True Colors

Dang, I wanna go! Couldn't afford a ticket though. But I'm definitely thinking about driving down to the House Of Blues and hanging by the backstage door like the drooling fanboy that I am. Just to see if I can get her to sign the same dulcimer that Willie Nelson and his band signed some years back. She's the most high-profile dulcist in the world right now, and she's doing so much to bring the instrument to the public's attention. Go, Cyndi!

If nothing else, I can smoke a couple of Sosa Family cigars, play my dulcimer and freeze my butt off. (Okay, it's not that cold, but there's definitely a chill in the air.)

Auditions

I was talking to a musician today about the concept of Mohave and how it's rooted in this little dusty town called Nowhere. Another bit of mud came off of the crystal ball as I rubbed it.

Some folks look at the desert and think "gad, who'd want to live there?" Dusty, hot, miles and miles of empty spaces. But the people of Nowhere don't think so, else they'd leave. Because as desolate as their town might be, it seems a lot better than moving into a bigger city like Reno or Las Vegas with all its glitz and glimmer, concrete and hoardes of people. The simpler life seems...well, simpler.

Besides, the denizens of Nowhere don't have to go Anywhere. The road that passes by the town serves as a two-lane conveyor belt that brings the world to them. All sorts of people from all walks of life with all kinds of stories to tell. They pop in, have a drink or two, get directions or make a phone call, then go along their merry way. The folks of Nowhere, Nevada live vicariously through these Travelers, and after the door slams and the wheels crunch in the dirt and dust as vehicles take their leave, they say to themselves. "Wouldn't want to be them." Luckily, Nowhere is so uninviting that no-one arrives, takes a look at the place and says "I'd like to live here." So, the population stays pretty much the same, give or take a few deaths and births.

This guitarist and I and also talked about the concept of Knowledge and what it means to humanity. If you're a believer in the story of Adam and Eve, they had it all in the Garden of Eden, everything they could possibly want was there within their reach, including the Tree of Knowledge, which was forbidden fruit. But mankind had to go there, just had to know what it didn't know already. Typical, ain't it?

And with that desire to know more, our eyes were opened to things that we probably could have done without, but nevertheless - here we are. And that's just one side of the story.

Nowhere is a dusty eden of sorts. Its locals don't have to eat any apples. The apples speed up in shiny cars and then leave again. They describe how they taste. What it's like to be an apple, they reveal. And then they go away, with the folks behind them simply taking their word for it. If only it were that simple. One doesn't have to put a finger in the fire to discover that fire burns. You can watch someone else put a finger in the fire and watch as they draw back quickly in pain. But yet, there's something about mankind that just has to know firsthand (or first finger) the sensation that they've witnessed..

Thank God this isn't the case with all such phenomena!

The Jams Begin

With our eyes upon the Festival Curacao in May of this year, the process of auditioning musicians has begun. We're in contact with players from as far away as Nashville, folks who have tour experience and are making music for a living. Not wanting to duplicate our most recent instrumentation, I've taken the music back to its most basic structure. Starting with the drone of the dulcimer and the simple arrangements. With that as a foundation, I've opened the door to one instrument that I had previously said wouldn't be a part of our sound: the guitar.

In a battle of sound between a dulcimer and a guitar, the guitar would own - simply because there's a bigger voice box (in the case of acoustic) and more strings. But if the guitar is played in a certain way, the two elements blend together with each one shining through the arrangements. I'm not certain that guitar will end up in the mix, but I'll be jamming with a guy this Thursday who's opened for the likes of Pat Travers and Iron Butterfly; someone who's seen the band, knows what we're about and loves the concept.

I'm also talking to 2005 SSA Pianist/Keyboardist Of The Year Ed McCurdy, whose soulful blues stylings on piano and organ are quite simply tasty.

The focus will be on getting a supporting ensemble together for this show, while also making plans to play out regionally in the state and elsewhere. Each show may feature different people, and that's how it sometimes is with blues music. With cats staying so busy, sometimes you can't always get who you want (but you can try to get who you need. Sorry, just had to say that.)

