As today marks the 50th anniversary of President John F. Kennedy's assassination, here's a link to the song I wrote about Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, and the lyrics: http://www.amazon.com/The-Stain/dp/B003P2NPS4
Oh, well do I remember that bleak November day
I was stationed as an Airman out at Andrews Air Force Base
I can’t forget the moment you descended from the plane
For you refused to change your skirt so they would see the stain
The woolen suite you wore was pink with matching pillbox hat
You looked like a drift of blossoms on the navy Lincoln’s back
Zapruder’s homemade movie blurs the colors like Monett
But clearly I remember the vivid crimson stain
You were mindful of the photographs the press would surely take
From Parkland to Bethesda, The Oath inside the plane
“They need to see what they have done,” Mrs. Johnson heard you say
So you refused to change your suite so they would see the stain
Oh, The Dallas Times-Herald said it might rain
But the Texas sun beamed down on your motorcade
If only the bulletproof top had remained,
How many lives might have changed for the better?
So much depends on the weather
Then Monday found you wearing black, your children, powder blue
Your son salutes the casket like he sees the soldiers do
Of all the symbols of your grief—the graves eternal flame—
The one that I remember first will always be the stain
Friday, November 22, 2013
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Open Mic Stereotypes
During
2010-2012, I played dozens of open mic nights in bars throughout the Midwest.
Open mics were my last resort as a touring singer-songwriter. I would try to
book paying gigs first (at house concerts, colleges, pubs, nursing homes); then
coffee house gigs (playing for tips only); and open mics last, as a way to fill
blank dates on my touring calendar. I would sometimes busk on street corners of
posh shopping districts during the day in order earn gas money if I knew I had
a non-paying, open mic scheduled for that night.
After
playing just a few open mics, I noticed that the participants often fell into
one of the following categories:
·
The
Sad Coed: Sophomore undergraduate, singing morose break-up
songs. Her singing is overly-affected. The Sad Coed spends more time picking
her outfit for open mic night than practicing guitar. Frat Boys in attendance
buy her drinks, hoping to take advantage of her vulnerability. She usually
plays a Fender acoustic guitar.
·
The
Frat Boy: He’s the source of songwriting inspiration for The
Sad Coed. The Frat Boy wears kaki cargo shorts (even in winter), flip flops,
polo shirt, and a ball cap (often worn backward). He typically performs Dave
Matthews or Jack Johnson covers. The Frat Boy often plays a Takamine guitar.
·
The
Emasculator: The Sad Coed as a graduate student.
She’s transitioned from sad to bitter, and she’s become proficient playing barre
chords. The Emasculator earned her bachelor’s degree in either English
Literature or Psychology; her master’s degree will be in Women’s Studies. She
covers Ani DiFranco, and her original song lyrics echo the rage of Alanis
Morissette’s “You Oughta Know”. The Emasculator plays an Alvarez guitar.
·
The
Tourist: Touring singer-songwriter on a regional tour. He
couldn’t book a coffee house gig on a Wednesday night, so he came to the open
mic. The Tourist sports rumpled blue jeans and a V-neck T-shirt because he
sleeps in his car. He performs three original, confessional songs that sound
vaguely like Townes Van Zandt. The Tourist announces that he has CD’s for sale;
he doesn’t sell any. The Tourist often travels with a Martin cut-away guitar.
·
The
Aged Hippy: Majored in the ‘60’s before dropping out of
college. When describing his eccentric behavior, friends of The Aged Hippy say,
“He never came back from Woodstock.” The Aged Hippy haunts the main drag of
college towns, and students debate whether or not he’s homeless.
Anti-government protest songs are the staple of The Aged Hippy. His guitar is
an unidentifiable make and model, if he has a guitar; he is known for asking
other open mic performers, “Would it be cool if I borrowed your guitar for my
set, man?”
·
The
Poet with a Guitar: Great lyrics, average singing and
guitar playing abilities. He’s often frustrated because he writes beautiful
songs that aren’t marketable. The Poet with a Guitar has a CD that no one buys.
If he plays cover songs, they’re usually by Paul Simon or Leonard Cohen. He
plays a Larrivee guitar.
·
The
Cocky Kid: He’s in his late teens or early twenties. His
singing is affected and nasal, and he plays rock guitar licks on his Gibson
acoustic. The Cocky Kid’s lyrics abound with cliché. He often looks like a
Johnny Lang clone. His parents and girlfriend are always in attendance. The
Cocky Kid tries to sell his CD from the stage, and he’s surprised when no one
buys one.
·
The
Evangelist: Praise and worship leader of the young adult
service at his church. He majored in music ministry at the local Bible college,
and he buys all of his clothes at The Gap. The Evangelist plays praise and
worship choruses on a Taylor guitar, with his eyes tightly closed. He introduces
his songs by saying, “Father, we just thank you for being with us always, even
in this bar.” His entourage stands in the back of the bar, swaying, eyes
closed, hands in the air.
·
The
iPhone Singer/Rapper: Plugs his iPhone into the P.A. system,
and sings and/or raps to pre-recorded backing tracks. If he sings, he’ll rely
heavily on vocal acrobatics, imitating his favorite soul, R&B, and hip hop
singers. The iPhone Singer/Rapper takes
great offence if anyone refers to him as a karaoke singer.
