Fall at Your Feet...

The finger of blame has turned upon itself
And I'm more than willing to offer myself
Do you want my presence or need my help?
Who knows where that may lead...

I fell on my face this week. Not literally. Well, not exactly literally, but sort of I guess. The band had a bad show. And it was my fault. I got rattled because - despite the fact I told my guitar to play a B minor chord, the amplifier opted instead to play a shriek of static and hiss (which was more or less in the key of B minor). So picture it. There J.D. is, standing with the lads in the band and we've just kicked into our first song; Worst Case Scenario. It's a noisy, electric, angry song. "We need to change, WE NEED TO CHANGE!" it screams. Well, I did have to change...guitars. After thirty seconds of non-response from my electric, I slung my acoustic on and tried to fight my way through it. It went ok. Not great, but ok. Then the second song - more crashing guitars and noise, only I couldn't add to that. The acoustic - despite how hard I hit it - just wouldn't sound angry and bitter and twisted. And that's where I tripped.

Imagine if you will, singing a song that you know very, very well - be it Blondie, U2, Rolling Stones or the Beatles. And then imagine three guys around you playing a different song. See if you can sing the damned melody that you know so well while that's happening. Now, my boys weren't playing the wrong song, but it sounded that way to my ears, because an integral piece was missing.

And I began to doubt myself. And the melody went in and out and then out and further out. And I thought I would throw up in the middle of the song, because I knew I was running it into the ground. I fought desperately through a well of negative emotions and tried to bring the song back, but I never did. I was just too far gone.

Let me preface this next bit by saying that our band doesn't have a true front man. More and more I'm singing and speaking as the voice for us, but that's more comfort than anything, I think. I can stand in the middle and - generally - not freak out. In fact, I generally thrive in that enviornment. I make every earnest effort to try and connect with the audience and make them understand what the four of us are trying to say. And so, when the band rides high, I reap a great deal more glory than I deserve. But when the band ebbs low, the blame falls squarely on my shoulders. As well it should.

I'm the guy at the front of the cavalry. It's my job to rally the troops if the tide turns against us. And Monday night, I couldn't do it. I tried. I really, really tried. I jumped, I kicked, I thrashed the guitar, I looked everyone in the audience in the eye and tried to make a connection. But it was forced and stilted and bereft of joy and love and energy. And boy, did it piss me off. I was able to forgive myself until the show was over - because you HAVE to. You have to let go of whatever's happened in live performance and keep searching for that elusive thing that will connect you to the audience. And on that particular Elvis Monday, it had left the building.

So now I've had a few days to stew and beat myself up and tell myself that I should be doing something else with my life. But I've decided that's nonsense. It's just the kind of week I'm having. I'm struggling with money, I'm fighting with the ones I love and I feel trapped and stifled in the enviornment around me. The walls are closing in and I'm poised to start kicking. Anyway, I took a few walks, listened to some music, did some reading and walked (in a haze) through my day job. And it dawned on me last night as I was getting up to play a few songs by myself at 1:30 am at Healey's. I had an epiphany.

It's not ok to fuck up. But it's ok to forgive yourself for doing it. Shit happens. People screw up. And you learn something when you fall on your face. I'm sure I did. I learned a bit about myself and I learned a bit about my boys. I'm confident I could rally the guys if I feel the tide pulling us out to sea again. And - strange as it sounds - I feel even more comfortable on stage now. Experiencing one of the worst personal performances I've ever given - and having the wound fresh in my mind - has taught me that life will be ok afterwards. I will always dust myself off and play again. I will always find something new to say. I will always be ok.

