Michael Engberg: News

I used to often tell the story of my grandfather Engberg. He made bathtub gin during the Prohibition, and was a trumpet player who played in the community band, as well as some of the dance bands that would come through town, from time to time. I have one vivid memory of my grandfather. I was probably about five years old, and there was a family reunion of all the Engbergs and Kochs (my grandmother's side of the family; I am equal parts Swedish and German on my father's side). The family reunion began as a picnic in one of the town parks, and eventually everyone made their way to the Nira tavern. This is thetavern that Grandfather Engberg started, once Prohibition was repealed. There was a new song on the jukebox, a thing called "The Twist", with Chubby Checker. There was a dance that went with the song, and everyone was talking about it, but noone was brave enough to get up and try to do the dance. No one but me and my grandfather, that is. Everyone else smiled, or laughed, as the old man and the five-year-old boy danced to the Twist. But I cherish that memory.
For years, I would give Grandpa Engberg credit for my being a musician (and perhaps for some of the bold spirit that has moved me through life). Then, one day, I played at a retirement home where a few friends of my mother lived. I told that story about my grandfather, and afterwards, my mother said to me, "just don't forget that I played the organ and the french horn, and a good part of your talent comes from me, too."
Very true.
Not only that, but my mother has been a registered nurse, a small business owner, a teacher, a real estate agent, and so much more, over the years. There was a particularly hard year, when my father was gravely ill and bedridden for months. My mother, out of necessity, got her own insurance license and ran Dad's insurance agency (while still taking care of us kids, and Dad). Her drive and spirit has been relentless, and almost legendary amongst my oldest and closest friends.
There are many wonderful and/or colorful memories of Mom from over the years. There was the time my brother, Steve, and I did some sort of stupid thing, and our mother said, "How many times have I told you not to do that?"
"Seven," I replied, and got my mouth washed out with soap.
In addition to the various achievements I have already listed, Mom was also a Cub Scout den mother, leader of a girls' drill team, and spear-headed several of the town charities. She was a foster mother for a few years, and stayed in touch with our foster sister for years afterward.
Like her father, she has occasionally been accused of being something of a workaholic. What I can say on that score is that Mom was not fond of just sitting around idle. She has always wanted to be doing something.
Some fifteen or sixteen years ago, Mom was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease. In her typical fashion, she took the news head on, and studied everything that was known about the disease. Over the years, she has worked diligently with the doctors to keep the progress of the disease at a minimum (sometimes to the point where some people who did not know her well questioned whether she really had Parkinson's).
I have no problem with giving my mother credit for some of my musical talent. But I would add that it is from her that I have inherited much of my own native drive and energy (and my imagination). From her, I learned not to simply accept things as they are (especially if I wasn't satisfied with the status quo). From her, I learned both how to meet obstacles head on, as well as to practice a measure of discretion from time to time (which has served me well when negotiating with agents and clients, on occasion).
I was hearing a piece about the woman who started the tradition of Mother's Day, and that she wanted it to be a simple remembrance of mothers (and not the incredibly commercialized excuse for the greeting card industry it has become). I try to adhere to that spirit, and I am deeply in debt to my mother for the many, many things she has done for me, given to me, taught me and inspired in me, over the years.
Happy Mother's Day, Mom.
Your proud son,
Michael

About ten years or so ago (on a Sunday afternoon, as I remember), I was relaxing on my futon couch after a gig at Stella's coffeehouse (somethings haven't changed all that much, I guess). When the phone rang, and I was told the person on the other end of the line was Mike Engberg, in Nashville, Tennessee.
