Friday, November 22, 2013

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


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.

 Visit Jack Korbel's music website: http://www.jackkorbel.com/
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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/