I was a bit nervous last night - getting up in front of some people, but I felt I needed to do it. The old 'get back in the saddle' routine. And it felt good. I enjoyed letting the demons out and pulling people into my world. I played a new song we've been working on. And it felt great. It's all about making adult choices when the world is closing in on you. Choosing to grow up, to lie, to settle and wither or to be the child and play and laugh and love. The question isn't answered in the song, but I answered it for myself just last night. Peter Pan better sharpen his sword, 'cause I'm going to tear that bitch a new one. :)


I know you're torn between
The world outside and the world you've known
But only you can choose
To live the lie or to find the truth
To join the ranks or to go it alone

To walk away from where you stand
And run forever to a now or Neverland
Fly by tombstones shot with green grass
Chase your ghosts past all that won't last

Somewhere over the rainbow...

Is where this crazy cat lives.

My girlfriend found this photo today and she sent it to me.

http://www.big-boys.com/pictures/picture1659.html

I was all at once shocked, amused, disturbed, disgusted and enchanted. I - perhaps only surpassed by my bass player, Mick - love a joke that runs well past its limit, through the wastelands, through the darkness and into a new day where it becomes funny again.

But this guy? I have to believe he sent an audition tape to Jack Ass and got turned down. It's got everything though, hasn't it? A hinged elbow, a crying nipple and...well, I won't spoil the surprise of the last one. Check the picture out and observe the rainbow of feelings.

6 Bullets and the truth

CAUTION: J.D. is in a dark mood today. This entry is reflective of his disdain for the state of his world right now. And for the state of the 'entertainment' scene in general.

Yes, I've been ranting a great deal recently about the problems with the entertainment industry - particularly the music on the radio and the television. And I just can't get away from it. I work at a bookstore right now, but we also sell music. And I almost vomited when I was flipping through my advance copy of Rolling Stone magazine and noted that Ashlee Simpson is coming out with her second album.

Sweet. Gentle. Jesus.

Why? Didn't her first one just come out six months ago? Wasn't it almost immediately thrown on the discount shelf with the Milli Vanilli & Jesus Jones records?

If that wasn't bad enough, I heard that god awful new single from INXS. For those of you who don't know, INXS was a very popular band from Australia through the 80's and less so into the early 90's. In 1997, Michael Hutchence (the lead singer) killed himself. The band very kindly waited 8 years before having a national television search to replace him.

Sweet. Gentle. Jesus.

Michael Hutchence WAS that band. That would be like U2 holding auditions to replace Bono, the Rolling Stones casting their net to find another Mick Jagger or Radiohead looking for a new Thom Yorke. Yes, all the band members contribute, but the uniqueness of the band is defined by the singer. And this J.D. Fortune joker has a) sullied my name, b) recorded a terrible song that will begin the new era of defiling great bands (you watch - Van Halen or Queen will do it next) and c) set music back another step. Who thought it was possible with the Ashlee Simpson's, the Nickelback's and the Billy Talent's? Not me. But he's done it. He - and the shell of INXS - begins a bold new chapter in soulless music.

This leads me to a fun game I play. Certainly it speaks to the perversion of my mind, but I think it's healthy to have a strong dislike for some people. You need to have a spectrum. Without anger, there is no appreciation of joy. Without hatred, there is no caring. Without apathy, there is no love.

Anyway, the game. You have a magnum revolver. You have 6 bullets. Who would you use the bullets on? It doesn't have to be some asshole you work with. It can be anybody. I know Jennifer Lopez has never done anything to me personally, but I can't stand her. I hate the way she talks, I hate the way she moves, I hate the way she sings and I hate the way she lies. Sure, Jen, sure you're still the same person you were when you lived in Brooklyn. Then why the lavish furs, ungodly priced clothing and general excessive lifestyle? Is that how they do things in Brooklyn? They waste every cent they have on pointless material posessions? Here's my list. It's necessary to prioritize in case the bullet fails to strike a major organ or artery.


1. Mark Burnett. The Godfather of Soulless. Without this jackass we wouldn't have to endure such tripe as Survivor, The Apprentice, INXS Wankstar and The Contender. He may have more, but it's his fault that ALL that crap - Big Brother, Amazing Race, American Idol, Surreal Life - has dominated television for just over half a decade. 'Reality' television is just another word for badly scripted television. Watch Train 48 if that's your bag. As an actor and a person who used to love well crafted tv, I'm forced to give him bullet #1.