You must understand that Michael Engberg isn't one of those particularly common names. It's not like Smith, Jones, Cooper, or whatever (a movie came out his weekend, called "Forgetting Sara Marshall", and National Public Radio found at least three Sara Marshalls to interview about suddenly gaining some measure of notoriety). No, Michael Engberg is not all that common, really; which is why I have actually come to embrace my name. There was a time when I toyed with a stage name. On first moving to Denver, I tried going by the stage name of Iowa Jones (with a nod towards both Indiana Jones and Utah Phillips, as it were), but I wasn't really all that comfortable with it. At some point, I figured that my given birth name was good enough. Moreover, if folks like Dan Fogelberg, or even Art Garfunkel, could get along in the entertainment industry without changing their names, I figured mine wouldn't have to be too much of a handicap, in the long run. In fact, I figured it would help me stand out from the crowd a bit.
So here it is that I get this call from another Michael Engberg (although I think he prefers to be called Mike instead of Michael, which may be some small measure of distinguishing between us, perhaps). The Nashville Michael Engberg was surfing the internet, looking to see what might be found under his name, and had run across my website. It's when he mentioned that his wife's name was Rebecca (which is the name of my ex-wife) that I started to look for the ghost of Rod Serling in the corner of my apartment (and would swear that I could hear the faint strains of The Twilight Zone theme song).
As I understand it, the Nashville Mike Engberg works as something of a Nascar mechanic, or something along those lines. Anyway, he claims that he knows several people in the music industry in Nashville (used to be neighbors with Chet Atkins, I believe).
We haven't talked in the ten years or so since that first phone call, but I got an email from him the other day, where he suggested we might get back in touch, and he offered to be of some help in maybe getting my songs out among some of the music industry folk he knows in Nashville.
So.... why not? And if, by chance, someone were to pick up one of my songs (or I even go down to Nashville and manage to make a name for myself, as it were), I imagine it would make for a pretty cool human-interest story that one Mike Engberg proved helpful to another.
It just gives me one more reason to gather my various songs together in one or another demo version. And yes, I think I need to give the Nashville Mike Engberg a call, and see how he's doing.
I hope he's doing well.

I have to admit that I am rather looking forward to Spring Break (which officially starts on Monday, the 10th of this month, but effectively begins today, Friday, the 7th). I am looking to spend a couple of days visiting family in Iowa, but I am most looking forward to getting in a lot of extra guitar practice and making some progress on some of the recording projects I've been working on. The recording studio remains very much a work in progress. I still need to insulate and drywall one wall, and do some painting and installing of some of the acoustic tiles. But I have managed to get some good recording done, even as these various details remain to be finished. I am still hopeful that I might have two or three new CD's ready to go by sometime this summer.
Also, I'm having a good deal of fun expanding my knowledge of both ProTools and Reason. And I am looking forward to taking my music in some new directions. I am looking to a a good deal more composing (in a variety of styles), and having the expanded use of recording and MIDI technology makes for a lot of exciting new ideas.
Meanwhile, my roommate, Pony, has headed off to continue her globe-trotting. She just spent a few days in New York, and is now headed to Prague (and from there to Italy, Thailand, and eventually back to Australia). I can look forward to seeing her again sometime in late July, but, in the meantime, it's a bit quiet on the homefront. Of course, she has left me in a new house and with two young cats (Zebie is about six months old, and Sam is nearly three months old). Granted, the cats provide a form of companionship (to be sure!!). Suffice to say they are a good deal more active than the turtles (who are surviving the cats, thanks to a wire mesh cover on their terrarium, and they don't have much interest in the cats).
In short, life goes on, with plenty to do and hardly any time to be bored.
In regards to the music, the music industry is in such flux these days that it gives everyone, from major labels to the individual musician a reason to assess where you are and where you want to go. In some ways, it can be one of the best opportunities for musicians. The internet has made it possible to get your stuff out there in a way never seen (or should I say heard?) before. On the other hand, it makes it more challenging to find a way to stand out from all the other excellent musicians also trying to be heard.
To that end, I face a steep learning curve: learning new things about internet and website usage, computer graphic design, mixing and mastering, digital downloads, ringtones, and much more (not to mention keeping up with some of the business/legal aspects of a changing industry).