It's a very exciting time as we move forward, with every indication that the next time Mohave performs, it will be a powerfully positive experience that'll clear the way for what's to come. And I'll keep you posted on how that's going.

In the meantime, dreaming of Curacao and the exciting destinations that are just over the horizon. Hell, I already bit into the apple. And this Black Indian is ready to finally go on walkabout, in search of the big blue ocean.

*drooool*

Santa, never mind my last gift hint. THIS will do just fine.

Sa-wheeet!

What a nice couple of days this has been! Spent all day Thanksgiving working on a couple of demos, one for a tune called "The Liar Of Maxwell County" which I wrote a few years back and another for a song called "Silent Running", which I actually released on the "Kansas" album back in 1987. Last night, feeling sort of spunky, I guess, I came up with an agressive rock riff on the dulcimer, one that would be doubled by an equally aggressive bass line at some point in the song. Using Garageband (which I do for most of the demos), I punched up a very gritty and balls-to-the-wall rock song that doesn't have lyrics yet, but MAN, is it crunchy. That new version of Garageband looks sa-wheeet! Maybe Santa will bring it? (Note to Santa: I've been a very good boy this year, despite all the rumors.)

Tonight, Jae and I went to a function of the Friends of Florida Folk over at Mark Fodor's house, the site of a Mohave performance for the Sierra Club in May of this year. Mark's a real prince of a guy, a true music lover, and he kindly offers up his expansive and nicely landscaped backyard for concerts. Tonight's act was Something Special from Sarasota, minus two members. Still, Carl Wade and Barbara Shaffer were a delight to hear and see. True folkies, they both played guitar, Barbara on rhythm and Carl adding layers and textures with chords and leads. Their choice of songs was wonderful, from extremely funny (and timely) tunes to beautiful and moving love songs and ballads, all performed with sweet harmonies and humorous stage banter; highly entertaining. (I only wish more people had come out to the show - it was a lovely night for it, too.)

Later on, we sat inside the house and had a little jam along with Frank Julian, who had opened up the musical evening playing guitar for his pre-teen daughter (like 9 or 10), whose name is eluding me at the moment, but she sang like an angel and had a pro's stage presence! We all traded licks and songs, which was very educational for me, because they were switching keys and so-forth, prompting me to find some very creative ways to stay in the game. It's this kind of learning-on-the-fly that I'm really looking forward to. We had a lot of fun, Frank's original songs are just a hoot - and he asked me to record with him and his daughter on their first release.

All in all, a busy couple of musical days - and I also bug-bombed the house, which was no small feat. Do you know how much stuff you have to cover? Still, gotta nip this flea thing in the bud. They're not bothering us, but the animals have been giving us dirty looks.

I'm looking forward to next week's dulcimer jam at The Lippy's. I had a chance to sit in with their dulcimer circle of about 25 players at the Central Florida Fair a couple of years back and have wanted to find out where their group meets. Tuesday the 6th of December, I'm gonna find out!

Back To School

I'm excited to be heading north for Kentucky Music Week in January, which is actually the winter version of the popular festival that takes place closer to summer. There will be some dulcimer workshops and performances - and I'm looking forward to meeting Nancy Johnson Barker, who organizes these two events. The possibility of teaching dulcimer workshops at the summer event is a possibility, so I've been teaching myself some dulcimer solos out of the Dulcimer 2000 Mel Bay book that Ken from Everything Dulcimer gave to me, to strengthen my repertoire. The majority of my twenty years playing dulcimer has been spent focusing on rhythmic cords for accompaniement - so it's back to school to pick up some eja-ma-kashun.

Of course, "school" is anywhere that there are fellow dulcimer players willing to share a secret or two.

whoa, th a's deep!

