Letter from a Missed Circle of Hell

 

The Forgotten Circle of Dante’s Hell

Okay, so I am at the Paul Robeson Cultural Center in Princeton and....I know there is a subsection of hell that Dante never could have imagined: The Circle Where Souls Try to Overcome High School.

This place is WAY smaller than I expected after seeing the videos of it. There are 50 seats, 20 of which are vacant. A man is now onstage playing an (at least) $1000 acoustic guitar while wearing sunglasses. Having played an original song about two dogs he knew, he is now doing a solo version of “California Dreamin’”. A SOLO VERSION OF A PIECE THAT HANGS UPON MASSIVE BACKUP VOCALS!!!!! I did tell you that this was a circle of hell, right?

And, we all applaud....(sigh). Thank you, Pavlov.

This is a self important space. They matter to themselves. Now, are their intentions pure, that is to say, SELFLESS? I will say “no”, but it may be in a way that I cannot feel or understand. Maybe the contact high from the weed embalmed person who just sat down next to me will help? Not likely.

So, the “duo” of guitar and bass now is called “The Fingerprints” and they are doing a song about how the lead singer spent the night in jail for being drunk in public. Lovely. Fun fact! You cannot pull such a thing off unless you are Johnny Cash!!! PERIOD! You are not cool for getting arrested for being an alcoholic. You are just an alcoholic who is a lazy lyric writer.

They are doing another original. It is causing me deep pain as I try to listen. The pain being from my jaw just about breaking as it stretches to yawn  from apathy and boredom.

This song is about being on Death Row and, well, being on it. AGAIN, YOU ARE NOT JOHNNY CASH!!!! STOP!!!!! You are NOT cool or edgy! You are banal and uninspiring at the very best!! And, let’s be honest, okay? You are a 60-ish white guy in Princeton. The death penalty being given to you as you are from the planet Neptune. Dear Lord, This sounds as shallow as a puddle in a mall parking lot and as self-indulgent as a teenager’s diary. It pains me. Literally. I am now ill.

Look, people need a place to perform. I get it, I really really do. And I’m all for it, as I needed them when I started out. But ALL open mics are tiny cults where the leader/organizer sets the tone. If they suck, then that will be the average of all those who pla. I’ve done enough of them to know, trust me.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH! Now he’s singing a song about a warden while in jail! SHOULD I BE MOVED???? I am very much NOT. He sings in the same narrow range and his words do not have the power to engage. No real selfless surrender.

And now, the song ended and he did a Bible quote. I did mention that this was hell, right?

Look, I do not mean to sound like a judgemental prick. And I know I sound like one. Shall we cut to the chase? Yeah, let’s do that...(he is now doing a song about a gun and the Beatitudes.)

My Aunt Lois told me that if I wanted to be a part of the creative life, you MUST give it all at all times. And I’ve done my best at doing that . I busted my ass to be as good as I could. And I want to be around people who are REALLY AMAZING! This. Is. Not. It.

And now.... A POET...WITH AN ASCOT!!! YES!!! A SILK NECK ADORNMENT!!!! YES!!!! EPIC!!! 

And he is explaining his process and his work and how it is a journey!!! YES!!! Tonight’s the night for...for...FOR.....nothing. Literally nothing but a waste of sacred and precious time. (awesome)

He is reading his own work and making mistakes 30% of the time. And, yes, his work is about trying to get laid. Please tell me you are not surprised.

This is amateur night. I did gigs and worked with some of the absolute best. And I am fine with amateurs, but not idiots who pretend and cosplay as professionals. And IF you are someone starting out, you MUST do a full Nietzche, okay?????

Give blood or give nothing! Period.

And I don’t mean cut yourself. Just OPEN YOUR SOUL. Period. Done. 

The dude had one gray, no, decent, line and he trashed it with self-indulgent garbage that was cute. Ugh. Also, if you DO rhyming poetry , you had better bust your ass on your delivery. Your ability to use rhyme.com and the rhyme scheme gives you NO bonus points. By the way, I learned from Buddy Wakefield to get up there and preach and believe in what you say, a preacher without a church stating truths within God’s mystery in the human experience.

Dear Lord...there are FIVE more people!!!! I’m gonna have to pace myself.

And now a pseudo-famous female singer-songwriter whose song about the Jersey Tomato gained her internet fame. No, please, by all means, read that last sentence again. Yes, a song where the narrative is about a t-o-m-a-t-o. So, by association of also playing acoustic guitar and writing songs, this woman and I are in the same field, within the same vocation, the same hold and sacred space called to by God.

QUESTION: Does sincerity translate into talent or vacation?

Answer: No, not as such. A child is sincere in every finger painting and macaroni thing they      make. And It may be wonderful and a reflection of God’s love within a child’s creation, without a doubt. But it is NOT the same as someone who has given their life and sacrificed to work their God given gifts to bloom via their tears and hundreds of hours of hard work. Both are of God but very different, okay?

And wait......wait....WAIT!!!! What is THIS????!?!?!?!??! NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!!!!!!! THE NEXT ACT IS A MAN WHO MAKES IMPROVISATIONAL MUSIC! ON A PIANO!!!! GOD, WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?!??!?!?!?

Okay, this is going to be a really full tour of this circle of hell.

He starts by saying he just does improvisational piano. Never make an excuse or apology for what you are about to show, okay? ESPECIALLY NEVER EVER EVER EXPLAIN IT TO THE AUDIENCE!!!! Shut up and fake it. Do not make excuses for failures you have not yet done. You cannot be absolved of sins you have not yet committed because they do not exist! You are pandering for mercy before you make an attempt and it does not make you look humble on any level, but selfish.

Well, the guy can play. Pretty well, actually. A bit heavy handed and way too dramatic at times, but linear for the most part. It would seem that...ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...OOOOHHHHHHHHH! I KNOW what this guy is doing! Windham Hill/George Winston/New Age Music style!!!!!