Spring Break, indeed!!

There is a bug of some sort laying waste to students and faculty at Arapahoe College. Dr Mat (the chair of the music dept.) has come in the last few days so weak from this illness that he has taken to using a microphone to help carry his voice in class lectures.
So, of course, with germs flying left and right, it was only a matter of time before it got the better of me.
I tried my best: eating good, healthy meals, trying to get plenty of sleep (and something that resembled exercise, here and there). But part of it is probably the workload. I've been doing five classes and 18 private guitar students per week (and that's just at the college; nevermind the dozen or so students I'm teaching at the Olde Town Pickin' Parlor; plus gigs, trying to practice and all). It's made for long days, and by the time the weekend hits, I've been feeling rather run down. So I've been using the weekends to do as much resting up as possible. I would like to be using the weekends to work on recording projects and the like, but at some point I have to try to recharge the batteries (as it were).
I am so looking forward to Spring Break.
Still, in small degrees, there is a bit of progress, here and there. I do manage a bit of practicing, and once in a while a bit of work with the recording equipment. It's just going to all take a bit longer than I might like, I suppose. But I am still hopeful that I might manage something in the way of new recordings by this summer. The goal is to get a new CD by the Abbey Rogues (of some kick-ass medieval, renaissance, celtic and ethnic music), and perhaps a collection of renaissance and celtic music for solo guitar, as well.
I am writing this latest blog entry as I take a brief break in practicing, but now it's probably time to get back to work.
At least as long as I am feeling healthy and rested again.

Back when I was in college (more years ago than I think I want to admit), I recorded an album as a senior honors project (this allowed me to have "cum laude" added onto my diploma; yay!). The album was called "The Road To Forbidden Ecstacy", and I created a "band name": Machingbyrd (people often pronounce the "ch" as a soft sound, but it was meant to be a hard "ch", as in mach, the speed of sound - a pun-like reference to Mockingbird, as it were).
This was my first real foray into the process of recording and producing an album, and I sold a few copies, here and there. The vast majority of them sat in my parents' basement for years, until they finally tossed most of them out. I think I kept about a dozen copies for myself (they still sit in a closet in my new place; still in the shrink wrapping, no less).
A little over a month or so ago, I got an email from a guy in Wyoming, asking if I was the Michael Engberg responsible for "The Road To Forbidden Ecstacy", by Machingbyrd. He had found a copy of the album at some used record store in Oregon, and wanted some background details on the project. I admitted that I was, indeed, that Michael Engberg, and told him a bit about the where, when, how, and so forth.
About a week or so later, he emailed me again, thanking me for the information. He told me that he had been doing some searching around on the internet, and that this album was "much sought after".
Now, it's not just some pose of modesty that makes me ask: who is seeking after this thing? It's been years since I've even listened to the project, and it had been almost forgotten, to a good extent.
I told this story to a couple of my friends (folks who are a bit more adept at getting around on the internet than I am, and don't mind taking the time to do so), and they found a few different and interesting sites that featured copies of this album. There was a very flattering review at one site (why couldn't I have got that kind of review some 25 years ago, I wonder?), and there were a couple of sites selling "near-mint" copies of the album (one with my autograph, no less). People are asking some $250 for this album!!
Well, good, then. In that case, let me come out of the woodwork (so to speak) and let the internet community know that I am that Michael Engberg who recorded Machingbyrd's "The Road To Forbidden Ecstacy". And I would like to direct fans of that early effort to this website, and to some of my more recent projects (available at CDBaby.com, among other places).
And now that I have begun my own home recording studio, I can assure my "fans" that there is a great deal of new music to come (in all sorts of styles and genres).
Happy New Year, and here's to the launching of much new music!!

Chris Daniels (frontman for the band, Chris Daniels and the Kings) returned to Arapahoe Community College to do a bit of a talk for the Music Business and Law class. The topic was the changing business models in the music industry; fueled in no small part by the internet.
