Stevie Wonder in Chicago

@@If Stevie Wonder ever begins to look his age and lose some of his ridiculous vocal range, take heed: the end is nigh.@@  Fortunately, neither has come to pass, as witnessed by a huge crowd at the United Center in Chicago on Friday night.  I was expecting to enjoy the show but ended up loving it, partially for the Man himself and for his amazing ensemble of backing musicians, but also because of the diverse and enthusiastic fans that left me leaving the arena feeling positive about the status of American racial relations.  Music can indeed bring people from different backgrounds together, something I learned back in 1987 when I attended Paul Simon’s Graceland tour, but in light of recent events and seen through eyes that are almost three decades older, Friday night’s concert was even more special to me.

Wonder came on stage first to talk to the audience – something I am not a fan of as it detracts from the thrill of the opening number – but quickly charmed the audience with what was for me a surprising sense of humor along with his well-known appeals for peace and love.  When he introduced the first song of his magnum opus Songs in the Key of Life, one certainly couldn’t argue that “More than ever, love’s in need of love.”  Six vocalists began the haunting opening phrase of the 1976 release, and Stevie followed with the familiar opening line, “Good morn or evening friends…” 

I thought Arcade Fire crammed a lot of musicians on stage last year, but Wonder put that band to shame, as six horns, six backup singers, two drummers, two percussionists, two guitarists, two keyboardists and a bass player graced the stage.  During peak numbers such as “Pastime Paradise,” an eight-piece string ensemble and approximately ten-piece choir joined the crew, and along with a harmonica player and conductor the total number of musicians exceeded forty.  Wonder highlighted just how thrilling it is to play with “real musicians” and allowed each to shine at various points throughout the evening, most notably a playful competition with his backup singers at the conclusion of “Knocks me off my Feet.”  While all the backup singers naturally held their own, I was amazed at how Wonder’s range continues to defy human physiology; he sounds as strong at sixty-five as he did at twenty-six when he recorded Songs in the Key of Life.

Stevie’s mastery of keyboards and the chromatic harmonica is well known, but during the second set he displayed his chops on an instrument that I thought was a stick but have learned since is actually a newer tapping instrument called a harpejji.  A cross between keyboards and guitar, it offered a terrific accompaniment to several songs, including what appeared to be the only off-the-cuff track, a Buddy Guy tribute of “Hi-Heel Sneaker.”

I always thought Songs in the Key of Life had some filler tracks on the second two sides, or at the very least some filler minutes of some otherwise decent tracks, and I stand by my conclusions after hearing the album in its entirety, but when you have kick-ass musicians on stage performing for a full three hours, it hardly seems to matter.  After the album's completion, Wonder’s alter-ego DJ Chick Chick Boom took over, playing snippets from a series of songs including the crowd-pleasing “My Cherie Amour” and “Superstition.”  Had he been able to find room for “You Haven’t Done Nothin’” I would have been beside myself.

Wonder’s creative output since 1976 has been sporadic, and – at times – embarrassing, but no one can deny that from 1972 to 1976 he was one of the best, if not the best, composers.  Forty years later, there’s no denying that he remains one of the best performers, and one of the few who can attract an audience of equal parts black and white, a special ability in a culture that so often separates itself along racial lines whether by circumstances or by choice.  It felt good to buck this trend, if only for evening.

A special thank you to my kids who bought me and my wife the tickets for our twentieth anniversary!

Taking the Plunge

It turns out that good things can happen as soon as you commit to them happening.

After dilly dallying for the past several months, on Sunday I began to work in earnest on my next album, a forthcoming effort to be entitled The Palisades. For me I always have to overcome a bit of reluctance to start one of these things, as I know that saying yes to recording an album means saying no to a host of other things that interest me, and I know it’ll take the better part of the next nine months or so to complete the project.

There’s also the fact that of the eleven proposed tracks for the album, only four have been written in their entirety.  Most require another verse or two or a bridge or a better chorus, so the songs I’ve committed to recording might ultimately fall by the wayside in a few months. But for now I’ve chosen eleven out of approximately twenty-five (largely uncompleted) compositions that will provide an overarching theme: mainly that of relationships, something I’ve largely avoided in most of my past efforts.

What’s cool is that once you truly delve into completing something, good things happen.  On Day One of my pursuit, I noodled around on the keyboard downstairs on a track called “Why Can’t You Be More Like They Are” – a song I started well over a decade ago – and determined that it needed an interesting intro.  After about a half an hour I came up with a solid chord progression that will serve quite nicely, and lo and behold, after playing it several times I decided it would also do well as a bridge to the song.  Sure enough, about ten minutes later I had a brand new bridge for a song that heretofore had none.  I’ll have to let it percolate for a few weeks before I determine if the new material makes the cut, but if asked today I’d put money on it staying.

Which only goes to show that @@once you set your mind to DO something, you do in fact begin to DO it.@@

There’s a pile of paper on my ping-pong table that includes countless ideas for a novel I’d like to begin writing, but lately the prospect of actually sifting through the material and beginning to write has been such daunting one that I’ve pursued almost anything else I can think of: vacuuming, dusting, walking the dog, cleaning out the litter box – you name it.  All are preferable to delving into the creative work that needs to be done.