There is the idea of a wandering narrative and then there is just getting to the damn point! He is doing texturally moderately thin and going to romantic era velvet tsunamis. (“What's so hard about that first sentence is that you're stuck with it. Everything else is going to flow out of that sentence. And by the time you've laid down the first two sentences, your options are all gone.” -Joan Didion) You NEED a melodic theme to do this unless you want wallpaper instead of a painting! For Musical Improv: commit to the thread the second it is revealed to you! PERIOD! Never ever EVER be clever or cute! And he is meandering, being cute and clever. Just changing dynamics and tempo is ot enough. NOTE: Short stories are short FOR A REASON! Thinking that you are making a dramatic narrative arc by shouting does not count. And why the hell did you need this to go on for over ten minutes???? This is the exact same situation as when you have someone you know who will just not shut up.

Oh....

Oh, no.....

Oh no no no no no no no no nononononon nnnnnnoooooooooooo!

Four people just gave him a standing ovation. Kill me.

Oh! Wait! Is this an intervention from God? It has just been announced that someone canceled last minute and cannot play! (Cue Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus) Will we end early??????? Dear Lord, please deliver your servant from this punishment!!!!!

Next up: man with harmonica, feet, mustache, and harmonica.

Okay, this guy is doing something that takes a massive intensity and commitment. He is doing “songs” with just a harmonica, which he theoretically stomps to via his right foot. However, he must stop playing said reed instrument in order to “sing” and/or “tell the story”. And these stories are, what? Civil War stories? He can play harmonica okay, so there is at least that. I am just giddy to leave here early after talking to the tech people here to be sure they have what I need to play here next month. Had I gotten here 20 minutes earlier, I could have asked them, gotten the answer, and left several life cycles ago. But, no, I got here as they started.

And this harmonica guy likes imitating different types of trains. “Fueled” ? Via his...mustache. NO! I mean HARMONICA! NO!!! I mean BOTH!!!! Oh! Look, mama!!! He likes doing different car horn sounds too!!!! Ain’t that cute, mama!? He makes ‘em sound just like a car and all those trains! Mamma! I wanna do that when I grow up, Mamma! Can I do that Mama?!?! Can I be like him!?!

And now the bastard has crossed a severe line. Do not do a lame ass version of Red House (by Jimi Hendrix) and NOT ADMIT YOU ARE DOING A GODDAMNED COVER IN THE WORST POSSIBLE WAY!!! Write with your soul or leave the damn page blank and keep your mouth SHUT!

Am I guilty of aiding in Musica War Crimes because I am applauding as well?

Conclusion: There is passionate love making and there is onanism via another person. THAT is the equation here!

Oh, yes, and by the way, (cough...cough..leans in....) IF YOU SING ALONE WITHOUT ANYTHING TO BACK YOU UP HAVE SOME GODDAMNED PITCH AND KEEP THE DAMN BEAT YOU HORRIBLE PIECE OF JET TRASH!!!!

Okay, new guy is up. Is he the last guy? YES! Is he better than the others or is my judgment clouded by approaching freedom?

Hmmmmmmm. People are beginning to flee. The place is now two-thirds empty.

Note to self: Reading From a chord/lyric chart while facing an audience who is looking at you 

is like dancing with a chair.

Question: If given enough press and praise in a different space, could/would any of these people be looked at as TRUE ARTISTS? And what does that even MEAN?! Does it even matter?! 

This guy is making all the amateur mistakes: Same strum. Same lyric rhythm. No arc in any way. NO DAMN DRIVER FOR ANY SONG! NOTHING IS THE CENTER OF THE SONGS!!! 

OH! More people leaving?! TAKE ME!!!

Oh, excuse me? Yes, and you are,....oh yes! The stage manager tonight! No no no, the seat next to me is open. Have a seat. You look both exhausted and so happy about tonight’s performances! Well,...yes,...I can see why, I suppose. And what is your name? Ahhhhhh, yes! Satan! And, yes, we have met before! Did you know I dated your ex-wife? Oh, you must go? Well, why? A surprise, you say? Ohhhhhhhhh...

He is done!! The last act is done!!!! I get to go.....

A SURPRISE ENCORE WITH EVERYONE PLAYING!!!! DOING A LITTLE RICHARD SONG!!!!! WITH NO DRUMS!!! AND THE NEW AGE PIANO GUY PLAYING!!!!! I CAN FEEL MY BLOOD PRESSURE DROPPING!!! THE ROOM IS SPINNING!!!! SPINNING!!!! I think I can see my beloved friends who have died smiling at me....reaching their arms out....telling me to.....just...let.....

THE SHOW IS DONE!!!!!

I run to the main tech guy, explain who I am and that I will be her next month. I need two DI boxes and something to play a backing track from an iPod. CAN YOU DO THAT??!??!?!?!??!?!! He says yes.  I thank him and do something so beautiful, I cannot describe it.

I leave.

As  I do, there is a group of people around the piano improv guy, praising him as if he were a Musical prophet. My mind fills with a single unified reality I almost blackout from the roar. “MY STUDENTS AND FRIENDS CAN WASH ALL OF YOU OFF THE STAGE WITHOUT EVEN TRYING!!!!!! AAAAAARRRRRRGGGGHHH!”

The harmonica/mustache guy is out in the lobby, but I just cannot say a single word to him. I just can’t. 

I walk to my car and not even the stunningly beautiful Spring night in Princeton can assuage my boiling soul. But over and over again, A little voice is reading one question: “Why are you so pissed at these goobers?” I got in my car, turned the key, and drove home meditating on these matters.

I knew that I was only doing the show next month for the free video that I desperately need for grants and other things. And A memory of last November came into full view and would not move. 

When I was doing my last gig in Trenton all I thought was, “Okay, last gig for the year, maybe forever in this spot. Let’s just do it like the last 16 others.” Period. But when I parked in the deck and began to grab the guitar and amp, something odd came over me. Not bad, just very unexpected. I became transported to being a student on the last day of class, that feeling one gets when watching the clock and knowing that once that bell rings, once you walk across that stage and get that diploma, your life is changing and you cannot go back. Again, this is insane, as it was just a small gig on the streets of Trenton that I had done two dozen times before, not even taking into account the hundreds of gigs I have clocked in over the decades. It was nothing special in any way, but here was this feeling consuming me.