Madonna recently signed a deal with "Live Nation"; a concert promotion company (and subsidiary company of Clear Channel Communications). She has one more CD due to her Warner Bros. label (plus a "Greatest Hits" collection), then she is free and clear and essentially working for Live Nation under what is known as a "360" deal. The 360 stands for 360 degrees; or, in other words, an "all around" deal. This is an all-inclusive deal, whereby Live Nation will get a piece of everything Madonna: not just concerts, but CD's (and digital downloads), sync rights (anything that might end up on a TV or movie soundtrack, or even used in commercials), merchandise of any sort, and (for all we know) some portion of Madonna's income from acting gigs (yeah, right; well, it could happen).
Meanwhile, record company Sony/BMG has announced that all signing of new artists will be "360" deals. All of this is in recognition of the fact that CD sales are dropping; more each year, and in a dramatic fashion.
Meanwhile, Prince distributed thousands of copies of his latest CD in a London newspaper. But he also had booked five concerts in London, which all sold out. So, where at one time the concerts were used to promote records (or, later, CD's), this has been turned upside down, and now the recordings are used to promote the concerts.
Along similar lines, Radiohead released their last album strictly by way of digital download from their website (with an inviation to their fans, upon downloading the album to "pay what you like"). But, again, Radiohead is planning a tour, and expect to more than recoup their costs from concert attendance.
It's a New World Order (to paraphrase the first President Bush), and it's got the major record labels in quite a panic.
On the other hand, the internet has levelled the playing field (to some extent, at least) for emerging artists. It is entirely possible for a new, upcoming group to create a buzz about their music by virtue of a Myspace or Facebook page. You can hook yourself up for digital downloads through such sites as CDBaby.com, TheOrchard.com, or Itunes. Pandora's Box is a service that streams music to you according to your choices, then (after analyzing your choices) sends along other music that they think you will also like (thus giving new or alternate artists a shot at more of an audience).
CD's will still survive: as an impulse by at performances (and maybe even "instant" concert recordings made available shortly after a performance). Also, there will be audiophiles who will prefer CD's (or even vinyl) to MP3 downloads (at least until they manage to upgrade the quality a good deal more). But, again, the face of the music industry is changing drastically.
What a brave new world, then.

"Pretend you're driving a van stuffed with some $50,000 of instruments and equipment," I told my student, "and the road you're on is covered with about 2 inches of ice. Now, play this piece at the same speed you'd be driving on that road."
My student proceeded to play the piece with the necessary slowness and concentration. He still made one mistake, but it was only one.
Ricardo Iznaola speaks of the "tempo of mastery", where you play slow enough to preclude any mistakes. It's a hard lesson, though: all of us have an urge to play, to do everything fast. And in the process of playing slow, your mind is forced to concentrate in a way that many of us find genuinely uncomfortable. But I can say (from much personal experience) that there is a lot to be gained from this approach. Once your hands have learned everything they need to know about a piece of music, once you have made all the necessary decisions about a piece of music in a most thoughtful and deliberate way, then the speed is the easiest thing to add.
It can become a form of meditation. But then, I find practicing guitar, in general, has become a form of meditation for me. And sort of a puzzle, as well. Another part of successful practicing is learning to stay very much in the present moment, and treat whatever issues you are confronted with as a sort of puzzle to figure out ("what is making this passage difficult? Is it the right hand, or the left hand? Is it the angle of the fingers, or even a subtle irregularity in the shape of the nails?").
While practicing, it does little good to think about what you played yesterday, or a week ago, or whatever. It does little good to drift away on thoughts of how you'd like to be playing by the end of the week, or next year, or whatever. It's all about the present moment. And since you will be spending more time practicing on your instrument than playing in a concert or recital situation, you had best learn how to embrace the practicing process and enjoy it for what it is. Which is how it has come to be another form of meditation for myself. As I immerse myself in the present moment, concentrate on what the hands are doing and what sort of sound I am producing, the rest of the world retreats for that space of time. Often, after a good practice session, I come away feeling refreshed, my thoughts more clear.