Which explains why I’m recording a new CD.  It’s basically a way to avoid writing the book!  But hey, at least I’ll end up with something more fulfilling than a temporarily clean house.  Once the CD is complete, I will – I WILL – tackle the novel.  And I’ve no doubt that once I commit to doing so, it’ll all fall into place in a more effortless way than I might now imagine.

After I complete the book, I might even commit to painting the family room. Even writing a book seems preferable to that.

The Death of Communication

Communicating with each other has never been easier; what used to take days or weeks can now be accomplished in a split-second, and distance is no longer the constraint it once was.  My daughters both attend college in different time zones from me, and in the short time they’ve been way we’ve already texted, Skyped, emailed, called over the phone and even sent a few notes via US Mail.

So if communication has never easier then why are so many of us doing so little of it?

Much has been written about how young people’s personal communication skills are on the decline since the advent of texting and social networking, and to be sure, even anecdotally my daughters have reported difficulty meeting people – at college, no less – due to the lack of urgency: after all, when a person is alone, she can use her phone as a security blanket and therefore has little incentive to go through the awkward ritual of having to seek someone out, shake hands and make introductions.

But regardless of what’s happening in the huge social experiment of today’s youth, what about older folks?  I’m in my 40s.  Surely my generation communicates well with each other, right? 

My own personal experience – albeit not a statistically significant one – indicates otherwise.  Over the past few years I’ve been troubled by an increasing lack of communication among my generational brethren, and oddly enough, it even occurs at the electronic level where back and forth relays of information are particularly effortless.

I started thinking about this topic a few weeks ago, when during a conversation with my mom she mentioned how much she pines for the days when you could pick up a phone, call someone and expect an answer.  No caller ID.  No voicemail.  No waiting period during which you wonder whether your message has been a) received b) given to the person intended; c) forgotten about entirely or d) simply ignored. 

Initially I argued against my mother (surprise!) and suggested that caller ID and voicemail have been huge benefits.  They’ve shifted the power from the person making the call to the person receiving the call.  No longer am I obligated to answer the phone if it’s someone I don’t want to talk to (telemarketers, unknown numbers) or if the timing is poor (during dinner, heading out the door, going to bed).  No more am I forced to speak with a particular loquacious person who shall remain nameless when I know I’ve got to leave in five minutes to take my son to drum lessons.

But I’ve thought a lot about this topic since my mom and I spoke, and I’ve concluded that she’s onto something.  We generally no longer view voicemail messages as something that need to be addressed immediately, but rather view them as suggestions: something than can be addressed (or not) at some point in the future if it’s convenient.  Lately I’ve found this trend applies to other mediums as well.  During the past year I reached out via email to several friends I hadn’t seen in quite a while, and some of my messages were either never answered or were answered after a few months, and often very quickly.  (“Gotta make this short – really busy.”) 

A note to all people who keep announcing how busy their lives are: @@We’re all busy.  Get over yourselves.@@ 

The lost art of letter writing – which I still practice – of course fairs poorly, as most of my letters are not only never returned (which I understand and expect) but are also unacknowledged (which I don’t understand even if I’ve come to expect it), and more and more even texts – heretofore a medium that commanded immediate attention – have been addressed in the same manner as phone calls and emails.  They’re placed in the “get to it later when it’s convenient” pile, and often never followed up on.

Now, to be fair, I still send and receive hundreds of emails and texts every month, but these are typically of the “what time is the meeting on Tuesday?” or “Man the Brewers suck” variety: quick communications meant to share quick information.  For these types of correspondences texting and emails work very well. 

But here’s the question: what’s replaced the lengthy phone conversations and in-depth letters or email correspondences that we used to have with family and friends?  I’m afraid that in many cases those types of interactions have gone by the wayside. 

You might say, “Sure, Paul, but you're kind of an asshole, and it’s clear people want nothing to do with you.”

Fair enough, but I think this trend doesn’t stop with me.  Even among my close friends and family I haven’t noticed a lot of reaching out to others.  The following excerpt is from an op-ed piece in the Wall Street Journal last May:

…we spend so much time maintaining superficial connections online that we aren’t dedicating enough time or effort to cultivating deeper real-life relationships. Too much chatter, too little real conversation.

I think there’s something to this.  More and more I witness people proactively avoiding real communication.  Invitations to parties go unanswered or – and this really kills me – are declined without the offer of an alternative.  So, for example, an invitation to get together is answered with “Can’t that evening, sorry,” instead of “can’t that evening, but what about next Friday?”  This appears to be a growing trend, and I find it sad.

Back in the 90s I kept all of the letters I received and took copious notes of daily events and correspondences.  In an effort to organize some of my old crap recently, I plowed through several years’ worth of paper and was amazed at how many letters and phone calls I received on a regular basis, and not just from family and close friends.  Even people very much on the periphery of my life called to say hello or took a half an hour out of their lives to compose a letter to me.  Upon review, I was amazed by the number of correspondences I used to exchange with people.