The performance did have some unique moments. It was a beautiful Autumn day outside and I never did a gig outside in the weather. A homeless woman I got to know who, at night, slept in the space where I performed. She was sweet and it seemed like it was just her and I and the world outside that didn;t matter. Still, STILL, nothing explained why I had the feeling I was waiting for the bell to ring at the last day of the school year and run out those doors into the future. 

I did the gig, said goodbye to the homeless woman, and walked to my car. When I crossed the street to the parking deck, I felt like I was walking out of the school’s main doors and into the Summer sun. I threw my stuff into the back of the car and said out loud to the expanse of emptiness that was the parking deck at that time, “So,.....I graduated?” And it did feel that way as I drove down US 1 towards home in the Autumn air. But I could not place where I had graduated from.

That open mic showed me the place, and people, I had left.

It may seem obvious, but it is not, at least to me. I spent decades driving home from gigs within an abyss of depression for either not doing good, no one showing up, and, most of all believing I had failed, never reaching the point of being as good as I could be, as good as my heroes and friends. All those gigs of giving everything I had for apathetic and or non-existent people listening to what I did. But I refused to quit, though I promised I would ten thousand times over. I kept going, kept waking on regardless of the failures, the betrayals, the massive debt, the countless hours alone writing and working, coping with the broken promises, and worse of all, the shattered hopes. But I did it and kept going.

In Trenton, I despised those gigs in the beginning because it was humiliating to my fragile little ego. To play to no one, to have people pass by and not care. It was, in many ways, my worst nightmare as a performer. Then, over time, the magnetic North of my soul completely changed. It dawned on me that I was getting paid, GETTING MONEY, to go somewhere and play ANYTHING I WANTED! Such creative freedom is beyond rare. And I got it. And I began to just open up my soul in any tuning and just make stuff up..AND GET PAID! I had even more freedom than a restaurant gig because I could do whatever I wanted. I realized I was really blessed. Sure, I am not playing a sold out show at Madison Square Garden, but I am willing to bet a week’s pay that, if you were to poll the artists who actually have that gig, many would relish the freedom I have to do whatever I want and get something to pay the bills.

The people at the open mic I had just fled from had people who were, to be honest, something like me when I was younger. Maybe. (Even then I gave 200%, but that’s already in the book.) In the end, their actions were ungrateful, selfish, and disrespectful. None of my friends are like that in any way. And, as they say, birds of a feather flock together. We have all worked hard and put the work at the center of everything. These people were cute and not pushing themselves. They thought they were rock stars and you could see it. It was exactly like when all the actors from the community theater shared the stage with my aunt, an Emmy award winner. The distance between professional and believing you are professional seems very small, but is massive. 

As for me, I am not a rock star, not a world famous poet. But I have busted my ass to be solid at the odd things I do, Mike Kovacs Music. My Visa bill still scares me each month and the boxes of unsold CDs mock me every single time I pass by the closet where they sit collecting dust. My artworks are in boxes in storage and the large canvases are in a spare room. I am unknown to the world. But, if you ask me to do what I do, I will either deliver or die trying. I do not, and never have, done “cute”. It is either everything or nothing. And that paradigm has dangers to it, but I prefer it to having any questions left at the end of the day.

I got home and tried to decompress. I sorta did. Wine helped. Some time later, I went to sleep still thinking about what I had experienced just a few hours before. But I was sure of one thing.

I had graduated from there and would never return.

― Joan Didion

Some Hard Earned Truth....

To anyone who ever auditions as a vocalist for a band, a few pointers...

 

1) When given A MONTH to learn the requested four to five songs, learn them. Learn them well.

2) If you do choose to bring a "manager" with you, please have them sit down quietly and not pace around.

3) Please learn the songs.

4) When we play the song that we learned just for you because your "manager" PLEADED to have us do it, ..... please learn that one as well.

5) No mater how much you compliment us on how great the original song is, by the transitive property of being an idiot, you have just insulted us by not taking the time to learn them and then do them poorly.

6) Learn at least ONE cover song we ask. ONE!!!!!!!!!!

7) If you are in need of reading the lyrics off of you iPhone, please do not have your manager hold the phone for you while you sing. It's just creepy.

Please do not say, " I couldn't put my own spin on the songs because of the girl that was singing them on the recording threw me off." Just.... don't say that. Please.

9) If your manager offers to get us great gigs in bars and clubs on Rt. 34, please note that is like being offer the top prize at a Dung Competition.This will not work in your favor because we have a pulse and a bit of self esteem left.

10) Please do not bring up the name of your "great band" that you were in at one time that nobody ever heard of.

11) If anyone in the band has to teach you the melody of the song by singing along with you over and over again, you, alas, did not learn the song.

12) Did I mention that you should learn the songs? Yes, do that.

13) No matter how many times you ask if we know anything by the band Heart, we will not do it. No means no. And by the way, if you re so badass at Heart, you should know they do AMAZING Zep covers. By that transitive property, you fail to the highest power.

14) Show. Up. On. Time! Especially if the start time got delayed a half an hour.

15) If you ask how old the band members are by stating "It doesn't matter, but..." um, yeah, we know it matters. Please buy a mirror.

16) There never will be any excuse for not being prepared. If you are not prepared, this is a hobby to you. If you do not take this as seriously or more so than your day job, please do not bother to reply to the ad, much less have me waste $50 or more on a rehearsal space.

17) If we come prepared and ready to do something of quality and you think you can fake it, you have insulted that which we have worked so hard to perfect. That requires self worth. Please look into that.

18) While dressing well shows you have a professional approach, high heals will not make up for,.... oh, yeah, LEARNING THE SONGS.

19) If a song is a ballad and another a hard rock song, changing the timber of your voice may help. Then again, if you didn't learn the songs, hey, why bother, right?

20) Finally, have the decency to apologize for not learning the songs. While it will not save you from looking like a complete idiot, it will save you and your manager from coming across as selfish fools whose definition of reality belongs on a reality TV show.

21) Please note that this behavior makes all people who do Music as their passion look like idiots as, like it or not, the world dumps us all in the same folder of bad credit ratings and the like. Please leave this noble and sacred art form and go onto something that most suits you, like say, television producing or Music Business or money laundering or social security fraud. True Musicians are good people. 

 

Think about it...............

 

or can you?

 

Reflections on Super 8 Memories: "sacred" and "dirty Katie" 25 Years Ago.....