2. Mark Burnett. See above.

3. Jennifer Lopez. Jenny from the Block. Sure you are, hon. Anyway, for various crimes to society and culture, she gets bullet #3.

4. Ashlee Simpson. Notorious coat-tail rider. Just because your sister has talent and has a tv show, doesn't mean that you do. Maybe you can lip-sync the word 'No' as bullet #4 punctures your lungs.

5. Chad Kroeger. For making music into a predictable, neatly wrapped turd. A whole field of them, actually. Also - as a sidenote - generally a side-project (his is Theory of Deadman) is a chance for a musical 'departure'. You know, something that sounds a little different than your primary band. How this man can continue to churn out formulaic, tired excrement is astonishing. The only thing more astonishing is that people continue to buy it. Ah, Chad...How You Remind Me of the need for violence in the world. Bang. Bullet #5.

6. I'm saving this one. I'll probably need to defend myself after offending the fans of all the jerks on this list.

And before any gets their knickers in a knot, ask yourself - honestly - "do I have a list like this?" If you don't, well, you're a better person than I am. And of course I'm exaggerating. I don't want to kill anyone, but I would dearly love to stick all these people in some kind of Carbonite Freezing chamber or hit them with 20 years of tranq darts.

I am a passionate person. I am going to dedicate my life to playing in a pop/rock band and challenging people to think and ask questions. But I also want to help everyone discover new bands, wonderful, obscure films and hidden talent. The people on this list exemplify and champion mediocrity - in television, music and entertainment. And as a friend recently taught me to say, 'That's fucking unacceptable."

Another reason not to watch tv anymore...

Once again, I'm baffled that people give a shit about garbage like this. And the A & E Channel? Are they going to air it right after Inside The Actor's Studio (a show which lost any credibility this past season, by offering Jennifer Lopez an episode - she couldn't act her way out of a wet paper bag - seriously, name three movies she's been in and then tell me with a straight face that she was good in ANY of them.) Anyway, big things are coming up for the A & E Network this year. Good luck to 'em.


Sex Change Arquette

(BANG) - Courtney Cox's brother-in-law, Alexis Arquette, is to have a sex change live on TV.
Actor Alexis - brother of Courtney's husband David Arquette - will be filmed having the surgery over the next two months.

The Arquette family - including David and actress sister Patricia - are also set to star in the two-hour special, broadcast by American TV network A+E.

An A+E spokesperson revealed: "In becoming a woman, Alexis is going through what I'd call the ultimate life transformation.

"We have exclusive access to Alexis as he goes through the process."

A friend of Alexis, Craig Chester, joked: "If he does get his sex change, I want his penis surgically implanted on me. It's pretty huge."

Alexis - who sometimes uses the name Eva Destruction - is to be filmed undergoing therapy sessions before having hormone injections and then the operation.

The flamboyant star once upset Courtney Cox by revealing the sex of her unborn child on TV.
He let slip the 'Friends' beauty was expecting a girl three months before she and husband David made their official announcement.

The Canadian Press BANG Media International

Video Killed the Radio Star...

Bullshit.

Radio killed the radio star; radio promoters, radio station managers, radio marketing executives, radio programming directors and radio on-air personalities. They should all be drawn and quartered. And don't get me started on the Much Music. All of these ridiculous shows - Hit Me Baby One More Time (acts from the 80's & 90's return to play their 'hits'), Much 911 (the VJ's - who all need lobotomies - go around Canada 'helping' arty kids in need of a new cell phone or something equally desperate), Born to Be (the sob story of wenches like Britney Spears and how tough she has it and how she's drained and all the obstacles she's overcome to blossom into the tabloid joke she is) - make me sick. Most of the programming AND the VJ's on Much Music should be tossed in the nearest dumpster. It's become a playground for arrogant, egotistical college dropouts to pretend their important and knowledgeable. And with all their posing, talking, sharing inside jokes and hair twirling, they leave no time for videos. Isn't that what they're supposed to be there for? Isn't the station supposed to be presenting and supporting the music industry? Who cares what that little blonde hermaphrodite thinks about the new Arcade Fire single. Play the goddamned video and we'll decide for ourselves.