Neon Tiki
© 1997 Fajita Musik/J.O.B. Entertainment

been a long time comin', no doubt, can't wait no longer, give me tiki
I've searched this world throughout for a thing that gets me wild and freaky
to the desert, to the oceans, it's a myth that stalks my head at night
in the limestone, beneath the lava, maybe I'll get lucky, huh?

on every street in every town, standing on a corner, lookin' for a bit of the light
they say, "hey man, get on with your life", but I can't relent the search for neon tiki
in the city, out in the country, in a book or an egg or a voodoo doll
dripping sweet from a poison grapevine or a message on the wall

I'm looking for a neon tiki (you will never find this tiki)
auwe-ah, yes I will

it came to me in a dream, now I find I gotta have it or I think I'm gonna forfeit my mind
in the words of a muse or the eyes of an angel, a tear from a painter's brush
it's the whim and the joy and the glee, it turns my brain to mush
to the racetrack, down in the subway, upon a jet leaving Tuesday night
without a care for the cost or the consequence, I'm there in coach, watching movies in flight I hate flying

I'm looking for a neon tiki (you will never find this tiki)
auwe-ah, yes I will

I wish I had a way to show you
what it's like, why it's here, where it hangs, what it sees, how it lives
how it breathes, where it grows, how it glows, watch it dance and know why I need it

I've been demoing this song for the past day or so; it's an oldie - been played out maybe once, I think. It's actually the first song structure that I ever wrote, probably back in 1982, when it was called "Out Of The Darkness." Some years later, I cannabalized it, changed the lyrics, swung the arrangement and dubbed it "Neon Tiki" - 1997.

Over the years, the song has been about that unquenchable quixotic thirst - the one thing that you're really looking for, that always seems to elude you. And though naysayers may tell you that you won't find it - you push ahead, because dreams do come true, after all.

Don't they?

A Truly Beautiful Night

The powwow went off wonderfully - and I could write three blogs about it - but I'm still savoring the afterglow (and the smell of boiled peanuts that I've got cooking in the kitchen.)

There'll be more - but I sure want to thank everyone who made this show such a rousing success! Especially Jae, for all her hard work with the organizing and food for the pre-party, Amy and Tony from AKA Lounge, Dave from Connections Magazine, The Eight-Fold Way and Snackdaddy - who both put on fantastic shows - DJ OG, who kept things moving for us - Perego, just an amazing light show, Kelly and Barbee with their art-in-progress, Dani-Oh for the spoken word, and the artists, Carl, Heather, Chad, Liz, Diana, Amy, Daas and Kristian for all of your incredible work - to Chris Johnson, who curated the show, to all the helping hands and significant others and especially to everyone who came out to share all of that love energy! We love you much - there's new stuff happening all the time.

But more on that later - I spent all day re-organizing the studio, moving furniture and chasing dustbunnies - it's now time for some Willie Wonka action.

til next time, Mahalo - we are very blessed!

Bing

The View From Here

To quote the greatest rock band in the world, "it's a beautiful day!" And ten points to yourself if you correctly guessed which rock band I mean.

Time Over The Waterfall
Music and lyrics by Bing Futch

Make some bones about it, digging in the dirt,
I'm starting from scratch
scraping at the clay, shaping the day
and the image is clear; it's what we're doing here

got one shoe on, the other's in the grass
the sky's so blue, water's like glass
it's early in the morning and late in the week, yeah
not thinking 'bout Monday, don't even speak it

Make some bones about it, digging in the dirt,
I'm starting from scratch
scraping at the clay, shaping the day
and the image is clear; it's what we're doing here

time is of the essence, essence is the soul
and the soul is timeless, so what you runnin' for?
take a giant step back, when you're up against the wall
steal time, forget time, lose time over the waterfall

Caught fillin' time, killin' time, Valentine
stretchin' time til the big-time show-time
Wastin' time, any time for a good time
savin' time, all the time, for the back nine

© Copyright 2005 J.O.B. Entertainment Inc. (ASCAP)

I'm looking forward to tonight - it's going to be one of those heavenly, enlightening evenings.