 I am releasing two videos that I made over 25 years ago, "sacred" and "Dirty Katie". So, given such numbers linking to the past, I will say a few words to honor those who gave to make it all possible back then and finally presented now.

(Okay, so if you want the deep history of "sacred", I already wrote it down in my book, "Not the Yearbook You Expected".  What is to follow is a brief retrospective with new insights.)

To begin, I will say that I was driven by the beautiful and (at times) holy insanity of youth. You only know it is a gift when you wake up and don't have it. I saw R.E.M. 's movie "Tourfilm", saw they were using 16mm projections of images on film and went for it. Why? Because I had a 16mm projector and a screen via my father. I had what was needed to execute it, so why not?

The theme of what would become the piece "sacred" is, to be totally honest, is, at best, homage to 1)the independent film "Knee Dancing" by Doreen Ross, 2) a tie into some intense film I saw in my sociology class "Women and Society" called (I think),  "The Girl in the Wall", and 3) what was going on in my life at the time via my relationships. It is no wonder that, years later, I wound up becoming an exhibited artist who did collage. This work is, to be frank, a collage of all that.

The idea of writing songs about abuse at that time was not foreign. Two examples are “Kid Fears” by the Indigo Girls and “Hold Her Down” by Toad the Wet Sprocket. The song and video to "Hold Her Down" is about victims of rape. And, for the record, they took major heat for that because they were men speaking about the effects of raping a woman. They got beat down and hard, but more on that later. 

I cannot recall how the idea came to me, but I am sure it was via me being very very sleep deprived and watching the independent film "Knee Dancing" by Doreen Ross that I had recorded onto tape via PBS innocently years earlier. The idea of a horrific moment as narrated by an inner child and the now narrative older self was a no brainer for me as I seemed to be swimming within it all at the time.  So, I went with it.

Now, why all these people somehow believed in me and my vision is, to this day, light years beyond me. Jessica Bridge had a presence that was literally of mythic proportions. I saw her stop an auditorium of people in their tracks and hold their breath as she walked onto the stage during her high school play. A move of her arm reached the back row like a cannon shot. She is one of those people blessed with what is called "presence" and you are never really the same after you get close to such amazingness.

Wendy was a girl who lived four houses down from my parents. Her family and I would cross paths at Church and were friends. There was no casting involved. I needed a young girl to read the lines and she agreed. To my joy, she was amazing every single step of the way.

Let it be said that I had no money but intense passion, so I went into all this like a fool. The blessing was that I was surrounded by caring and gifted friends who guided me along the way. All I had was an attic of the Catholic School I went to and one Super 8 film camera. That. Is. it. So, we did it. Why? because we could!

There were only two days of shooting: one on the coldest day of the year and one on the hottest. Lovely. Because I have been blessed to be surrounded by people far more talented than me (this is not self-effacing as their collective resumes speak for themselves), I pulled every favor to help with this. And, to my joy, they all agreed.

On the coldest day of shooting, somewhere in late 1994 or early 1995, Pete Haider, Mary Ann Wilson, and Dave Walker came to help out. There was maybe one small space heater in that frigid attic and tons of coffee. Still, Jessica and Wendy were troopers and would take off their winter coats just before shooting a scene and then put them on after. In the end, they just put on their normal warm clothes and we filmed them that way. Dave Walker wound up finding a way to get up on to the top of one of the walls, and that is how we got the overhead shots of the actresses. Mary Ann was amazing at getting the framing and vibe right. Also, the late and great Pete Haider was stunning at picking out shots. The one where the actresses are opening their arms at the window? Yeah, that was Pete. 

I can recall very little about the second shoot, as it wound up being on the hottest day of the year and my life seemed to be falling apart. I remember thinking I was screwed because the hair length had changed on both of the actresses, but had no choice and keep going. In the end, as always, they rose to the occasion and were stunning, professional, and caring.

 Looking at it now after just watching a film festival of new film makers, I can say this: we had NO B-roll! Film cost money and we did not have a lot of it. It was all about just trying to frame a shot with one camera. Also it was so cold on the first day of shooting that we barely had the time or energy to do anything more than necessary. The same thing happened months later on the second day of shooting. It was so hot in that space that we did what we needed and left as fast as possible. In other words, nothing could be wasted.

And let me be clear here, I did not want to finish it. At. All. My professional and personal life was hell, and I did not want to spend the time, money, and energy on some insane thing. It was a call from Jessica stating that, on no uncertain terms, she wanted that damn video done before she went to college. There was NO negotiation here. I HAD to complete it.

So, somehow, I did. We debuted the thing at the now forever gone Cafe News in New Brunswick, NJ at night. I had to play the 16mm film print in a projector while we did it. All I can remember is that it was hot as hell that night, people liked it so we did it twice, and, at the end of the second time, I was so tired and broken that I fell to my knees at the end, right into the gravel "stage". 

I performed it a few more times, but the general consensus was that it was too dark and depressing. And, I need to be totally honest here: I presented it to some groups and was rejected, perhaps like Toad the Wet Sprocket, without review. Okay, that was up to them, not me. I kept going.

Jilleyn held on for a few months as cellist as I tried to find places to play the thing. Still, we wound up doing the full film at Rutgers to a handful of people. The mood in the room was not good. Over and over and over and over again the message was that it was too intense. I was, by choice, part of no "scene" and would never bow down to anyone to get ahead, and perhaps that is why the whole thing died swiftly. To be honest, the rejection sucked and I was deeply hurt. No one else in the area was doing films at performances of what could ostensibly be called “acoustic rock” with cello. No one. I was it. And it failed and failed hard. Right. Out. Of. The. Gate.

But I kept going with the stunning new cellist Chris Zadravec. We recorded and played many many live shows over our time together and now have a warrior's bond. But "sacred" was never ever ever spoken of. Yes, we did have the film for "dirty katie" a few times, but never ever "sacred". Ever.

I have not seen this whole thing in probably 20 years, with the odd chance I did once while trying to transfer it years ago to DVD, but I cannot find the disc anywhere.  So, it is a unique experience visiting a past time that was filled with the passion of youthful creativity that was also filled with memories of extreme pain and failure on many fronts, not just the film. 