I have been chronicling my adventures in impending home-ownership through some of these recent blogs. The latest bit of news is that my closing date has been moved. Again. For the second time.
In this case, my Australian friend had called the Credit Union to see what needed to be done for the closing (which was supposed to be yesterday, the 5th of October). We figured something needed to be done about having a check on hand and all that. The Credit Union replied, "What do you mean you're closing tomorrow?" They claimed to have no word of it. Further, they informed us that my loan had been turned down by the underwriter (and they were going to tell me about the little problem.....when?!?).
There were some long (and loud) conversations, trying to straighten the mess out. The bottom line: it turned out that the credit union was not in a position to help me with the loan. So, 'way back, months ago, when I went through the pre-qualify process, or even when I accepted the counter-offer on the house from the seller (and I asked the credit union if everything was alright, if they anticipated any problems, if there was anything else I needed to do), why couldn't they have said something?!? Why did this have to wait till the day before closing (and the second scheduled closing date at that), and why did I have to find out by contacting them. instead of them keeping me apprised of what was going on?
Credit Union of Colorado (formerly know as Colorado State Employees Credit Union, or CSECU): I don't recommend them for mortgages. In fact, often leaving many messages (and not having them returned), and in light of the ultimate turn-out of events, I find them quite unhelpful and somewhat incompetent.
I found another mortgage company that was able to grant me the loan (it helps that I have a good credit rating; 'don't know why that didn't help with Credit Union of Colorado, but there it is). The closing date was rescheduled for later this month (in a couple of weeks, give or take); at which point, everything should be good to go.
I have shared the details of this whole experience with various friends, and the horror stories are coming back. It seems there are many tales of stress-filled days preceding the acquisition of a house. I had been warned that it could be a somewhat stressful process, but.....
Oh well.
As my friend, Roxanna, put it, "By Christmas, you will be all settled in, and all of this will be nothing but a funny story."
I will look forward to that.
Meanwhile, I continue with teaching at the college, as well as private lessons at the Pickin' Parlor, and the playing of gigs and all.
At Arapahoe College, I was teaching one of my students a tune by the Grateful Dead, and suggested that he might try the Denver Public Library, and see if they might have a CD of music of the Dead, to listen to.
"You mean Barnes and Noble?" he responded.
"No," I replied. "There are these places, called public libraries. They are financed by tax dollars, and people can go there, get a library card, and check out books, CD's, or videos, or DVD's. You can use these things for one to three weeks, turn them back in, and not pay anything (unless you're late returning them)."
Such is the state of education (some days).
I suppose there may be some sort of silver lining in the delay on my home-buying/moving plans. I now have a bit of breathing space, which I can use to prepare mid-term exams and do some practicing on some new repertoire. That's all a good thing.
And I slept in this morning: all the way to 7am!!
What a decadent lifestyle I lead!

My father is just about ecstatic.
The Chicago Cubs are in the National League playoffs: something that hasn't been seen in 99 years. You have to understand that my family have possessed that most unique form of masochism for at least three generations; they are die-hard Cub fans.
So here I am, in Denver, and all of the the Front Range (at least!) is in a frenzy about the Colorado Rockies, who last night won the wild card admission into the playoffs. And me: I'm ever so quietly rooting for the Cubs.
No offense to the Rockies (and were they to ultimately win, I will bask in the afterglow as much as any Colorado resident), but the Rockies are relative punks. As a baseball team, they've only been in existence for what....? Ten years or so? The Cubs have been slugging away at that Holy Grail of entry into the World Series for 99 years. They are one of the true underdogs, and you've got to have some sympathy, man!