Next

Don't Make Me
Music and lyrics by Bing Futch

I'll write a happy little song to make you cheerful
I'll pen a silly little ditty to make you smile
I'll sing a lovely tune for you my darlin'
if you don't make me dance
or make me take off my pants
don't make me take a chance on you tonight

safe to say the night is young
I just came here to have fun
we've got many ways to play
tomorrow's just another day, in theory

this is where 'goodbye' begins (goodbye, so long, auf wedershen)
where it ends, well that depends (time out, come again)
paper thoughts and hearts aflame
a match to candlesticks in the rain
I can see it so clearly

I'll write a happy little song to make you cheerful
I'll pen a silly little ditty to make you smile
I'll sing a lovely tune for you my darlin'
if you don't make me dance
or make me take off my pants
don't make me take a chance on you
don't make me take a chance

© Copyright 2005 J.O.B. Entertainment Inc. (ASCAP)

Before This Moment Passes

before this moment passes
music and lyrics by bing futch

Do you remember the days left dry
in the blink of a century, in the wink of an eye?
do you remember the days when life was hell
and hell was a lot like life?

Hey, hey the band will play, can you recall?
heigh-ho, the merry-oh, anything at all?
hey, hey the band will play, can you feel the pain?
heigh-ho, the merry-oh, unless you fall

went to sleep in the land of the free
woke up; the world's enemy
I cry to the sky, "we are but rain"
we fall to the Earth and rise again"

hey, hey the band will play
everybody look and find a partner
heigh-ho, the merry-oh
everybody raise your glasses

hey, hey the band will play
allemande left til you look into the sunrise
heigh-ho, the merry-oh
before this moment passes



© 2005 J.O.B. Entertainment Inc.

I didn't see this one coming at all. Well, that's a lie.

The first verse was written on August 5th at 12:22. That's 24-hour time. I don't know why I go by 24-hour time, or so-called "European" or "Army" time, it helps keep my days and nights straight, no piddling about with this AM and PM thing.

The second verse was written in May of this year, best I can tell - didn't date that one.

It's an odd little bugger, ain't it? It's got a wacked out tribal groove that's part First Nations, part Celtic and a little Nine Inch Nails. The groove and music came last night - the idea to put them with these words came today. The bass and drums are loops in my Garageband library - there are a couple of other atmospheric loops and a whole lot of voice dubbing.

Queer as a quiet Saturday night in Times Square, but it's got something going on -

Video!

"Slowly blossomed, slowly ripened in Siddhartha the realisation, the
knowledge, what wisdom actually was, what the goal of his long search was. It was nothing but a readiness of the soul, an ability, a secret art, to think every moment, while living his life, the thought of oneness, to be able to feel and inhale the oneness." - Herman Hesse, Siddhartha

I've got two hours of video edited for the CD Release Powwow; it'll run on two screens in the bar, one screen in the Big Picture room and two screens on the stage. Coordinated with the events as they take place throughout the evening, the video features images that tie all of the elements of the powwow together, including visuals from the art exhibit "out of the clear blue", which we hung last night. I'm going back tonight to help Chris Johnson, curator and participating artist, hang Barbee Cain's photography and a piece by Carl Knickerbocker, who's getting ready to show some work at Disney's Festival Of The Masters next weekend (Nov 11-13) - so I'm stoked that he was able to be a part of this!

The video will also show vintage footage of the original Mohave trio as well as all the musicians who have graced the tribe over the past six years. It's not really a main attraction production - more of a collection of digital atmospheres that switch up and change depending upon the action onstage. Very psychedelic, in a 21st century kind of way - you'll see what I'm talking about.

It Has To Be Said 2

EXT - EL REY DRIVE IN - NIGHT

The marquee is lit up and proclaiming a double feature that we can't quite see. A trickle of cars pull up to the ticket booth where E-Z DANIELS collects money from each one. Most of the cars are full of teens, but one car has a mid-thirty-ish couple in it. DARRIN HUNTER is a fairly clean-cut man while his lady friend ABBY LANG is a bit on the Riot Grrl side.