But I can say the following without reserve: what literally made my knees buckle and my head bow in humility was the fact that all those people willingly chose to be part of this and I deeply love and care for them to this day. If you look inside the booklet to the CD of the album "sacred" you can see a photo of everyone (except Mary Ann Wilson who i think had to leave early) at the end of the first day of filming. We are all laughing and hugging each other. There was love in the room and we all had faith in each other. When a group of people are working for free on a project they believe in, something beautiful can enter the room because there is no fear of financial loss or career failure. We all had nothing to lose and came in with everything we had. After decades of being beaten down and broken by the whims and selfishness of others, I look back upon this piece with a joy and gratitude I cannot articulate. All of the people who helped make this happen were and are exemplars of love and kindness. 

Finally, let me be clear about one thing. I didn't set out to make an "art piece". I set out to make something that was to be played live and hopefully have all of us known to the greater world. It is a small piece of work and I am not debating that. But I was, at the time, attempting to enter the world of REM and The Indigo Girls in my own way. I wanted the world to know about myself and all these amazing people, hence why I immediately went out and played it live wherever I could. These people deserved to have their talents shown to the planet. Well, it seems that now is the time for that to happen. 

If there is one deep regret, it is that my beloved friend Pete Haider could not be here to see it. He passed away a decade ago, far too young and gifted. As I have said many times and shall say to my grave and beyond, I owe almost everything to Pete. It was his kindness that helped me record my first two demo tapes, as well as the album "sacred". He did live sound for me a few times and played bass on a few tracks on the next album, "fire walker". After a falling out of a few years for reasons I will never know, he and I reconnected and I thanked him many many times for all he gave. In the end, I can find solace that he knew how much I loved him and what he gave before he exited the stage. That being said, I think of him and miss him every single day.

I could say more, but you get the idea. My deepest love and thanks to Jilleyn, Wendy, Jessica, Mary Ann, Dave, and Vinnie all these decades within and after the fact. I hope you all find joy and pride in seeing this again and that the memories are all ones of love.

My love and gratitude with you always.

To Anthony Bourdain, the Last Lion to Leave Rome...

Dear Mr Bourdain,

I am sorry this letter is getting to you a day late, but Fate is a mistress without care, at times placing the thorn of regret firmly in one's side after put things off until it is too late.

 

I am not a chef, nor am I I fanboy of yours. While I own most of your books, I didn’t change my life and become a chef after reading your Kitchen Confidential. I stayed the course. But I just wanted to tell you that you helped me do that, stay the course with passion and honesty. I have heard your voice reading your book on many many many miles on the road. You had the mystical, perfect match: a physical voice that matched ones writer’s voice. As someone who has dabbled in the spoken word field, it was both humbling and a bench mark at the same time to hear a voice that seemed to resonate with all I have tried to be.

It always seemed that you looked in awe at rock musicians, as if you wanted to be them, share their magic. Well, you did. I realized a few years ago that you influenced legions of people that would’ve picked up a guitar, bass, or drums and inspired them to go into cooking. It was no accident that your stunning writing voice in “Kitchen Confidential”, one that was that of the most perfect and mesmerizing, is the one that placed you among the chosen. It was deserved. You gave illumination to a path that many never knew and then, after reading you, chose it. As rock Music started to die in 1996, you came in and showed that the kitchen was the new stage. As being a competent sounding recording artist became a digital slight of hand rather than mastery of a once sacred craft, you arrived and showed the one place where one cannot lie: cooking. The parallels are there. Everyone needs some sort of Music. Everyone needs some sort of food.

In the end, you had a true voice, a singular presence of passion and honesty, like Hendrix, like Black Flag, like your friend Iggy Pop, like Camus, like Michael Hedges, like all the greats you knew but didn’t believe you could be part of. For many of us who are still in the trenches, the ones who have to fight to stay afloat in every way, you were the beacon, the person that made it, bought the scratch-off lottery ticket, got the jackpot, and stayed true to the person you were before and after the the cartoon dollar signs that flashed before your eyes and became real. You, sir, were a true hero. I say that knowing full well that you would never consider yourself above anyone else, any person you met on the street who dared to talk to you. Within the M C Escher reality you could not see, you were both hero and Everyman.

 

You made so many of us believe that we did have a voice, that we could do something of value, that we could take the kindling of questions, doubts, and fears and ignite them into reality via making the decision to do so and working hard, damn hard, as you did. We may never have the swagger of you, but maybe, just maybe, we could be on the boat you were in charge of and be the intelligent and caring pirate rebels we all longed to be and that you were. 

In your book “Kitchen Confidential”, you spoke about your 20’s and how they were full of learning via the hard work (and, let’s be honest, youthful debauchery) that was that time. My beloved cousin pointed out that we are all pretty much insane within that decade, a slow burn towards sanity and self if we make it through the fire. In those years, while within a self destructive relationship that I fed like any addict, I worked at a Catholic cemetery. For years I had no idea why one section had so many children in it, blended in with some adults. Only near the end of my time there was I told the section of the cemetery I was puzzled at for a decade was the place for children and suicides. It seemed that the unbaptized and suicides were allowed to be buried on sacred soil but not allowed to enter heaven (a doctrine that changed after Vatican II). As family members and friends of my own have fallen to suicide, I found this beyond deplorable and without logic.

Every parent says that the birth of their child changes their life. Every artist worth their salt says that the revelation of seeing one particular artist changed their life. It would seem to say that both newborn and adult can change the soul of others by the purity of their voice and presence. You, sir, were one of the Chosen. Yet you never would have considered yourself one. Perhaps, with all due respect to "The Life of Brian", that was why you WERE Chosen.

In the end, the grass in that part of the cemetery was as beautiful, if not more so, within the place of the suicides and children. The one’s who believed they could  see within the mind of God and who were deemed, for a time, “better”. As someone who has strived for the same Brass Ring as you,  all I can say is that your presence above the soil was within the stunning beauty of Truth. For whatever it is worth, I embraced you as a fellow blood warrior Musician. You spoke with passion and honesty. In the end, perhaps, you were one of those you admired. No, scratch that, you were one of them.

