light" was being brought to camp. I apologize for not writing about him earlier in any blog. Instrumental rock -- and surf music -- was kicked to the curb by the British Invasion. In 1979, John Blair started Jon & the Nightriders, which included both Dusty Watson and Dave Wronski. They played instrumental surf and kept the embers glowing until the revival brought on by -- or attributed to -- the movie Pulp Fiction.<br><br>
John Blair, however, is more than a musician. He is a surf music historian of sorts. In 1978, his <i>Illustrated Discography of Surf Music (1961-1965)</i> was first published. The introduction to the Third Edition begins, “This reference work serves as a basic guide to American surf music recordings of the early 1960s.” There, he admits that the book is of an “esoteric nature” and then follows the introduction with more than 200 pages of black and white photos, listings of records, and copies of posters. <br><br>
"Historian" may be an understatement. Given the "esoteric nature" of his book and his creating Jon & the Nightriders to play instrumental surf, John Blair could be described as a zealot -- right up there with Phil Dirt. In part because of John Blair, surf music did not become entirely extinct between its pre-British invasion hey day (primarily in Southern California) and the Pulp Fiction revival.<br><br>
Yesterday, the Sierra Surf Music Camp “crossed the Rubicon.” A link to a new website was provided. “Announcing the Inaugural Session” was posted to Facebook. The camp even has a logo -- a very professional looking logo at that.<br><br>
“Sierra Surf Music Camp is being created with the idea of spending a weekend with friends, family, and community in the study and appreciation of California’s indigenous folk music -- Surf! We wish to bridge the gap between professional and amateur musicians by bringing the founders of the genre together with folks just beginning to discover it in a fun and friendly setting.”<br><br>
Some more instructors were introduced. The rest of The Pyronauts. “Captain Ron” Eglit, who played bass with Dick Dale. From San Francisco, Ferenc Dobronyi of Pollo del Mar, Frankie and Pool Boys, and The Tomorrowmen and the force behind Surf Sundays at the Hotel Utah. Quite a "faculty" is being assembled. No Dave Wronski . . . yet?<br><br>
Lessons will be given. Surf drummers may dream about a lesson with Dusty Watson. Those dreams can become a reality at the Sierra Surf Music Camp. Classes and seminars will be offered in, among other things, Surf Music History and “performance.” Maybe Don, Glenn, and I can learn how to ditch the “funeral director” look by attending the "performance" class. <br><br>
For non-musicians (and possibly me), classes will be offered in Surf Art. A clip from the long-anticipated surf music documentary “Sound of Surf” will be premiered. This camp promises to have something for almost everybody!<br><br>
Hey, maybe the Lava Pups can take the stage, play a couple of songs, and demonstrate what we learned on Performance Night. Then again, anxiety, awe, and stage fright might strike me dumb and unable to pick a string or remember a song.<br><br>
This truly is a Rock ‘n Roll Fantasy Camp for me even without Dave Wronski. It also is a camp for every person with more than a passing interest in surf music. And -- drum roll please -- it is reasonably priced! Register by April 15th and get a 15% discount.<br><br>
Becky and I are in. Given my well-know patience quotient, can I wait until Memorial Day weekend? Oh, yeah, we have gig coming up on February 26 -- a welcome distraction.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/404406_10151210724705611_554250610_23015303_1895279120_n-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/699262012-01-25T02:50:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:05-08:00More About West Capitol Avenue<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/9b81bd6c96c770cbf3c8fde2535448eb484eb32f/medium/IMG00219-20120123-1531.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" style="width: 220px; height: 287px;" />The Capitol Bowl may not look like much from the outside but, on the inside, it sparkles. The renovation made it the West Sacramento "Business of the Year" recently. That speaks volumes about the enormity of the beautification issues on West Capitol Avenue.<br><br>
We often see a cycle in communities or neighborhoods. Bloom. Wilt. Die back. Renewal. Grow. Bloom. Sometimes, the wilt and die back are so severe that renewal seems impossible. Sometimes, some part of the community or neighborhood is renewed but growth and bloom take awhile -- maybe even a long while. Sometimes, some part blooms again while other parts seem moribund.<br><br>
In 1987, in the face of declining -- or a paucity of -- services provided by Yolo County, a new West Sacramento came into existence. It combined three diverse communities. Broderick and Bryte were the oldest, north of I-80, and a mix of low-rent trailer parks, apartment complexes, and small 1950s houses which had become home to immigrants, laborers, and transients. The other community included the industrial and warehouse area surrounding and along West Capitol Avenue, the former “motel row,” older blue collar neighborhoods and Port of Sacramento to the south of I-5, and the dream of a more affluent residential area known as “Southport.”<br><br>
