Spent a few hours today looking at videos of past performances and trying to figure out how we can get better. We’ve reached a plateau and are trying to get more pizazz when we play. I will try to get a few more songs on the site.
After a long hiatus and some very interesting performances we are once again looking for gigs. I’ll have a few more of our songs to listen to or tolerate Will post as soon as the contractors leave my studio. Hopefully we’ll have some original songs in the next few months. My comrades in song have refused to do “I Ate the Pizza”, but I may just do and post it myself and let you listeners decide.
Q. How long are you going to live?
A. The rest of your life. Make the most of it.
When people and events get really unpleasant and stressful I go down to my music room. I get out my guitar, uke or fiddle, and my music books and play and sing until my blues turn into Blue Skies and I’m again able to face life with a smile.
Someday I hope to live in a place where a chicken can cross the road and not have his/her motives questioned.
Let’s Get It Done
Until a government can provide its citizens with a way to attain food, shelter, health care, a means to earn a living and a purpose, it is failing. Working toward this goal keeps it from being a complete failure.
I’m trying to play the violin again, in spite of a broken finger. I started in 5th grade and really enjoyed it, even though the comments of my friends were not positive. The violin wasn’t cool, I continued into 8th grade with the help of an amazing teacher at Northwestern U, We played gypsy music and bluegrass. He left and my new teacher was all classical and thought I was a two-year-old. If I had a good lesson, and I usually did, I was rewarded with a sucker. I liked the sucker but, taking the bus home carrying a violin and a sucker was too much for a cool 8th grader. I quit the violin and took up a saxophone and a guitar. Now I’m playing a FIDDLE and I don’t really care what my friends think.
When I was 5, I was walking through the Union Station in Chicago with my dad. I saw a group of people, dressed in uniforms playing instruments and beating a drum. At home, in the evening my mom played the piano and we all sang. Since I knew the song this seemed like a time to sing. I stood beside the drum and sang as loudly as I could, People stopped to listen and when we got to the end the band started over, I sang it again and this time when we got to the end the band quit and the people applauded. My dad and I walked away holding hands. It was quite a day. Bill
I guess we’d like people to say we played in tune, sang on pitch, performed songs they enjoyed and that we were nice to them.
Yes, that’s a strange name. If you haven’t heard of the Milk Carton Kids, do yourself a favor and look them up on You Tube. You’ll enjoy what you see.