Regardless of who bombs who, we have no absolute idea as to what happens when this narrative ends. All I can do is hope and pray that the deepest of shadows that made its way past the tree line of your soul are now gone. If one knows the Light, one knows the Shadows. All you did since 1999 was, for us, spoke the Truth. May that speak for your life here, as well as within the ink of the accountant’s ledger for the afterlife.

I will carry you with me, as I do Hedges, Camus, Rothko,and  the rest. Had I been given the chance, I would have loved to have shared a drink with you and said you had made it into the pantheon. Regardless of your decision, I raise a glass to you, along with the most sincere prayer, for the next chapter of this journey. Know that so many of the Blessed Lost considered you one of Their Own. You gave us love and (deep sigh) hope. 

May we meet again. May we embrace and kiss on both cheeks. May we both smile and look each other in the eyes and say, “Hey! Friend! Let’s talk.”  It is only the sacred that know and respect the value of silence while the other speaks.

With My Deepest Gratitude and Music,

Yours Sincerely,

Michael Kovacs

Writing on the Desk of a Ghost

In the recording studio of a dear friend, there sits a beautiful oak desk that once belonged to someone who changed the way the world communicates. This genius inventor who lived in Princeton wrote the equation on the back of an envelope on his ferry ride to work in New York. That equation changed pretty much everything in modern communication.

Here is the thing: I cannot remember the nam e of the man even though he changed the planet. My friend got the desk at his estate sale after the man died. No one cared about his legacy. He just vanished into history. My friend, who is also a literal genius scientist, knew who the man was but just bought the desk because it was a nice desk for a cheap price. The world is carried along by what the man did, but no one, except a few, know and appreciate what he did.

The same is true for Michael Hedges, the guitar genius who died in a car crash back in late 1997, almost two months shy of his 44th birthday.

For those who are not up to speed, Michael Hedges was a guitarist and composer who literally redefined the acoustic guitar via his recordings on the Windham Hill record label. He was nominated for a Grammy for one album (Aerial Boundaries) and won a Grammy for the last album he released while he was alive, Oracle. An album of demos for an upcoming album was released after his death. He was respected by both Frank and Dweezil Zappa, Steve Vai, and countless other more well known guitar heroes of his day. While he was alive, he won every acoustic guitar magazine best player award and was called "the Jimi Hendrix of the acoustic guitar", but more on that later.

Now, here's the thing: other than a Wikipedia page, a few fan sites, and Michael Hedges' all but abandoned website, you will find very little on the man who changed the face of acoustic guitar. By all accounts, his legacy is vanishing deeper and deeper into oblivion. There are no new videos of him performing as of about a year ago even though it is a known fact that he professionally recorded many many live shows. His vaults are closed.

As I wrote in my book, "Not the Yearbook You Expected" (available on Amazon), Michael Hedges literally changed my life. My worldview changed at a crappy dinner theater in Morgan, New Jersey. I walked in one person and left another.  There was guitar playing before Michael Hedges and there was guitar playing after Michael Hedges. Ask anyone who has ever seen him live, not on video, but live - everyone, I assure you, will say the same.

For the record, I did meet and speak with Hedges about five times after shows he did in Jersey. I found his Music too late in the game to try to be an obsessive disciple. I was working two to three jobs and my life was a mess. The one thing I DID take away was that guitar did not limit Music, but that the guitar was infinite in the possibilities of Music. His approach flipped everything I had ever experienced and learned inside out and on its head, from black and white slides to technicolor movies.

By all accounts and history, Michael Hedges was the Jimi Hendrix of the acoustic guitar. I wasn't born when Hendrix changed the world, but I did see Michael Hedges and from what I have heard from those who saw Hendrix, it was the same.  So, why, I ask, is there nothing, and I mean NOTHING written about the legacy of Michael Hedges?

I have heard rumors, talked to people in the know, and made my own theories as to why a man who could be called one of the greatest composers of the 20th century has been pretty much forgotten. In the end, all I can say is that it was a perfect storm on many levels for something like this to happen.

So what happened after the death? When you went to see Michael Hedges, you were seeing pictures from a land you never knew existed. He was an explorer and we all went to see where this whole thing was going. So what happens when the explorer dies? People who followed have to figure it out for themselves. And, as happens many times, the leader passes away just before the awaited triumph.

Michael Hedges' career was linked from its beginning to Windham Hill Records, a record label that was the center for the New Age movement in terms of Music. While many of the artists on the label were stunningly talented, the Musical Culture looked at everything that came out of the label with, at best, skepticism and and at worst vile antagonism. Will Ackerman, the man who started the label, knew how to market very well and the label took off.

When reading interviews, you can tell that Michael Hedges was not comfortable being involved with a label that made Music he wouldn't normally listen to and which put reins on his creative desires. He couldn't make Music the way he wanted. After Ackerman sold the label off to the majors in 1992, Hedges came out with one mostly vocal/song album "The Road to Return", but it tanked. After the fans began to dwindle at shows (at least here on the east coast) and the guitar magazines stopped talking about him, he came out with another mostly solo guitar album, "Oracle," the year before he died and it began to have a positive effect on his career. I saw him at his last ever show and he was on fire. It was breathtaking.

So, after his death and a few passing tributes in a post grunge era guitar world, the story of Michael Hedges pretty much vanished from the landscape. Sure, there were the few compilations put out by the record companies to get what they could, but then it was gone. And then, with he void in full force, the doors opened up....

The advent of the internet allowed people to consume Music and ideas faster than any time in human history. Youtube allowed everyone to share their interpretation of what they considered talent with the world. People began to copy his style and hit the web with it. Imitators came out and made traction, one even being called the "female Jimi Hendrix of the acoustic guitar". I have seen this person live. I have seen Michael Hedges live. I do not believe in the comparison is valid in any way.

People copy his technique and style, but unlike the actual Jimi Hendrix, Michael Hedges' death happened just as the guitar based Music market was to have its steady decline. American Idol and EDM came along and took popular Music into the territory without instruments. So, the progress he made on the instrument has stalled and it looks like it will never regain its feet. While there are many hours of his work on Youtube thanks to the devoted fans that have them, it looks like there is nothing new left to have. Even new transcriptions of his work have stopped. Without demand, the supply dries up.