The new city gained more of a tax base during the various housing booms of the last two decades. Thousands of homes were built on the farm lands to the south of I-80. Housing meant concomitant shopping centers. Some projects to the north of I-80 were started. Despite their proximity to the River and downtown Sacramento, the residential projects generally fared poorly. Maybe the thought of driving through a area of shacks and single-wides was enough to dampen any thought of building a McMansion.<br><br>
Over the years, the new West Sacramento undertook to clean-up West Capitol Avenue. But years of neglect and blight were not going to be reversed quickly. The cleanup did not seem to take hold until fairly recently. <br><br>
“Beautification” and serious efforts have focused on the easterly end. A new City Hall was built close to the old El Rancho. Across West Capitol Avenue from the City Hall is a modern complex which houses a community center, library, and classrooms for Sacramento City College. West Capitol Avenue was widened. Islands were built. Large bronze statues of a pitcher and batter grace the island between City Hall and the complex across the Avenue.<br><br>
All of this is within a short distance of Raley Field, which is the home of minor league baseball’s River Cats, high rise office buildings on the river front, the corporate headquarters for a regional grocery chain, and the Riverwalk. Some West Sacramento business persons attribute the "clean up" to Raley Field and the 14,000 or so souls who attend games, concerts, and other events in the Summer.<br><br>
The Capitol Bowl is both major addition to and a beneficiary of the neighborhood beautification. It is one block east of City Hall. Transients, street people, the unemployed, the underemployed, and other members of the underclass do not really hang out around the civic center or the beautified areas east of it. Some pass through with shopping carts containing their lives' possessions, but they seem to move on. Capitol Bowl is a link in the chain of improvements between the civic center and the Sacramento River.<br><br>
But West Capitol Avenue runs approximately 3 miles -- half of that is industrial, warehousing, and trucking facilities. Two blocks west of civic center, beautification is less evident. The widened Avenue runs between motels, taquerias, trailer parks, auto repair shops, auto dismantlers, similar businesses, and vacant lots where motels or trailer parks once were. Along the way, a few new buildings or complexes have popped up on that portion of the Avenue. They are outposts for the pioneers who believe that the Avenue will blossom soon.<br><br>
Heading west from the civic center, the underclass is more apparent. Is the Avenue better than 15 years ago? Sure. But years of efforts lie ahead for the beautification of West Capitol Avenue. It is a daunting challenge in today’s Economy and the realities which confront local governments.<br><br>
By playing at the Capitol Bowl, maybe the Lava Pups will make a small contribution to the beautification of West Capitol Avenue. Maybe our fans will enjoy the food and ambience and add the restaurant to their lunch or dinner rotas. If nothing else, we know that we will add some fun and energy to the Avenue!<br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG00219-20120123-1531-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1345882012-01-18T21:55:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:11-08:00Are You Ready for Dick Dale? We Are!<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/6f21e4dfa217a8078a37da79ce47d40024f794b7/medium/DDPyroPosterFinal.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" style="width: 250px; height: 384px;" />As expected, the Press Club did not respond to the email offering up the Lava Pups to open for Dick Dale when he was through Sacramento earlier in the month. Without expectation, disappointment is impossible. <br><br>
The silver lining is that Don’s smashed finger was early in the healing stage when Dick Dale was at the Press Club. Don could not have played anyway. Fate was kind to us by making sure that the Press Club did not respond.<br><br><br><br>
Dick Dale is coming back to the area this weekend. Friday night, he is in Petaluma. Saturday, he hits the stage at the Auburn Events Center. As with his previous performances in Auburn, it will be sold out. As with his previous performances in Auburn, The Pyronauts will open. Counting the Petaluma show, Saturday will be the fifteenth time that they have opened for the “King of the Surf Guitar.”<br><br>
We are ready for Saturday night because the Dick Dale whom we know and love probably will be appearing. We get another glimpse at one of the founding fathers of instrumental surf music.<br><br>
Last time that he was in Auburn, the “Guitar Legend” was ending an acoustic tour with his son, Jimmy. That night, the contrast between the Pyronauts (unplugged) and Dick Dale was stunning. They were energetic, entertaining, and engaging. The audience truly enjoyed the effort that they put forth.<br><br>