I'll have to look up Steve Goodman's song about a dying Cub fan, and maybe work it into the repertoire. That's probably the best thing I could do (since trying to play guitar with your fingers crossed just doesn't cut it).

I am teaching a course on Music Business and Law at Arapahoe College this semester. I have taught such a course in the past (the first time while I was still a college student, myself; at Coe College), but it's been a few years since the last time I did so.
This time around, I have the weight of some 30 years working as a professional musician to lend new insight. In the class, we discuss things like recording contracts and such, but there's an equal emphasis put on more basic things; like putting together a promo kit, forming an S-Corporation (for a legal business structure), marketing you and your music, and other such topics.
Because, to be brutally honest, the number of people who get the big, multi-million dollar recording contract is probably comparable to the number of people who win the lottery. You can plan for something like that, keep it as the ultimate goal, perhaps. But in the meantime, you can do something about just making a living making music. I think that's as vital (if not moreso) than discussing how someone like Prince has negotiated his way around the big labels.
Besides, business models are a bit in flux of late. The internet is changing the way that people find and acquire music. And now small, independent label (and individual artists) have a chance to get their music out to a welcoming audience in new ways. It is my hope to explore some of these new options and suggest some new business models; some new approaches.
And along the way, I keep learning a few new things, too.
As I keep up with the teaching, the gigs (and the never-ending need to practice), I am getting ready to move into my new place, and getting more excited about the prospect. I am hopeful that, with this move, I will be able to expand my own activities. I am way overdue for a new CD (or two, or four, or ten, maybe). So I'm looking forward to doing alot more recording.
But before I even get to that point, there will be a good bit of cleaning, painting, fixing up, moving in.....
Sleep is so over-rated.

The Marines had the old slogan that they were looking for "a few good men". I understand that search, at this point.
For years, I have made the claim that I measure my wealth in the quality (and, to some extent, the quantity) of my friends. In some ways, that claim will be put to the test over the next few weeks, as I make the move into the new place. Closing on the new place is scheduled for the afternoon of Sept. 28th, at which point (as I understand it), I will be given keys to the place and officially have leave to start the move. The first task is cleaning and painting: wiping out the many and various carcasses of bugs and the collection of dust, then laying down paint in various rooms. So that first weekend is all about cleaning and painting (with two coats to put on, in some cases). For this, I am already contacting various friends to help; some on that Friday (the 28th), others on the Saturday.
Actual moving is due to start throughout that following week, then. Pony (my Australian houseguest) and I will be packing up books and clothes and the many and various other household objects into boxes, labelling them, and carting a batch, here and there, throughout that week. It will be the following weekend when I try to muster up some of my most manly-men friends to help with the moving of big objects (couches, desks, beds, etc.).
Between now and then, there are a thousand details to see to, all the while trying to keep up with practicing guitar, rehearsing the band, playing gigs, teaching classes and private lessons.
Sleep is so under-rated.
Still, I had a chance to wander through the new place yesterday: taking measurements of rooms, planning what color of paint will work in this or that room, and which furniture will go where. The whole prospect is both exciting and a bit scary (I'm sure I'm not telling anything new to anyone who has made such a move before). And all the time I find myself wondering how I managed to collect so much stuff in this little apartment over the span of some eight years! Where did all this stuff come from!?!
The moving process is affecting my brain, too, I think. I look at this blog entry, and it doesn't seem all that very clever or insightful to me; more just a thinking out loud of the thousand-and-one things that must get done.
Come the next blog entry, I will hope to be back into the music mode; back into considering some of the more creative aspects of the life of an artist.
And quite possibly, in the comfort of my new home.

After some eight-plus years of living in the apartment I presently call home, I am getting set to move. I am about to take on a mortgage, and become part of the homeowning class. Everyone tells me this is the time to buy a place, as it is a buyer's market. And I have found a nice place: a townhouse with a half-finished basement (which I can convert into a home office/recording studio/workspace). It's part of the American Dream, isn't it?