I was too old and too busy to become a clone of Michael Hedges. What I did instead was follow the same path he did and studied classical composition to broaden my view. And, yes, I did use whatever techniques from Michael Hedges that I could figure out. Since I was already writing before I experienced Hedges, I had a direction, but there is no doubt that I looked at the places he went and longed to find a similar world.

By my second EP, I was already branching into working with cello and songs with vocals. This was partly because I wanted to and partly because, even back then, the solo acoustic guitar world was shrinking, including college radio airplay. Without a major label, or any label behind me, I just kept writing, recording, and playing live. But once a year I would go to see Michael Hedges play just to get another glimpse at a brave new world that I was both enchanted by and pulled towards. Even though I knew I could never make it there, I was always inspired and full of life to keep going.

But now, almost 20 years on, I can barely talk to anyone about Michael Hedges as they either have no idea who he is or all the memories have been dredged up and worn thin. The enchanted land is a fading memory. Since I have been tied to no company, I have made and released classical, ambient, blues, rock, a rock-opera with video, solo-acoustic guitar, and other genres of Music. I kept walking, at times barely crawling, just to move ahead.

People will copy Michael Hedges as time goes on and the undeserving ones, who are popular making Music that sounds like a diluted and horribly excited version of what he did, will continue to make their money and keep their fame, such as it is. And those who loved Michael Hedges will keep on doing so, holding the memories of that magic and the memory of that moment when their lives changed when they first heard him.

But, I know that when I sit down to write out cello parts or sit at the desk to write out new material, I am sitting at the desk of a ghost, the memory fading, but not totally. As for what the others write upon, you'll have to ask them.

A Personal Letter to Kanye West

Dear Mr. West,

I'm sure you would like to be addressed as "God" but Pope Francis has stated that his boss already has that title. I'm sure you'll forgive me as God would.

It seems you're an in debt creative person like me (not to mention many of my uber-talented friends). Well, maybe you and I can max out some credit cards to buy some new gear (what's your credit limit?) and make some songs. I'm sorry, but in case you forgot, no one pays for Music anymore so you'll have to get a side job like me. I just saw that WAWA is hiring so maybe we can get on the same shift and talk about idea on break!

You say you have many cool ideas. So do I! There is nothing better than working with someone who is passionate about their craft. The only thing I would ask is that you turn off your phone when we're writing and recording. It helps with the creative process. Judging by the amount of tweets you've been sending, I'm guessing you are testing out the new "Google Brain" where they implant a phone inside your head that takes up most of the space where the brain used to be. That you, as always, for being a person who leads the way in technology, language, and subtlety. I respect and admire these aspects in all people, especially newly impoverished artists.

However, since you have said you are a giving man and, as you've said, "for anyone that has money they know the first rule is to use other people's money,"  I would like to ask that, just in case you get the Billion dollars you are asking for, that you allow me to use some of your money, me, a creative soul like you. I promise, and you have my word on this, EVERY cent will be used on art. I'll write a symphony, record the sound of dolphins, do performance art where I smear an entire old age home with Vegemite and pesto while dressed in lederhosen. You, as a creative spirit, would understand like no one else the power of a creative person acting on every impulse.

Finally, please note that I will not spend one thin dime on the poor, the hungry, the homeless, the abused, the lonely and/or forgotten. You and I both know the Bible and realize that God is the ultimate artist and that nowhere in there in that book (of which you could have written much better)  does it say that any of these people are greater than artists. You and I, as creative forces, were made in God's image to make this world better by LIVING our artistic dreams! Helping those in need is NOT art! Let the uncreative people who are less than us do it! You and I, sir, have much better and more important things to do. I will take any contribution you send, as long as it is above $500,000. Like you, I am in debt and have dreams that need to be fulfilled to change the world.

So again, as a kindred spirit, I thank you and look forward to us working together soon, either in your studio or mine and/or at our day job together. (Don't worry, I'm cool with the manager.)

Yours Sincerely,
MK

PS: I know some guys who work at a MAJOR LEAGUE Music store near my place and can get us AMAZING deals! (Do you know how to work Pro Tools?)

On Delusion ( A Scream for Hope)

I cannot believe that there is a greater drainage ditch for the self disillusions of people than the creative world.  I simply cannot.

If you hold disillusions in other fields, say a doctor or lawyer or mechanic or cabinet maker, reality will show you very very soon that you are not what you think you are. However, in the (sigh) subjective world of the creative arts, it seems alternate realities are not just par for the course, but the majority vote. And I speak of this from experience, from seeing first hand what people think they are and what they ACTUALLY are and have it make life range from amazingly comical to the very definition of tragedy.

I write this after being spurred on via a conversation with my friend Jim who was livid about how he heard someone getting major press by writing an album based on a divorce they went through. Allow me to state that this anger of his has some weight to it. He met Jimi Hendrix, is friends with Joni Mitchel, was in Ornette Coleman's band, jammed with Jaco Pastorius and John Scofield on a regular basis, has performed around the world (including the then USSR) with his theater troupe, and has more teaching, composing, and performance hours logged in than 1% of the professional musician population. He was livid that such horrible work could get any recognition based on what it was ABOUT, not what it WAS. While this is nothing new in the commercial field of Music, it seemed to hit a nerve.

I defer any and all discussion about the theoretically romantic life of the artist and all it entails to the brilliant essay by the late great David Rackoff called "Isn't It Romantic?" in his book "Half Empty". The absolute brilliance of his writing shines a light on the life of a working creative person though he was a writer, not a musician. The same principles still apply. So, Mr. Rackoff, wherever you may be, I tip my hat to you.

As for own slice of the reality pie, I have auditioned and (thankfully only a few times) worked with many people whose idea of self  differs so radically from the rest of creation that even the late Timothy Leary on a bender would stop and say, "Uh, no. Please stop."  Yes, my friends, it is that bad.

It seems that the audition process is like light to the moth for the illumination of this sort of behavior. When I have had auditions for bassists, cellists, drummers and vocalists, over and over and over again, as if by some communication through the lot of them, they were out of their minds. And what was the common thread? One simple thing: they could not play what was asked of them. Allow me to repeat that with some added information: they arrived at rehearsal having heard the tunes and theoretically having practiced the tunes, but could not play the tunes upon arrival. No, wait. They could not come close to performing the tunes when they got there.