DARRIN: Wow. Simply and incredibly, wow. [laughs] That's a Mike Gilroy mural.

ABBY: Gilroy was here.

DARRIN: Yeah, Gilroy was here. Wow.

ABBY: Is this the place with the stage?

DARRIN: Yeah.

ABBY: Nice!

INT - CONCESSION STAND

A tall, skinny man is behind the counter, his almost waist-length hair tucked back behind a backwards baseball cap. HIPPIE goes about the business of running the snack bar. A middle-aged man wearing a John Deere jacket and suede boots grasps a tray of popcorn, drinks and cotton candy as he steps away from the counter. JOHN SEAVER and DARK almost collide and they look up at each other.

Hurricane Brett was storming towards Corpus Christi, Texas just as we got into San Antonio, so we didn't stay long. Getting back to Orlando on this day was out of the question, so a more realistic goal of Houston was set. By the time we got home, there had been seven songs written on the road, "Interstate 10 Blues" being one of them, and for damn good reason, too.

I made demos of the songs with just voice and dulcimer, put them on cassettes for Mike and McGyver, asked David Schweizer if I could bring two friends along for my already-scheduled slot on August 31st at the House Of Blues, and we rehearsed for two hours before playing that show.

It was nuts. Nuts, so you would not believe.

And we started working pretty often. Very next year, The Orlando Weekly nominates us for an Orlando Music Award in the "World" category along with Seven Nations and Umoja. To be in such company! Umoja deservedly won.

During this time, the whole Mohave thing started laying voodoo on me unsuspectingly. Songs tying together, personalities extending outside of single songs, images of a tangible place with a tangible spirit and energy, yet remaining intangible. The town Nowhere surfaced out of the boggy depths of one of those plastic snowglobes, only instead of shimmering white and silver bits of confetti, it's filled with washed out rusty oranges and browns, the faded golds of yesterday's glory veins. Murky, rolling clouds that begin to settle and reveal this dried-up old prune of a town sitting there.

Like picking up a crystal ball caked with mud. Not just any mud. That good old, clay-thick, red stuff that comes from the floor of the southwestern desert, like natural warpaint. And you rub that crystal ball in various places, you rub to beat all hell, and it still takes an unusual amount of energy, and your sleeve, to clear away enough to see what's inside. I work on polishing the ball a little every day, and what I've been blessed enough to see so far has been wild.

Okay, This Is Just Spooky

This is the legend of the Haunted Shack.
Around about the time of the big silver strike in Nevada,
seems a prospector called Slanty Sam and his wife, Shaky Sadie
lived and eventually died in this old shack.

Strange stories are told and re-told about fantastic goings-on around the old place.
Some say the shack rested directly over the center of gravity.
Folks near and far came to believe that the place was truly haunted by the ghosts of Sam and Sadie.

The Haunted Shack stood there, spooks and all, in Esmerelda County, Nevada. Until we brought it to Ghost Town in 1954.

Lurking there are mysteries that are amazing, amusing and confusing.
You will doubtless remember your experience in the Haunted Shack for a long, long time.

The Haunted Shack at Knott's Berry Farm theme park in California was one of those gravity-houses where water runs uphill and people walk on the walls. As a tour guide there in 1986, I had easily memorized the pre-tour recording, intoned by a somewhat bored-sounding announcer, and routinely use it for sound checks at Mohave shows. I never really made a connection with Nowhere. That is, until the day that I discovered Goldfield.

Nowhere had begun to show up like magically reappearing ink blotches on a tattered canvas. It wasn't until early this year that I finally plumbed the depths of what happened with the town. It was similar to what happened to the town of Goldfield, Nevada. Was once a booming town fueled by the local discovery of gold, then quickly abandoned when the mines went bust. A few descendants of hold-outs remain, but they're not even sure why they're there. With no industry in town and the closest larger town more than an hour in each direction, there's not much to do there except drink and think about drinking.

