Today is my father's birthday. January 22nd. He would have been seventy-eight today. A bit more grey. A bit more fragile. Softer, probably not. He'd still think of me as a dove, but I'd like to think his "My country, right or wrong" attitude would have softened. He would have seen Bush as a child of privilege and a buffoon. He'd hate reality television. He would love the internet and the quicker/smaller computers. He'd hate what the BCS did to college football. He'd love Single Malt Scotch, while laughing at designer martinis. He still wouldn't see what I saw in John Lennon. He'd love hybrid cars. He'd hate the smaller Lincoln. He'd love his grandchildren.

A great deal has changed since he died eighteen years ago - 6574 days is a long time, yet it's only a second when I close my eyes. Here's to you, Pop. Cheers!

If you know me, or have read any of my stuff, you know that I tend to gravitate toward bands that require explanation. If I were to say, “Oh, I really like The Beatles,” you’d get it. But when I say, “I really like The Corb Lund Band, or The Legendary Shack Shakers, or Slaid Cleaves,” I often draw a blank stare. Now, I can blame it on satellite radio, obscure “local” stations that now stream on-line, or even The Music Genome Project’s website, www.pandora.com. All are responsible for turning me onto some obscure new artist or another, but what it really boils down to is - I like good music. And since I cannot depend on Los Angeles radio stations to bring it to me, I seek it out on my own. In fact, I’m almost to the point where I’d rather buy CD’s direct from an artist’s website and see them in small venues forever, than risk seeing them make it big (no matter how much they deserve it) and lose them to the mediocrity of our Clear Channel controlled airwaves – all required, extensive explanations aside. But I digress. . .

Walt Whitman once said, “Whatever satisfies the soul is truth.” Music, without question, satisfies my soul; therefore Music = Truth. Just a theory – discuss it among yourselves. Last Wednesday night at the West Hollywood’s nightclub, The Troubador, I had the rare opportunity to experience a moment of truth, when I had the fortune to see The Alternate Routes (who?), Jedd Hughes (who?), Will Kimbrough (who?) and Rodney Crowell (wh…I hope not, but you never know). Explanations. . .


A year or so ago, I surfed by a Rodney Crowell concert on Direct TV and was mesmerized by his guitar player, Will Kimbrough. I watched this guy each time the concert aired - B.T. (Before Tivo). I bought his three CDs. He immediately moved onto my top ten list of guitar players. So, when I saw that he was opening for Crowell at The Troubador I made plans to go, but there were two other bands on the bill that I’d never heard of, perhaps I’d go late – shame on me - I’m so glad I ignored my first instinct. . .


Quietly, opening the show was a band from Bridgeport, Connecticut called The Alternate Routes, making their Hollywood debut. If you live on the east coast, chances are good that you have heard their single, Ordinary, getting radio play in college towns. If not, you will soon. These guys are amazing. They knocked out a live set that ended far too soon for my taste – thanks for the little “Get Back” reprise, guys, it was a nice touch. After the show, the band’s lead singer, Tim Warren, asked me to listen to the CD and let him know what I thought. This is the best I can do – WOW! What an amazing CD. Equally as talented in studio, as they are live. Here’s what you do, go to their website www.thealternateroutes.com, order a copy of the CD and check their tour dates for a city near you and go see them. You won’t be sorry.


Next, I was surprised to see, Will Kimbrough take the stage along side Australian guitarist Jedd Hughes. The two took turns on vocals, sharing the hour long set with a no-set-list spontaneity and amazing acoustic guitar work, really complimenting each other’s talent. You MUST see these guys – in any of their current touring combinations - but together they are truly amazing. [Sadly, Jedd’s CD, Transcontinental fails to capture his true talent – a problem I have with studio offerings from many of the Alt-Country Singer/ Songwriters that I listen to ( i.e. Jack Ingram, Todd Snider, Robert earl Keen) there is a live spark in these performers that gets lost as the producer tries to “bring them down the mountain.” Listen up Nashville (oh, like anyone in Nashville is reading this), start producing these guys with attention to their live shows, instead of making the sound like the soundtrack to O’Brother.] To learn more about either of these guys (or just to read Will’s Blog) go to www.willkimbrough.com and www.jeddhughes.com.

Finally, Rodney Crowell came out, backed by The Outsiders (including Kimbrough and Jedd Hughes – now both sporting electric guitars) and while it seemed to take Crowell a few songs to mix the sound to where he liked and start having fun, when he got there – well, let’s just say this ain’t your Mom and Dad’s country music. Hot on the release of his latest CD The Outsider, which, in a way, reinvents the former Emmy Lou Harris guitar player, Crowell rocked the room with material – sarcastic, funny and at times heartbreaking – mostly from his last three releases. Never did once did The Outsiders feel like a back up band as Crowell shared the stage equally with each of them, most notably on the guitar driven “Preaching to the Choir,” “Tobacco Road”, and the sing-along rendition of Dylan’s “Like a Rolling Stone.” To paraphrase Crowell’s song “Earthbound” (and after the Johnny Cash story, I can’t see him complaining) – It’s night like these that make me want to stick around.