It is this chance to build my own recording studio in the basement (that and some tax deductions) that persuades me to take this step. I am working towards making my recording label as independent and "in-house" as possible. Overtime, I hope to invest in a CD-duplication machine, and even a shrink-wrap machine. With any luck, I hope to have a handful of new albums out and available over the next 18 months or so.
But I am also looking more and more towards the internet, and the potential of digital downloads. The internet is changing the traditional business models of the recording industry, and I hope to get in on those changes.
There is an old Chinese curse: may you be born to live in interesting times. The nature of the 'curse' is that interesting times usually equate into trying, challenging times. Granted, creating a working recording studio and building a small, independent recording label into something more visible (and profitable) does present its challenges. But it's not all bad.
It's not bad at all.

I am starting into the third week of classes at Arapahoe college today, and I've been having the fun of teaching a course on Music Business and Law there. One of the main thrusts of this class is to examine the traditional business model of the recording artist who gets signed by a recording label (presumably.... hopefully.... a major one, like Sony, or RCA, or whoever), and the various people who such an artist would be working with (a manager, a business manager, an agent, a music lawyer...). I am presenting this information to the class, but I have decided to add another dimension, as well. Because, to be quite honest, the number of people who actually get the luscious, multi-million dollar contract from a major recording label is probably pretty equal to the number of people who win the Powerball lottery. Meanwhile, there are hundreds of musicians (or thousands, even) who are getting along from day to day, making a living while making music. So there are the day-to-day practicalities of putting together a promo package, managing a band, creating an office (perhaps a nice home office in your basement), and dealing with taxes, contracts with local booking agents, and whatever.
Also, there are more and more musicians who are using the internet as a means to distribute their recordings (via digital download) that, in many respects, renders the major labels less relevant today. So I am trying to address these other issues in this class, in addition to the traditional "brass ring" that has been described in the past.
There was a point last week, when the conversation in this class had started to turn a bit more towards the marketing side of things (how to get the world to know who you are and what you do). And in the midst of this conversation, I sort of took the pulpit, as it were, and tried to impress upon my class that the most important thing, at the root of all of our study and conversation, is that you have good product; which, for us, means a quality musical experience. That doesn't mean you have to be a virtuoso musician in the mold of Joshua Bell, or Yo Yo Ma. Nor do you have to emulate the musical styles of a popular artist (anyone from the Beatles to Green Day). We're not looking to create clones, here. Rather, you need to find out who you are, how that comes through musically, and how can you effectively share that with an audience. You don't necessarily want to be the next Elton John or Billy Joel, but it wouldn't hurt to gain some insight into the craft they have employed in the songs they have written, and the honesty of message and emotion that can be found in the best of them.
Over the years, I have had the occasional guitar student ask me who is the "best guitarist", and I always take this to be a somewhat ludicrous question, on a certain level. But I will answer it quite sincerely. I will point out that you can hear someone like Clapton, or Hendrix, or Santana, or Van Halen, or Satriani, and you know within a few notes who that person is, because who they are comes through in the way they play. So, while I don't necessarily believe in a "best guitarist" (what criteria would you employ to make that judgement?), I do believe there is such a thing as finding out who you are, and putting that across in your music in such a way that everyone knows you be what you do. And I think that is perhaps the highest goal you can aspire to (and, of course, that is in no way limited to a guitar player, but would apply to any musical effort; any creative effort at all, really).
Of course, it can take a lifetime to find out who you are, and put it across in your music. Recordings and concerts are snapshots of that journey along the way. And some people do it in the intense glare of major media, and a big recording label. But the rest of us can still find a way to share who we are with an audience, and take care of business, along the way. That is what I hope to pass along to the students in my Music Business Class.
But, again, one has to start with the presumption of creating the best and most honest music you can. Anything else is just lipstick on a pig.