These days, even the most modest attempts at real human interaction are often met with little more than a shrug of the shoulders.  I know.  I’m starting to sound like that old codger.  And I’m starting to agree with my mother.  Forecast for hell: a deep freeze.

But I think it’s time for each of us to start thinking about what’s important and what signals we’re sending to each other.  After all, is a person who you don’t see, don’t talk to and don’t respond to messages from really a friend?  If yes, in what sense?  If not, I’ve lost a boat-load of friends over the past few years.

Dang, that’s depressing.

I think to make myself feel a little better I’ll call someone up and leave a voicemail.

29 Years Down the Line

Sometimes you can go back, at least for a moment.  Last Saturday I joined my high school colleagues and performed as our old 80s cover band, I ON U, before an audience of family, friends and classmates at Oscar’s Pub and Grill in Milwaukee, playing a ninety minute set that briefly transported us back three decades.  When the band last played together on May 16, 1986, Ronald Reagan was president, Whitney Houston ruled the airwaves, and we five musicians were headed for glory.  Our closing song was INXS’s “Don’t Change,” and ever since then this song has represented for me the end of something and the beginning of something else.  Back in 1986, the “something else” was life.  Fortunately the intervening twenty-nine years of living did nothing to hamper the enjoyment of the group on Saturday.

It began as a lark.  When my daughter and I visited Belmont University last January I called on guitarist Bill and his family to meet for lunch.  That we did, and sometime during the afternoon we put two and two together and realized that it was January 10, twenty-nine years to the day of I ON U’s first concert back in 1986.  Bill’s wife Anne took a photo of the two of us and posted on Facebook:

Part 1 of IonU reunion — at Taziki’s Mediterranean Cafe.  Bill and Paul just realized that today is the 29th anniversary of the first show!

Kevin, a high school classmate who remembers every person he’s ever met and is the consummate event planner, responded:

Is part two going to be Live Sept. 19th 2015 For Team Bryce and Al's Run/Walk for Children's Hospital??? Hmmmmmmmmm!!!!!! 

Kevin was referring to the team that for nine years has participated in the Brigg’s and Stratton Al’s Run and Walk for Milwaukee Children’s Hospital, which this year grew to 370 participants.

That set the wheels in motion, and within a few weeks singer Rob, drummer Jim and keyboardist Aaron were all on board, busily deciding on a set list, dusting off our old equipment and praying that muscle memory would take over.  Two rehearsals in June made it apparent that nothing had changed in twenty-nine years.  We still played well together, but what I really liked was the ease with which we were able to hang out.  For me, it was as if no time had passed at all. 

Playing Saturday on a pitch-perfect day, I was focusing more on playing the correct notes on my non-native bass guitar (and sometimes succeeded!) than what was happening around me, but for a few seconds I glanced up into the cerulean sky and thought, “Well, this is pretty much perfect.”  And while playing the song “Abacab” by Genesis, keyboardist Aaron and I stood side by side and placed our four hands on the same Roland Juno-60 that we played back in the 80s, and I turned to him and said something like, “This is pretty cool, huh?”

It was, indeed. 

It was also great seeing our old classmates looking terrific in their late 40s.  What I really like about these mini reunions is that it no longer matters who knew who back in high school, who was the jock and who was the band nerd, who glided through school and who struggled, who was homecoming king and who was the class clown.  @@None of that shit matters any more.  All that matters is that we’re alive.  We’re here.@@  We’re doing the best we can with all that life has dealt us: all the joys and heartaches, the little victories and monumental losses, the struggles and disappointments, the friendships and celebrations.  All we really want for everyone at this point is to keep on keeping on, and it’s a good feeling.

As the band once again closed with INXS’s “Don’t Change,” my fingers slid to the F sharp to begin the song’s descent and I again felt that twinge: it was the end of something, just as it was twenty-nine years ago.  Back then it was the end of high school, the end of the band, the end of friendships.  On Saturday, it was the end of something else.  I can’t quite put my finger on it and maybe don’t even want to.  @@I think it might have something to do with ending that period in my life when I had more days ahead than behind me.@@  Something reminding me to embrace the moment, because none of this is going to last forever.

“Don’t change a thing for me,” says the song.  But change we will.

A Poem: Mea Culpa

MEA CULPA

A windowless room

Withered olive branches

strewn across a barren floor

Pebbles ingested,

heavy, unable to pass,

denying sleep nor food nor rest

Mea Culpa

Summon Shakespeare’s tangled web

Joni Mitchell’s lonely river

@@Bathe in transgressions,

the meaty remains

of tense and troubled pasts@@

thick with the insecurities and belittlement of youth

The lashing out from loved ones

Their stern disapproval

Seek the source,

to learn

To finally, finally learn the lessons

Rather than lumbering and stumbling from year to year

from offense to offense

– the careless gesture, the words of venom –

from defeat to defeat to defeat

Until at last peace is proclaimed

or – let’s get real here – some modicum of peace

A morsel, perhaps

The passing of at least a few pebbles

to lessen the unbelievable burden

of being human 

 (Copyright 2015, Paul Heinz)