Dick Dale was neither energetic nor entertaining. He talked too much about matters which seemed to interest nobody except him. He was not engaged with the audience. His performance dragged. At times, he simply was a 73-year old man telling boring, irrelevant, and incomprehensible stories. He was losing the audience. People stood by the bar talking. People went outside to smoke.<br><br>
On the drive home, our friend who is an event planner offered up a bit of heresy. If she ran the show, Dick Dale would go on first so that the crowd could pay their respects and then party and be entertained by The Pyronauts. As we pointed out to her at the time, that would be a huge protocol violation. A pecking order exists in every show. Dick Dale is the “King of the Surf Guitar,” gets top billing, and goes on last.<br><br>
I remember thinking that we just had seen the what-to-dos and what-not-to-dos of a live show.<br><br>
Saturday night in Auburn will be different than last time. At least, I hope so and am eager to go.<br><br>
Jimmy will be back with his dad. The show, however, is not acoustic. Jimmy will play drums. Dick Dale will come out with his Gold Strat hanging like it is a body part. Actually, it has been an appendage to his body for more than 50 years. It will be strung upside down with heavy gauge strings. His Gold Strat has no knobs. It is just set to max volume. He will play Dick Dale tunes.<br><br>
Oh, yeah, I expect that he will talk. After all, he continues to bill himself as a “Guitar Legend.” Except for the strong, silent types, “legends” generally tell us why they are legends. But, no matter what, Dick Dale most likely will do what he has done for more than 50 years. Play the electric guitar loud and fast. Lots of reverb. Trademark sound. Trademark style. <br><br>
That surely will stoke me and the audience.<br><br>
And, unlike last year’s acoustic show, we most likely will walk away saying, “Wow! Do you believe that? I hope that I can play like that when I am 74 years old!”<br><br>
Electric guitar loud and fast. That is a big part of instrumental surf music. Those who did not wear ear plugs will respond, “What did you say?” Their ears will be ringing well into Sunday.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/DDPyroPosterFinal-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1342922012-01-17T09:40:00-08:002023-11-02T18:06:39-07:00West Capitol Avenue - Highway 40 Once Ran Through Here<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/84aed663722fed6a37438a2825ea9bb9b96b3a37/medium/IMG00217-20120117-1249.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" style="width: 240px; height: 236px;" />The Lava Pups will play at the Capitol Bowl in West Sacramento at the end of February. The Capitol Bowl was once known as the El Rancho Bowl and was part of the Hotel El Rancho entertainment complex. The hotel was a 17-acre property which included palm trees, swimming pools, and tennis courts located on West Capitol Avenue. <br><br><br>
In the early 1950s, the hotel was the jewel of West Sacramento’s “motel row.” West Capitol Avenue was part of U.S. Highway 40, which stretched from San Francisco to Atlantic City.<br><br>
Celebrities stayed at the El Rancho. Dignitaries stayed at the El Rancho. Even President Eisenhower stayed at the El Rancho. Interestingly, Sacramento did not have a real convention or meeting facility back then. The El Rancho provided those facilities for California’s capital.<br><br>
West Capitol Avenue was the western gateway into Sacramento and led up to the Tower Bridge (then known as the “M Street Bridge”). To get into Sacramento from the West (that is, San Francisco), a traveler had to cross over the Sacramento River. Highway 40 crossed the river at the Tower Bridge.<br><br>
The busiest private airport in the United States was in West Sacramento and on West Capitol Avenue.<br><br>
In 1956, a 4-lane “super highway” was opened to bypass West Capitol Avenue. That 4-lane highway -- which later became I-80 -- then separated West Sacramento’s residential areas from “motel row” and the industrial areas adjacent to it. <br><br>
A predictable decline followed. In 1960, the airport moved its operations to Sacramento Executive Airport, which at the time was only airport in the region offering commercial flights. By the mid-1970s, many of the places on “motel row” were at the lower end of the where-to-stay chain. Some tried to breathe life into their otherwise moribund outlook by providing hot tubs, rooms by the hour, closed circuit television, and adult movies. “Motel row” became mostly a seedy mix of weekly or monthly rentals, adult hotels, and residence motels. Interspersed among the industrial and warehouse properties to the west of “motel row” were mobile home parks.<br><br>
West Sacramento became known for its warehouses, prostitution, crime, and blight.<br><br>