Is it any wonder that record sales are at all time low and that EMI (one of the remaining 4 big labels) is merging with Warner/BMG? (who were also on their own 3 years ago) I'll tell you why this is the case. It's because nobody who's supposed to be promoting music is doing it anymore. They're too busy trying to set trends and then follow trends and then dislodge their heads from their asses after all that tail chasing.

I was driving around getting groceries tonight and I decided to try my luck with the radio. I have to be honest - I don't like listening to it anymore. I know why radio stations keep playing the same music that nobody cares about anymore (It's because the record labels hire a 'promoter' who pays the radio station off), but I can't understand why these stations haven't smartened up. You see there was a 'scare' in the last few years. A lot of radio stations closed and others had to shift their 'sound' to what the kids were listening to. Apparently this thing called the internet is really diffusing the big radio station audiences.

No shit.

Maybe it's because people can listen to the music they want, WHEN they want to on the internet. Or maybe it's because the internet radio stations are less about being paid off by dirty record executives and more about playing the music the fans want to hear. Or perhaps - just perhaps, mind you - the Internet Radio Stations actually cater to their audience. I mean Jesus. I don't listen to Edge 102.1 to hear the traffic, or how the Leafs did last night or to hear a couple of jackasses trying to be funny. I'll go to a talk radio station or a sports station for that stuff. I listen to 102.1 (rarely) because it's supposed to be a music station. But this is decreasingly the case. I flipped through 6 stations tonight for almost three minutes (of talking, useless information and advertising), only to land on the new Nickelback song.

Un. Buh. Lieveable.

That's almost a whole other rant. It's bad enough that the entire Canadian content on our radio stations is fulfilled with such shitty acts as Nickelback, Our Lady Peace, Billy Talent, Alexisonfire and Broken Social Scene. Ok, that argument is partly a matter of taste. But more so, the argument is about diversity. Sure, play the shitty Canadian music, but could we not also play something new instead of playing the stale Our Lady Peace single for the 3rd time today? If radio bigwigs substituted a new song from a new Canadian band instead of every 3rd daily spin from all these big label Canadian acts, we would have a much healthier and much stronger music scene in Canada.

We should all borrow the mentality of a band that some friends of mine are in. Check them out @ www.thepopulars.com. They believe the time is ripe for:

"Musical revolution. To burn down the house that rock built and rebuild with fresh intensity, raw emotion and pure passion and commitment. To clear the air in a very tepid artistic climate."

Amen, brothers.

Once upon a time...

I've done some things in my life that I'm not proud of. Sadly, there's too many to get into right now. But, my stint doing a children's play in Winnipeg, called "Danny, King of the Basement" is near the top of the list. The show was wonderful. The cast involved was great. But, it's tough to be 2000 km from home for three months. It takes some getting used to. And thus far in my life, the women I've dated have not gotten used to it. And so, there I was in Winnipeg, doing a childrens show. I had been there for about three weeks rehearsing the show (it was a really tiring, really gruelling 45 minute show - because I was 'Danny' and I never left the stage for more than 30 seconds). So, all was ready and then I got dumped the night before the play opened and I got properly drunk. And by properly, I mean well beyond the point of excessively. Anyway, this particular children's theatre had shows at 11am and 1pm. That doesn't leave a lot of time to sleep a hangover off. I stumbled into work (I threw up three times on the way) because you need to be there at least half an hour before the show start. After a great deal of cold water on my face, several advil, a litre of gatorade and half a croissant, I thought I was ready to jump into my costume. I was wrong. I had to throw up for another five minutes and then I got into my costume. Charming.