Goldfield had gotten decidely more upscale than Nowhere ever aspired to be. Tourists don't even go to Nowhere. They just stop in the bar and have a drink, maybe two. Maybe three if they've got something to get off their chests, and then they leave, always to return. There's just something about the place that's polarizing in that regard.

While looking at the page, I noticed that Goldfield, Nevada was in Esmerelda County.

The Haunted Shack is now but a concrete slab at an ever-modernizing amusement park that's all but forgotten its rich history. But in this case - a sense of crazy completion and connection was another cactus rose and a bit of the crystal ball allowed a clearer peek inside.

It Has To Be Said

It'd be pretty hard to read the entries posted here in the past thirty days without noticing a sudden change of tone and mood, even for the newcomer. Except for the official announcement that was posted on the Mohave web site and sent to the mailing list, there's been no commentary about the circumstances leading to the recent departure of Randy, Bunky, John and J.D.

To be fair, I won't get into the reasons here because there are, as the song goes, "two sides to every story" and everybody involved has a valid point of view, not to mention that I'm not sure exactly what caused this fragmentation other than the fact that perhaps it was a long time coming. Everyone walked of their own volition. I wanted to play our remaining scheduled shows; two at Lake Eola, one in Hernando County and the CD Release Powwow. I'm intensely disappointed that we're not playing these shows and I know that many of our extended tribe are as well.

A good number of you have asked me privately about the situation, thanks for that, and the question is generally: so, now what for Mohave?

No question, Mohave's continuing forward. And to explain that, I'm going to try and shed some light upon how this southwestern world came to be.

THE EL REY DRIVE-IN

The rows are, of course, empty--they are lined with speaker stands that undulate along with the rolling waves of grey speckled concrete. There is a small stage at the front near the movie screen and the only other structure in the fenced-in area is a vaguely art-deco looking building that houses the concession stand, bathrooms, offices and projection room. The Impala pulls up to this structure and the young man steps out and looks around before walking up to a door and knocking sharply.

INT - EL REY OFFICE

VICTOR SIERVNEY is the owner/manager of The El Rey. He is Russian, in his 50's, and speaks English well. He pulls back the top half of the door with one hand, leaving a bottle of vodka in the other as he confronts the young man.

"Showtime's at dusk. You've got a couple of hours. Come back then," he says blearily, squinting into the sun. The young man smiles slightly.

"Actually, Vic. I'm looking for a job."

INT - CONCESSION STAND

Victor walks over past the candy counter and soft drink machines to a closet and pulls out a handyman's coverall. He holds them up with a rueful shake of his head and hands them to the young man.

"I used to fit in these, imagine it. They are still too big for you, but will keep you from getting stained. Everything is in here, it's a horrible mess. They've been trading off janitorial duties, those two. I am sorry that this is the only offer of work that I have. Some homecoming. Let me be the first to say 'welcome back.' And the ladies toilet on east side is problem. Wear the waders."


Mohave Oil: The Seed

In either 1997 or 1998 on a trip to Disney/MGM Studios, a trip to Catastrophe Canyon yielded the sight of the words "Mohave Oil" on the side of an exploding gas pump. The word "Mohave" slides across my mind.

I had been wanting to bring the mountain dulcimer into a new groove while maintaining deep love and respect for traditional roots music. Late spring of 1999 after a Strobe 7 show at The Social in downtown Orlando, bassist Mike Burney pressed a doob into my hand, told me that he liked my columns in Jam Magazine and that he wanted to jam together some time.

As I talked out the idea of putting the dulcimer into a rock situation, it became apparent that my internet radio show producer, McGyver, was also an accomplished drummer. So, there were the elements of this stew already sort of floating around when I hit the road on a summer tour later that year.

Mohave County: An Ephiphany

Now, the next part of this "Behind The Music" trip sounds like bull hocky. But it's not bull hocky. So if you're disinclined to entertain anything remotely resembling bull hocky, then go running madly, screaming away and I'll wait for you to go before I continue.