·
The
Host
of an open mic is often in one of the following four subcategories:
o
The
Gracious Guitar Wizard: Amazing guitarist. He’s usually
clad in a black t-shirt, blue jeans, and sneakers; he doesn’t have time to
worry about stage costumes or gimmicks because he’s always practicing guitar. When
he performs instrumental solos, you’re in for a treat. He’s genuinely affirming
and encouraging of all open mic participants. The Gracious Guitar Wizard makes
a living teaching guitar lessons, playing in jazz ensembles, and hosting open
mics.
o
The
Human Jukebox: Audience members shout the titles of
songs, and this host knows how to play all of them—from George Jones to
Nirvana.
o
The
Vixen: Channels female country singers of the 1960’s. The
Vixen desperately wishes that she was Zooey Deschanel. In addition to playing
guitar, The Vixen will sometimes play ukulele, autoharp, and/or accordion. Beneath
her congenial façade, The Vixen is coldly businesslike, mercilessly pulling
participants from the stage for lack of sufficient talent, or if she wants to
cram late arrivals onto the sign-up sheet.
o
The
Freak Show: Style over substance. The Freak Show invests in
elaborate stage clothes, and projects a stage persona. Examples include The
Tattooed, Bearded Hillbilly; The Tom Waits Wannabe; The Victorian Era
Prostitute; The Goth/Vampire.
If you go to an open
mic in your city, I guarantee that you’ll meet several participants who embody
the stereotypes listed above. Some open mics are worth attending, while others
are awkward, at best. My favorite open mic is at Café Cedar in Parkville, MO.
Brian Ruskin serves as host, and he embodies The Gracious Guitar Wizard
stereotype. A cast of brilliant performers regularly attend Brian’s open mic,
and they all stick around to hear everyone else’s set. Additionally, top-notch,
professional musicians will happily sit in on other performer’s songs, filling
out the musical arrangement. Great fun is always had by everyone. Here’s the
information for Brian Ruskin’s open mic:
Where: Café Cedar, 2 E. Second St., Parkville, MO 64152
When: Tuesdays, 6:30 PM – 9:30 PM
Phone: (816) 505-2233. Call to ensure that the open
mic wasn’t canceled on a particular Tuesday night. Also, call to ensure that
Café Cedar hasn’t moved to a new location; the owners plan to do so soon.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
By Far, The Seventh Best
In December 2010, my employer furloughed me for three weeks without pay . “The Great Recession’s impacted our bottom line,” my boss explained. Temporarily free from the shackles of my soul-crushing day-job, I hastily organized a three-week, musical tour of coffee houses, open mics and homeless shelters.
Traveling from Wichita, I played open mic nights in Lawrence, Kansas; Kansas City, Missouri; and Columbus, Ohio. Most of the performers at these open mics had no interest in listening to other performers; they went home immediately after playing their allotted three songs. Similarly, I didn’t experience much success performing coffee house gigs as an unknown artist in Illinois and Indiana: Annoyed college students, cramming for final exams, scowled at me for breaking the silence, then left en masse, grumbling, “Back to the library.”
Discouraged, I drove on to New York City, where I stayed for a week with The Franciscan Friars of The Renewal—a Catholic religious order founded on the example of St. Francis of Assisi, who dedicated his life to God and serving the poor. The previous June, I visited the friars in order to discern if I had a calling to join their ranks as a Franciscan brother. Quickly recognizing that the idea of living a life similar to St. Francis was far more romantic than actually committing to a life of poverty and celibacy, I discerned that I should continue on my musical path as a singer-songwriter. On my second visit in December, I hoped to scout the NYC music scene, and spend a week helping the friars serve the poor. This desire to serve the poor wasn’t altruistic or noble on my part; I learned during my first visit to the South Bronx the previous June that, as a “voluntourist”, I gain more from “helping” the poor than they gain from my efforts—a potent antidepressant, without negative side effects.
I arrived at St. Crispin Friary in the Melrose section of the South Bronx as snowflakes began dancing in the halos of the street lights. The friars welcomed me into the friary to pray vespers with them. After evening prayer, Brother Joshua, a young, caucasian friar from South Africa, approached me. Like all the friars, Brother Joshua wore sandals, a grey habit, and a white cord, tied around his waist as a belt. The three knots tied on the cord represented the Franciscan vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience. Hanging from this cord were rosary beads, with an oversized crucifix. Like the other friars, his hair was buzzed. But unlike the other friars, Brother Joshua maintained a neat goatee; his patchy facial hair wouldn’t allow him to grow a foot-long, unruly beard like most of the other friars. Because he knew that I’m a singer-songwriter, Brother Joshua asked me to perform a concert for the men housed at the friars’ Padre Pio Shelter, located behind St. Crispin Friary.
Brother Joshua gave the homeless men at the shelter the option of either listening to me perform, or watching television—their usual nightly routine. All but one of the men chose to watch television.
Julio (a Hispanic, folk-music-enthusiast from the South Bronx) stood three feet away from me as I began playing. As he swayed to the rhythm of my guitar—eyes closed, face pointed toward the ceiling—his diminutive, emaciated frame reminded me of Giovanni Bellini’s painting of St. Francis in ecstasy. He clapped and cheered in the middle of songs when he enjoyed a particular lyric. After three songs, Julio stopped me. “Jack,” he said, “I’ve gotta tell ya: I have seen a lot, a lot of guitar players in New York City. And you are by far…by far…the seventh best I have ever seen!” After playing another original song, Julio asked if I knew anything by John Denver. When I told him I didn’t, he asked, “Is it okay if I take a quick smoke break?”
I waited for Julio to return from chain-smoking outside, and I was grateful for the enthusiasm with which he listened to my songs. I recognized that he was (by far) the most attentive audience for whom I’d ever performed.
As this blog post is my inaugural post, I suspect that few eyes will read these words. Therefore, you who read this post, represent my most attentive readership…so far. Visit Jack Korbel's music website: http://www.jackkorbel.com/
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