Together Alone

It's been a bittersweet week for me. The album I've been working on with the boys for 8 months has finally come to fruition. But on my way into the studio to mix the last song, I learned that Paul Hester had taken his own life.

Who is Paul Hester many of you will ask. I'll tell you. He was the drummer of Crowded House. The wonderful, tumultuous and gifted group from Australia/New Zealand. Anyone will tell you that I prattle on and on about how Neil Finn is one of the best songwriters of our generation. But I'm learning that being a good songwriter doesn't mean a goddamned thing unless you have gifted people to take your songs above and beyond your expectations.

I need to preface this a bit so it makes more sense. 'Fight' is one of our songs. It's a song that Len & I wrote through six months of ups and downs; for us and for the band. The song started when I was in Montreal last year on Valentine's Day (by myself) and had to wait 45 minutes to catch the Metro. I was tired, cold and angry. When I found out later the delay was because someone had taken his own life a few stops away, I got angrier than I already was. I was angry that gift card & chocolate coroporations could make a person feel so alone - on an otherwise unremarkable day - that he felt the need to kill himself. I wanted to make something of his death. I wanted everyone to learn something from it. I went to a bar and sat down and drank for awhile. Yes, yes. Nothing like a depressant to chase the blues away. I walked home, through the cold but lively streets of Montreal. Now, Montreal is a city of love and lust and sex and smoke. There shouldn't be sadness there. But I couldn't help thinking of all the times I'd thought of quitting: quitting life, quitting acting, quitting music, quitting writing, quitting whatever. I had to articulate it somehow. About how quitting is usually the wrong thing to do. I got home and looked in the mirror. I saw a tired, mildly-intoxicated and desperate man. I couldn't sleep until the first phrase fell out. And it did:

"These cruel reflections. The statistical abuse
Another hallmark heart that breaks and doesn't make the evening news."

And then Len took the words and lifted them to new heights with beautiful, beautiful music. And then Alex & Mick took it even further by adding their support with bass and drums and a haunting counter-melody at the songs close.

And so there I was; mixing Fight and thinking what a waste that someone as talented as Paul Hester felt the need to quit. He did for Neil Finn just what my band does for me. I bring flesh and bones to rehearsal and they add heart and soul. It sounds corny, but with the death of a talented singer/drummer and the birth of our brand new album that we worked so hard to create, I was re-invested. I refuse to allow needless deaths like this to go without cause. I want to make music to stop just this sort of thing. Everyone needs dreams, everyone needs joy and everyone needs comfort. I'm working on getting the message to everyone. I just need a little more time.


together alone
shallow and deep
holding our breath
paying death no heed
i'm still your friend
as is once
will always be
earth and sky
moon and sea

Let's not be rash here...

I hesitate to talk about this, because it's pretty un-rock and roll, but one of the things I'm committed to as a writer is telling the truth.

I found a horrible rash on my arms the other day. I don't know how it got there. The only way this would be rock and roll is if it appeared there because of some hooker in Brazil or some illicit substance in Tokyo. However, since I've been at home since Christmas, neither of these seem to be the case. I went to the doctor. I hate doctors. They never seem interested in what they're doing. And they never seem to help, yet still are able to inflict a great deal of pain. Dentists are particularly notable for this. Anyway, this is the conversation I had with the doctor.

(Enter J.D. He sits on a chair. The Doctor enters and buries her nose in a file folder.)

D: So, what can I do for you?

Me: Well, I'm kind of sick.

D: Alright.

Me: I've had this flu thing for two weeks now.

D: I see.

Me: And four days ago this horrible rash broke out.

D: I see.

Me: Any idea what would cause that?

D: Mmmm, no.

Me: I see.

D: Is that all, then?

Me: Well, I just want to avoid something like this happening again. It's quite itchy.

D: I see.

Me: Yes.

(A pause.)

Do you think it could be an allergic reaction?

D: It could be.

Me: I see.

D: Could be strawberries, shellfish - could be anything, really.

Me: Mmmhmm. Well, as I said, I was sick and it just broke out.

D: Well, it could be part of the virus as well. Hard to say.

Me: I see.

D: Anything else then?

Me: No, no, just the terrible flu and the awful rash.

D: Ok then. That was easy!