Okay, they're gone. So, we're in Kingman, Arizona heading towards Las Vegas and it's hotter than hell and it's only seven-thirty in the by-God morning. Suddenly, we're pulled over onto the side of the road and I'm running butt-ass naked down the side of the highway. Sneakers on, of course, because I'm not a complete nut-jobber.

The word "why" might be floating around in your cerebral cortex and, to be honest, I don't blame you a bit. See, that's exactly what I was wondering as the trucker drove by with his air-horn blaring and a sprint back to the car revealed that every glory-holin' bit of butt-nakery was caught on video. Replaying the moment, literally, it can really only be chalked up to pure abandon, no peyote necessary. At the root of it was just a simple, primal desire to get natural; to be unafraid and unadorned.

Just outside of Kingman, Arizona. This is critical. I'll explain later.

On the way back east along Interstate 10, which is the longest goddamn road in the universe, several new songs were born. "Moment Of Hell" came in Phoenix; "Ring-A-Ding" in Houston. The seeds for "Down To Earth" were planted in Las Vegas, not long after the ass-happy dance just outside of Kingman. It was coming back through that corridor when we discovered Kingman, and that stretch of road subject to streaking, was located in Mohave county.

There was that word again. Now, there was Mojave with a "J" in California. But Mohave with an "H" was Arizona. Both were First Nations peoples, which sounded a deep drum within my spirit. At the heart of Native American music is a tribal rhythm that pulses, that sets a groove for living, not as distraction or as product, but as an expression of flesh and spirit. The Scots-Irish roots of the dulcimer share much in common with the music of First Nations and African performers who keep one foot solidly in the soil when they create.

And this is all swirling in my head on the road to Phoenix, where we promptly blow a tire at six in the bloody morning. What is it with early on this trip?

Cactus Rose: Thar She Blows!

Anyone who's fixed a tire only to discover that you not only didn't fix it, but you went so far as to cause further damage, can attest to the fact that it's humbling. It's also a stinker of a way to start a 1200 mile lope across three states in a vain attempt to reach San Antonio before a hurricane hits, but you pick your battles. And we hit a Midas and they send us on our way, there I'm staring out the window at these huge fields of cacti. Tall suckers. Ten, fifteen foot, some of them. They looked to be arranged almost symmetrically. Dark-to-pale green with variegations and striations of yellow to murky brown all along their prickly arms. Dozens and dozens of them, streaming past like troops under review.

Thinking about dulcimers and tribal roots, of the sudden energy burst in Mohave county along Highway 93, of a drummer and bassist that had suddenly made themselves available, of the music that had been pouring forth on this tour, inspired by the different people and places throughout the southwest, and then I saw the red bloom.

Stark, crimson red, beaming from the center of a cactus that was smack dab in the middle of a cluster of cacti. Just one red cactus flower. I kept my eyes wide open at watched the passing shapes for any more signs of seasonal bloom on red cactus flowers and I'll tell you directly, there were none. I watched for twenty minutes and then gave up because my eyes were plotting a revolt; not another red bloom to be seen.

The word "why" stuck its head in and said 'hey.'

There is beauty in the desert.

What the hell kind of new-age crap was that? When all of the above sort of came crashing together and melded into one simple core of existence, it sounded like the inner fold of a Hallmark card. But in time, I've come to decode what it sort of means. And that's what makes Mohave work.

Dulcimeris Interrupti

Well, hell. I was all set to attend a dulcimer jam tonight, but my schedule got rear-ended, now the next one isn't until December 6th. Guess that gives me some more time to brush up my hammer-on's.

I've been talking with Kerry over at Gila Mountain Dulcimers about a custom southwestern-style model and we're going over specs for the instrument (the most notable spec - "how much is it gonna cost me?") And it's looking like I'll be taking a part time job at the mall or something. As a packing/gift-wrapping elf.

I leave you with these vital words,
which I've plucked from the vault;
if we don't learn that fire burns,
it's not the fire's fault! - 12-21-03 12:57

© 2003 - 2005 J.O.B. Entertainment Inc.