The Hotel El Rancho, however, managed to hang on. In the 1970s, a country music entrepreneur bought it and brought in major performers. The El Rancho had a 24-hour restaurant and an 800-seat showroom. Later, the property changed hands. The writing was on the wall for the El Rancho by the mid-1980s when members of the Cleveland Cavaliers refused to stay there. Instead, they moved to a hotel across the Sacramento River in Sacramento.<br><br>
The property continued to deteriorate. In 1993, the Hotel El Rancho -- a West Sacramento landmark -- became a Buddhist monastery. It was renamed “The City of the Dharma Realm.”<br><br>
No more celebrities, dignitaries, or Presidents will stay at the Hotel El Rancho. Similarly, prostitutes and criminals will not be there unless they join the monastery. <br><br>
Highway 40 is gone except for signs marking "Historic Highway 40." But cleaning up West Capitol Avenue is a community goal irrespective of the fate of the Hotel El Rancho. The renovation of the Capitol Bowl is a piece in working toward that goal. And the Lava Pups get to introduce more people to the Capitol Bowl.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/IMG00217-20120117-1249-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1338242012-01-14T22:40:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:10-08:00Mick, Keith, and the Lava Pups - Sabbatical Over!<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">To get the Lava Pups off sabbatical, we needed a venue for February 26th. <br><br>
Not like we have not been looking. Guided in part by the Surf Sunday idea, our venue search has been nearly continuous for several months.<br><br>
To make February 26th work, were we going to hold out for the ideal venue? You may recall our description:<br><br>
“Ideal venue serves food and drink, is open to all ages, and will pay us or let us charge at the door. Must be large enough to hold 100 to 150 people and have seating for many, if not most, guests. Indoors preferred so that the ‘event’ is not affected by weather.”<br><br>
We once were excited by the belief that we found a venue meeting those criteria. That excitement turned out to be premature and thus short-lived. The owner did not see how being open and getting business -- probably more business than his average for an entire day -- penciled out. The real answer was either (1) he thought that we would bargain away a piece or all of the door or (2) he just did not want to let us play. The search then continued.<br><br>
So, when describing the ideal venue, we should add, “And will let us play.”<br><br>
In our search, we sought out suggestions. We went to different places. Too small for our music. Not all ages. No parking. Parking too expensive. Not enough seating. Out doors. Not available on a Sunday afternoon. Unlike Goldilocks, we never seemed to find “just right.”<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/5207e23c108f5bd2a45456ac14b4ad3c3de98d82/medium/wpe5187ffe_05_06.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_middle border_" alt="" height="200" width="300" /><br><br>
Our search took us to the Capitol Bowl in West Sacramento. It recently was reopened after a remodeling. We heard that it might be receptive to live music. The remodel, which currently is in the fine-tuning phase, eliminated the separate bar room where bands once played. Walls were removed creating a restaurant-bar which is open to the entire bowling alley with a view of all 20 lanes. Granite top on the bar. Comfortable stools and chairs. <br><br>
The reopening brought a chef with an eye on innovation. Local fresh meats and vegetables replaced frozen pre-prepared “bowling alley” food. Hamburger meat double-ground daily. Pastrami cured and smoked on site. Fresh cut fries -- potato and sweet potato. Four-cheese nachos with hand-crafted tortilla chips. Real cheeses. No cheese whiz, cheese food, nor Velveta.<br><br>
This certainly is not your father’s bowling alley. The renovation reflects a substantial investment and a commitment to participate in the beautification of West Sacramento. <br><br>
We spoke to the owner. “We have a band and play instrumental surf music. Would you let us play here on a Sunday afternoon?” Without hesitation and any additional spiel from us, he responded, “Sure, if you bring in people who will eat and drink and you finish before leagues start.”<br><br>
What? No negotiation? Open to our playing? Instant recognition of a potential win-win? Wow! Throw some cold water on me because I must be dreaming.<br><br>
Well, to tell the truth, the Capitol Bowl does not meet all criteria. The owner will not pay us to play. We cannot charge at the door. So, if guided by Surf Sunday concept, the Capitol Bowl is not ideal. And, unless the tip jar overflows, it cannot be a permanent Surf Sunday venue.<br><br>
But for February 26th, the Capitol Bowl seems absolutely perfect. All ages. Serves food and drinks -- good food at that. Available on a Sunday afternoon. Seats a bunch of folks. Conducive to uncomplicated, fun music played to the accompaniment of rolling bowling balls sending pins flying and colliding. An certain energy promises fill the entire space.<br><br>