Finis


It reads like a fucking Monty Python script. It seems to me that the problem with our health system today isn't just with the lack of doctors. It's with the lack of doctors that give a shit about the patients and who actually want to be practising medicine. I would rather wait 8 hours and have an attentive, thorough doctor than wait a 1/2 hour to play out a sketch I may have seen on the Flying Circus. What are we to learn from this? Don't do something unless you love doing it. And rashes could come from anywhere. Anywhere.

I'm not afraid of committment...

But it could be argued that I do have issues with long-term 'planning'. I joked with my sister for almost two years about just that sort of thing. When she asked the question, "Why haven't you sent your invitation to my wedding back?" I always responded, "Because I'm not sure I can go." Now, mostly I was joking. But not entirely. It's just that in my line of work, I don't know when or where I'll be in two months. I could be playing Horatio in Ottawa at the National Arts Centre, I could be rocking with the band in a bar in Jasper or I could be back at HMV at Yonge & Eglinton pasting stickers over Ashlee Simpson's face. Who's to say?

That said, I just made my biggest long-term commitment to date. Are you ready? Ok.
I bought tickets to the U2 show on September 12th. Yes. That's six months away. Don't shake your head. This is huge for me. I'm already stressed. I've got no idea what I'll do if I get a job out of town. Fake an injury? Feign a death in the family? I don't know. I'd move heaven and earth, though. This is U2 we're talking about! They just got inducted into the Rock & Roll hall of fame!!! How many people are inducted into a hall of fame while they're still doing what they do well? Even Gretzky or Lemieux had to retire first. Man, Bruce Springsteen ushered them in!!! "This is a bit of an Irish wedding," Bono said. "Beautiful girls in beautiful frocks, fights in the bathroom, lawyers with bloody noses." Jeez, it'd be a coin toss between my own wedding and a U2 concert. Who am I kidding? No, it wouldn't. Anyone marrying me would know that U2 comes first and I'd make it up to them on the honeymoon. I mean my future wife, not U2. But if U2 wanted to tag along, that's cool too.

Anyway, all this is moot. I'm going to have to learn to committ, because the rock and roll band that I'M in is less than a week away from finishing our cd. And then we're going to assault the world with rock. (Can you tell I'm feeling better today? I've been sick for more than a week with what my best friend called the 'Kervorkian Death Rattle'). Seriously, I'm really feeling optimistic that this cd will make some people stop and listen. Hopefully a lot of people. And when that happens, I'm going to have to committ to September 12th AND the 14th. I mean, U2's playing two dates and someone has to set the bar for them. I nominate us. Stay tuned to this journal for a pair of U2 tickets that will hopefully be going on sale soon.

All the love and all the lights...

It's the time of year when the red carpet is unrolled for the Golden Globes, the MTV Awards, the Grammys and the Oscars. It's the time of year when all the stars arrive in limos and saunter down the rosy path, tossing their heads, laughing at secrets and acting as joyous and carefree as they can. It's the time of year when I'm nauseated.

It's the time of year when I ask myself 'What's wrong with us as a species?' Seriously. Why do we give awards to people for being beautiful? Some of them are legitimately talented and get nominations, but they rarely win. Why do we give the people that publicisits and magazines tell us are beautiful so much sway over what we wear and what we eat and what we believe? We're no better than the religious cults we mock and fear on the six o'clock news. And why do we give so little currency to people who aren't conventionally beautiful? Isn't their work worth just as much? I have no idea what Joseph Heller or J.D. Salinger look like, but their words have influenced my life more than Leo Dicaprio's moody and brooding portrayal of every character he gets his mitts on.

I'm not innocent in this. I envy those people and their clothes and the ease of their lives. And I'm madly in love with Heidi Klum and Natalie Portman. At least, I'm in love with what they appear to be. I don't know how to fix the problem. I mean, how do you cure the plague? Particularly if you're not a doctor. I suppose all I can do is spread awareness. Hold up the mirror to society and say 'It doesn't matter if you don't think you're beautiful. Make your work beautiful and the rest doesn't matter.' I realize the hypocrisy in wanting fame to tell people you don't need to be famous, rich and beautiful to make a difference. But if a hundred people call me a hypocrite and i give comfort and/or awareness to another hundred, that's a trade I'm willing to make.