Now, the Music of The Post Modern Tribe and 4,000,000 Silhouettes is not prog rock, none of the parts are in need of some prodigy to enter the room. It seems that singing is the worst. Why is that? Well, it would seem to logic that if a singer hears the songs, tries to sing them at home, cannot do so, they would not audition. The same is true for drummers, bassists, and cellists. If you cannot play the Music at home, why do you show up at the audition?

I believe it boils down to several points, the first of which being that they believe they can actually perform the part with the added bonus that, if they cannot play the part part at the audition, there is something so amazing about their inherent talent that it will shine through their clumsy performance and they shall rise like the ghost of Van Gogh to show the world their originality and life altering voice. Why? BECAUSE THEY ARE AMAZING!!!! DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT?!?!?

To be fair, when one auditions for anything, you are nothing more than a shoe being tried on. You may be a beautiful shoe with the right size, but you may not be the right shoe they are looking for. In the same way one cannot play proper tennis in a designer chukka boot, one cannot have a glorious tones alto sing Led Zeppelin. It is not a matter of talent, it is a matter of function. I have had amazing vocalists come to auditions, one lovely Austrian actress new to NYC comes to mind, who could simply not do what was expected. Not even close. She was wonderful and gifted, but where the disconnect was between what she heard and what she thought she could do was astounding.

Then there was the bassist who could barely keep up with the songs or the drummer who had to listen to the songs again at the audition after he choked on the parts. Surprise, he still screwed up the song even after the reminder. Or the cellist who decided to improvise on the written out cello parts before he had played the song once through.

But the worst, the absolute bastards, were the ones who would confirm the audition date and time, and then, after I rented the rehearsal space, never showed up. They would not call to say they were not coming. They would not email afterwards apologizing. They would just vanish.... until I put a different ad with a different email out and they would again reply to THAT ONE saying how great they were. No joke. To not even have basic human courtesy seems to be on par for the collision course.

In all my many years of auditioning, only one woman came in and did it right. Her name is Erin and she got there on time and prepared, but she told me right up front she could only do two of the five songs because that was all she had time for. Ya' know what? She hit those two songs out of the park. Later that day, after auditioning a woman who got to the audition 90 minutes late and who also decided to improv the vocals to a Led Zeppelin song by riffing on my shoes and playing lead guitar without asking, Erin was hired. While her time in the time in the band was short lived, she was always professional and did a great job. For that, I forever hold her in deep respect.

This is probably what fuels my anger the most: what the people who think they are professional are verses those who actually are professional. This is not the land of the television show based on "reality" nor is it the golden age of guitar based rock with a plethora of youth clamoring for new Music. This has to be something you love, not just like. This has to be something you believe in, not something you use as an escape from your life WHEN YOU FEEL LIKE IT. To be part of this tribe means that you will give blood for the cause, that it will not be easy but that you will treat the terms of the unspoken contract of the bond of musicians with greater respect than the best day job you could ever have. If you cannot do that, you are not on the team. You are a hobbyist, not a professional.

There are amazing bands out there who make great Music who have day jobs, but that is not the point. What is needed is for people to treat making their Music as seriously as they do their day job. If it is for "fun" and the standards of excellence are not there, fine. Seriously. There is no damn reason in the cosmos that Music should not be made simply for the joy of making it with friends and beer in the backyard. In fact, I think there needs to be more of that. People making Music verses listening to it for free and being passive about it. Music, for 99.99999% of its history has been live, not recorded.

But the line that separates the delusion from the reality is simple: sacrifice.  You have to love this life, not just like it. You have to sacrifice your own delusions about how great you are and practice practice practice till you are as good as you need to be. You have to listen back to that recording and go, "I suck. I have to work till I get it right." or "That great idea I had sucks. Gotta get rid of it and start over." We all need that glaring and unforgiving mirror of reality to shine on us so that we can be our best self. Yes, it is unbearably painful at times, but it is what it takes to be a professional.

Recently I did a wedding gig. We had to learn 31 songs and performed on all of them. (That's just the way the dice landed.) It was a huge amount of work and I spent hours alone in a room going over and over and over the songs. At the end of the day, the pay worked out to less than minimum wage due to paying my part for rehearsal studios, gas, and tolls. The time I spend alone in my back room going over songs seems to have no value, so that is not even part of the equation. I agreed to do the gig, so I did the gig. While there were a few falls on my part during the evening, all the major songs turned out well. We received praise from the wedding planners as well as guests ranging in age from 23 to 75.

Was it worth it financially? Was it "fun"? Did I have a great time? No. But once I agreed, I agreed and that is the end of it. It was a job doing what I have dedicated my life to doing. I did my best and was proud that strangers found joy in the team I was a part of. It was not about me, it was the team and it was a damn good team.

Years ago, just after my beloved friend Steve Hajdu Nemeth died of cancer, we auditioned a singer to fill his enormous vocal shoes. The only person to respond was a woman in her early 20's named Lizz. The audition went well and she was hired. She grew into a professional Musician who now fronts her own amazing band. Last year when I needed help at a show, she offered to help and it was great working with her again. Everyone was on the same page and we were back again making great Music. It went so well that we will be working a wedding this November as well as a blues album somewhere in the not to distant future. All of us know what we are in for, all of us know what we have to do, and all of us respect and like each other. This is a group of professionals.  This is amazing.

I once spoke to a famous director who used to work at an agency. He told me of the delusion and desperation that he would see day in and day out from people wanting to become famous. He told me of a story of a woman whose untalented child auditioned for something. He told them, very nicely, that he did not have anything for them at this time. The mother told the child to leave the office and wait out in the hall and to close the door behind him. She began to undo the buttons on her blouse while saying, "Mr. _________, I will do anything for you to give my child a chance." As this situation happened very often, he had a button installed under his desk that alerted the receptionist of what was going on. Immediately, the intercom bellowed, "Mr. ________, you have an urgent call on line one!" He would take the imaginary call as the secretary knocked on the door, the woman hurriedly buttoning up her  blouse.

Some of us don't have a buzzer. We just scream to God for them to leave.