And add a historical note: Mick Jagger and Keith Richards bowled there in 1970. If it was good enough for them, it surely will work for the Lava Pups. Book it. Sabbatical over!<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/wpe5187ffe_05_06-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1335452012-01-12T23:00:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:10-08:00Sabbatical Over?<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/bf1318ef07a98b763ebefa9816f04471af2ba246/medium/poster9-19-11.jpg?1375982944" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="387" width="250" />Having substantial time off may be overrated particularly for a "type A" person. A couple of days to unwind followed by a few days of rest is all that is needed to “recharge the old batteries.” Anything beyond that becomes the restless state of “this sucks, time to get moving.” That applies to most endeavors -- whether they are related to a job or fun.<br><br>
I was tired of being on sabbatical and had moved into the “this sucks, time to get moving” state. Restless. Frustrated.<br><br><br>
We had not played together as a band for more than a month. Okay, maybe I was being a bit too impatient. We had the holidays -- a week or so devoted to good cheer and not getting much done. And Don smashed his finger. And The Pyronauts are playing at Northstar, Reno, and Mammoth over MLK weekend and are opening twice for Dick Dale the following weekend.<br><br>
Plus, given the reality that I am musically challenged, practice time is required. Otherwise, whatever I have memorized just exits my consciousness. Is it pushed out by some bit of trivia, new information, or interest? Or is it that the lack of innate talent puts too much pressure on the capacity to commit - and retain - something to memory? Or are my days as a sexagenarian guitarist numbered?<br><br>
After I clicked on “send,” whether the 26th would work was in the hands of Paul, Glenn, and Don. Determining when the sabbatical would end was off into the ethernet.<br><br>
Ding . . . . Ding . . . . Ding. Even though they were not in rapid succession, the responses to my email arrived. Everybody is available on February 26th.<br><br>
Whew, one obstacle down! We have a date. We found a Sunday.<br><br>
Another obstacle, however, remained: Finding a venue.<br><br>
Stay tuned.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like width="450" href="" send="false" show_faces="true" font="arial"></like><link rel="image_src" href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/poster9-19-11-300.jpg">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1332832012-01-11T10:10:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:10-08:00The Don Finger Report: February, Anyone?<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);">The Don Finger Report is in. That is the report on Don's finger, not something by some guy named Don Finger. The news is welcome. Don's smashed finger is healing. It is better. He advises that he recently played for all of 10 minutes before any pain set in. Hey, that is double his last report. It sounds geometric to me. And he has not practiced for a “few days.” <br><br>
Is 20 minutes or more in the immediate future? Unfortunately, 20 minutes is less than one-half of a full set.<br><br>
Given the earlier stall in his recovery, we contemplated changing his nom de guerre from “Jet Blue” to “Mr. Smash Finger.” No name change, however, appears to be necessary. Patience -- as loyal readers know, not my strong suit -- was all that was required. Let Nature run her course.<br><br>
Besides “Jet Blue” sounds much better than “And, on bass, Don ‘Mr. Smash Finger’ Bazinet!” Just reciting it aloud shows that it would have been pretty lame.<br><br>
Now that Don is on the way to recovery, we talked about dates when the Pups can play again. Don reminded me that we had not practiced for some time. “So it can’t be too soon.” We then went over the Sundays in February. <br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/3dbb1d09961482109ab4d9aa1f479a33f9ff735e/medium/Pup-Is-Cupid.jpg?1375982945" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" style="width: 180px; height: 180px;" />The first Sunday was out. “Yeah, that’s the Super Bowl. No place will let us play then.” <br><br><br><br>
The following Sunday was out. “Oh, that won’t give us enough time to practice, and I may not be completely healed.” Besides, it is right against Valentine’s Day. People probably want to take their Valentines out for quiet, romantic entertainment -- not an afternoon of energy and fun with the Lava Pups.<br><br>
Then, we have Presidents Day Weekend. Three days off. If the jet stream shifts to where it should be, that will be a gargantuan ski weekend. Or, if the jet stream stays as it is, people can celebrate the 3-day weekend with picnics and barbeques.<br><br>
Okay, because it is a short month, we had to ask, “Does February have 4 Sundays?” After consulting a calendar, the question was, “How about the 26th?” Don replied, “I think that that will work.” I thought, “That’s six weeks away, and I am getting tired of being on sabbatical.”<br><br>
So an email to Glenn and Paul was in order. As I clicked on “send,” I wondered, “Will we ever find another Sunday when we are all available?” In the meantime, people keep asking, “When are you guys going to play again?”<br><br>