To have a chance to see one of music’s most successful songwriters, backed by two of the most versatile guitar players – and to experience their range in two such diverse sets was, in a word – truth. Truly, a night that will, I’m afraid, make the next few shows I see pale in comparison. Enough explaining – now, go find out what I’m talking about for yourself. Peace.

Well, it finally happened. As they say, all good things, must someday, come to an end. Hollywood, I am sad to announce, is officially closed. The door is locked, the sign hangs swinging in the door, and the lights are off. The sign on the front door simply reads: “We appreciate your support and patronage over the years, but we are no longer able to supply you with the quality merchandise you have come expect.”

What prompted this sudden revelation? It’s simple. Hollywood is officially out of ideas, with the announcement that Ben Affleck and Matt Damon are planning to remake Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. I can only hope that they mean they are filming it for themselves – the way we would waste a summer’s afternoon playing Butch and Sundance down by the river as kids – and not as general release to the public.

Not to take away from the Oscar winning wunderkind duo, but you’re not that good. You’re certainly no Newman and Redford, no matter what your agents and wives tell you. Hell, you not even as good as Tom Berenger and William Katt, who already tried a remake of sorts. Classics are classics and shouldn’t be touched, no matter how tempting. You spent years working on, refining, Good Will Hunting and it paid off. Come up with a vehicle to team Newman and Redford again, you could win another Oscar. Come on think Jersey Girl 2, Ocean’s Thirteen, if you want to make something that no one wants to see. Or better yet – here’s real idea – free from me to you, a big screen adaptation of the 1970’s western Alias Smith and Jones, but don’t screw up one my all-time favorite films.

I can only hope that if you do try to go through with this, the Bolivian Army does the right thing and shoots you both as you step off the plane. “Hey Matt, next time I say let’s go someplace like Bolivia, let’s go someplace like Bolivia.” “You keep thinking, Ben. That’s what you’re best at.” I have to go buy a white straw hat…

People are always trying to get me to talk about my stand-up comedy days. Most of the time I feel — with apologizes to the Vegas Tourist Bureau — the old roadie rule applies. — "What happens on the road stays on the road." Last March, Mitch Hedberg, a brilliant comic, was found dead in his motel room — today, someone showed me the news that I had feared — he died from an overdose of heroin and cocaine. Damn!

You know, applause and laughter is a drug, the most wonderful high I have ever experienced. Too bad it doesn't last all the back to the silence of the motel room. That's the killer and probably why I love and remember so fondly all the comics I've worked with. We all shared that silence. That's the real reason I won't talk about it.

2005 was a hard year for everyone, comedy included. We started off with the loss of Johnny Carson and we are wrapped it up with the passing of Richard Pryor — both men greatly influential on me wanting to stand, by myself, armed with nothing but a microphone, and hope someone would laugh. Carson taught me patience and timing. Pryor taught me not to be afraid. I miss them all.

I am not a huge fan of New Year's Resolutions. I have always felt there is so much attached, you are in way setting yourself up for failure. Just decide to do something and do it.
So, with that in mind and since '06 is starting out with such promise. Here is a list of things I hope to get done this year, not promises, by no means resolutions, just ideas:

1. I will find an illustrator for my children's book and be on the way to publication.

2. I will film my short. Hell, preproduction is finished and I am not promising it will be edited and ready to screen by the end of the year, but it will be in the can.

3. The yet-to-be-announced Blues Project will be announced. George Ceres, where are you?

4. Write this blog on more regular basis.

5. Continue what little I can do to increase our daily dose of humanity and equality in this crazy world.

Lofty goals, I know, but since no one reads this anyway, who's gonna know. Peace.

I've been spending the last few days wondering what I was going to write to kick off the new year. Dismayed by the prospect of another twelve months filled with the vocal stylings of Pariah Carey and the snappy repartee the Carson Dalys and Ryan Seacrests that litter our airwaves, and not wanting to knock off the obligatory best of '05 list, I searched for a sign. A glimmer of inspiration from my muse who took the holidays off. Then, low and behold . . .
As I leave my office on Wednesday evening, I look to the west, shielding my eyes and start my drive toward Pasadena. I realize, that what I had thought was the distant sunset, was instead an orange glow emitting from the Rose Bowl, lighting the western end of Pasadena, blocking the last of the day's sunlight. Fifty-thousand (give or take) University of Texas fans, all wearing orange, there to root their team on to victory against the University of Southern California. Both teams undefeated for the season. Numbers one and two in the polls. Virtually matched, statistically. USC trying for their third National Championship. The last time UT won was 1970 - the first college football season, I can remember following.
My friends, who are USC fans, tend - unintentionally - to be a bit smug when it comes to the dominance of their teams, I will say only this — 41 to 38. I take this as a sign. 2006 may be a good year, after all.
Tonight, I learned that Texas Congressman; Majority Leader of the House; would be criminal — Tom DeLay — has abandoned his bid to reclaim his position as Majority Leader, promoting House Democratic Leader Nancy Pelosi of California to say that DeLay's departure will fix nothing.
"The culture of corruption is so pervasive in the Republican conference that a single person stepping down is not nearly enough to clean up the Republican Congress," Pelosi said. My question is, where was this insight five years ago? Oh yeah, 2006 is gonna be fun — keep you hands inside the car and pull the safety bar down tight. Here we go again.