Acting is about being in the moment. All the lights, all the costumes, all the music and sound effects - they're not important. The immediacy of how you behave and think is what makes a riveting actor. The past is irrelevant and the future is supposed to be unseeable, so you can't go thinking ahead. Acting is about focusing on everything that's happening in the immediate area and encorporating all of those into the present. The text is the same every show, but what feeds it and fuels it, changes and - hopefully - improves the show by small degrees. At least, that's the theory.

Well, that's all bullshit. At least it's bullshit when you say your first line, burp and the taste of scope and vomit washes through your mouth. I'm sure you'll agree that it becomes difficult to focus on anything but the taste, the cold sweat and the churning, dizzy sensation that's running rampant through your body. I would liken this experience to getting on a subway about 12 hours into a bout of food poisoning. I knew I had 9 stops to make, but I also knew that 1L of gatorade, 2 advil and 1/2 a croissant were unhappy with their purchase in my stomach. What to do? What to do.

I did what any pro actor in such a scenario would do. I said my lines as fast as I could and when I finally got to run offstage for my 30 second break (about 25 minutes into the show), I vomited my soul into a garbage. And then ran back to the stage to repeat the process.

I'm not boasting about this. It's idiocy. It's lunacy. And I wish I could say it was the only time something like this has happened to me. But I'd be lying. Life is full of peaks and valleys. Some of us have sharper inclines than others. And some of us have sharp declines as well. And so many of my declines co-incide with childrens theatre. I don't know how teachers do it. Or parents, for that matter. It takes so much energy and patience and kindness to care for a child. They make me want to drink. A lot. And so, given the events that happened this past Monday, I hope the band makes it sooner rather than later. Because - as I look on my own personal horizon - I see a steep decline in the middling distance. You see, at the Chapter's where I'm presently working, they have a 'story time'. About 15-20 mothers and one or more of their children arrive and at 10:30 a nice person reads a story and sings a few songs to these kids. Well, that 'nice' person took a leave of absence last week and the store had no one to take over the story time duties. Guess who got conned into it? The girl who works in the childrens section picked out some books and handed them to me as I sat down in front of the kids.

I'm telling you, I now understand what 'Nam flashbacks are like. I sat in front of that restless, shifting, screaming sea of little bodies and the only line that went through my head was, "The horror. The horror." My lip and my eye were twitching and I had a strong craving for straight gin. Anyway, I manged to pull myself together and give an animated and heart-wrenching reading of 'Teddy Bear'. And after a brief discussion on teddy bears, I attempted a sing-a-long reading of 'Skip to My Loo.' Who knew that song had five bloody verses? If I didn't have the script in front of me, I would not have known that "Cows in the bedroom holler 'Moo, cow, Moo!" Anyway, I got through it. No vomiting. No booze. No sweat. And then I went back downstairs and immersed myself in the cd section - where I belong. And I thought, 'Thank God that's the end of that.'

Wrong.

My manager told me about an hour later that several women had requested that I do story time again. Apparently they were particularly moved by my rendition of 'Skip to My Loo.' Uhhhh. So, my manager has asked me to bring my guitar in to work on Thursday and charged me with another episode of 'story time'. I'm unsure how to follow up my inaugural performance. Zeppelin's too long, Pink Floyd's too out there, Raffi's too creepy and Hendrix doesn't work unless I can hump something and light it on fire (all unacceptable options with the children so proximal). If you have any suggestions, please let me know. And if you can't find me at Chapters on 10:30 on Thursday morning, check the bathroom or the nearest garbage can (follow the smell of gin). I'll be paying tribute.

Marathon man...

My dad and two of my cousins are supposed to be running a marathon today. I ran the same marathon (in Minneapolis) with my dad and my sister several years ago. Although I did finish (a story for another today), I seen no reason to ever submit myself to that degree of punishment and misery again. I salute these brave men and I hope they have a quick, painless and tragedy-free 26.2 miles. To your right is my nephew, Gavin. I have a picture of him in his New Balance running shoes, but it just won't seem to load. So, there he is with his head propped up at the age of two months. I believe that he's just running the 5k this year.