Stay tuned.<br><br></span><span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/Pup-Is-Cupid-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pupstag:lavapups.com,2005:Post/1325302012-01-08T06:30:00-08:002017-01-13T16:30:10-08:00Surf Sunday - Suggestions, Anyone?<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 128);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/33659/bf1318ef07a98b763ebefa9816f04471af2ba246/medium/poster9-19-11.jpg?1375982944" class="size_orig justify_left border_" alt="" height="383" width="250" />For some time, “Surf Sunday” or something akin to that has been on my mind. “Surf Sunday” is not an original idea by any stretch of the imagination. Bands play on Sunday afternoons at the International Surfing Museum in Huntington Beach. The Hotel Utah in San Francisco has been a regular venue for an ongoing monthly “Surf Sunday.”<br><br>
Could a similar event work around our end of the Central Valley and Foothills? After all, we have a tremendous band in The Pyronauts. We have other surf bands like the Vibrocounts, the Retronauts, the Funicellos, and, every so often, the Hypnotic IV. We have a surf music heritage of sorts as shown by the Beach Boys' "Sacramento."<br><br>
Towards that end and one day last year, I emailed a Facebook “friend” who purports to be a promoter of roots music about the idea. No instant response came. No response came in a week. No response came in a couple of weeks. After a month or so of no response, I figured that my email was caught somewhere in the ethernet or the idea had been dismissed. <br><br>
But, being that I can be snotty, sarcastic, catty, and caustic and really do not like being totally ignored, I sent a follow-up email. Then I learned that this “friend” did not have the slightest idea about much of anything. He responded, “Were we talking about September 21st?” What?<br><br>
That taught a simple lesson: If “Surf Sunday” is to come to fruition, it is something that must be developed using our own resources. We really cannot expect much help. Given Don’s smashed finger and Paul’s busy schedule for the next couple of weeks, maybe this is the time to formulate a plan. Time to put pen to paper -- rather fingers to keys -- and get going.<br><br><b><u>Wanted</u></b>: Someplace that will host a monthly Sunday afternoon “event” to include surf music. The ideal venue serves food and drink, is open to all ages, and will pay us or let us charge at the door. It must be large enough to hold 100 to 150 people and have seating for many, if not most, guests. Indoors preferred so that the “event” is not affected by weather.<br><br><b><u>Concept</u></b>: A monthly “surf Sunday” or “roots Sunday” or “Americana Sunday.” Surf -- possibly rockabilly -- bands. Have enough money -- either from a door or the venue itself -- to be able occasionally to bring in bands from out of the area. That assumes folks show up. Keep the performances family friendly so that parents have no reservations about bringing kids. We have to realize kids eat (teenagers eat alot) and are the future of our music. Uptempo and fun. Somewhat a return to the beginnings of surf and garage rock.<br><br><u><b>Goal</b></u>: Create a win-win situation in which bands play and get something for playing, the venue sells a bunch of food and drinks, and the audience is entertained and has fun. On a self-centered level, the Lava Pups become in effect the “host band” or a “semi-permanent” opening or second act. We play, become more at ease with audiences, expand and vary our sets, and grow as musicians and performers so that we are ready to play elsewhere and have more to offer. The central theme is fun.<br><br><u><b>Obstacles</b></u>: Who wants to buy a pig in a poke? Why should a venue take a chance on something that is pretty much untried? Why should another band take a chance on a door when this is something that is pretty much untried? We are hardly a seasoned band. We do not have enough of a following to pull in 100 to 150 people. We need help from some venue or other band that also believes in -- or at least is willing to try out -- the concept. But why should another band . . . ? Well, you can fill in the rest. Does this feel like the start of an endless loop?<br><br>
Is this a fool’s errand? Do 100 to 150 people exist in the greater Sacramento area who would spend a Sunday afternoon a month listening to surf and rockabilly bands? Maybe, we should focus on playing once a month at the Downtown Plaza and shoot for some Spring Fling of bands there. Bands willing to play out of their love for performing and music.<br><br>
Or maybe we just need to lower our sights. In the words of the first incarnation of Jerry Brown, “lower our expectations.” At least, we now have a rudimentary plan.<br><br>
Suggestions welcomed! <br></span> <span style="color: rgb(0,0,128)"><script src="http://connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1"></script></span><like font="arial" show_faces="true" send="false" href="" width="450"></like><link href="http://content.bandzoogle.com/users/LavaPups/images/content/poster9-19-11-300.jpg" rel="image_src">Lava Pups