I looked at the last time I wrote in this blog, and, admittedly, it's been too long. In the interim, I spent some three weeks travelling east with my Australian friend. We stopped in Iowa to pick up some things for my sister (who lives on the East Coast, is expecting her second child, and needs the baby things she'd left stored with my brother, in our hometown of Burlington). I got to Burlington to find that my sister had indeed arranged a UHaul trailer for me to hitch onto my van, and she had collected the various things that she wanted taken out to her in Maryland, but the many and various boxes were still in the basement of our brother, Tom's office building. About an hour of hauling boxes up in Iowa's summer heat and humidity (Burlington is located next to the Mississippi river, so there is plenty of humidity) and a quick "brunch" of sorts, and we were back on the road, heading east towards Maryland and the Washington, D.C. area.
We visited Oxford, Ohio, on the way (home of Miami University, where I earned my masters degree, so many years ago, now). We stayed the night with my old friends, John and Bobbi Kinne, and had a good time catching up. The next day, we made it to Maryland, dropping off the load of stuff with my sister and spending the night with her, her husband, and my niece, Alyssa.
The next couple of days, Pony and I were hosted by our friend, Gordon and Stacia, who fed us and treated us most graciously (probably the most restful and vacation-like part of the trip, actually). Then it was off to Pennsylvania, to the Pennsic War (a medieval/renaissance-recreation camping event). We took a couple of hours to stop at Gettysburg and check out the displays there.
We spent some nine days camping at the Pennsic War, and it rained six of those nine days. For all that, it was still a good time. Although I had been to this event many times before, I'd never stayed to the very end (to help with the final packing and all). This time I did so. In fact, I ended up being the very last person to see the campsite in my rearview mirror.
Heading back west, we stopped back in Iowa to visit with my folks for the last week of the trip. It was a visit of mixed emotions: my parents were preparing to celebrate their 50th wedding anniversay, and, at the same time, my mother had just been released from the hospital. She has been battling with Parkinson's disease for over fifteen years, and, over the last few months, she had been struggling with problems concerning over-medication. Part of the problem was too many doctors, each with their own agenda (and each prescribing different medications), and noone communicating with each other (at one point, my mother was taking some 12 medications daily). A couple of weeks in the hospital had allowed her to adjust the various medications to a more manageable minimum, and to start on some physical therapy. She has always been a strong-willed and resourceful woman, so I am hopeful that she may once again be able to draw upon those resources. I realize that Parkinson's is a degenerative disease, and that no cure has been found as yet, but I am hopeful that she may still have some good years ahead of her (to enjoy grandchildren and whatnot).
During our stay, I talked Mom and Dad into teaching Pony and me how to play Bridge. Many of my friends play the game, and it was something I was wanting to learn someday, and my parents had played for years. It was a good, perhaps even inspired idea, as it gave Mom something to do with us that kept her very engaged.
Finally getting back to Denver, on the 18th of August, the new semester began at Arapahoe College on the 20th. In addition to my usual classload, I am teaching a class on Music Business and Law, and another on Audio Production (I'll speak more about each of those classes in upcoming blog entries). It's going to be a busy semester, but I am looking forward to stretching myself a bit, along the way.
Two weeks into the semester, and the Labor weekend was a welcome respite. I had two gigs on Sunday (a coffeehouse gig at Stella's, and a wedding in Breckenridge), but still had time to catch a movie, eat some Thai food, enjoy the company of friends.
I'm waiting for Autumn, and cooler weather. I am a Viking at heart, and have always enjoyed the cooler weather over the heat of summer. As my friend, Gary, would say, "in the winter cold, you can always thrown on another garment, but in the summer heat, you can strip naked and still be hot" (I agree with that observation).
Over the last couple of weeks, I've been pretty good at practicing at least a couple of hours each day, and it's starting to pay off. The hands are getting stronger, faster; the prowess and stamina are increasing, and my technique is improving a bit. As a guitarist, as a teacher, and as a composer, I feel there is still much to learn and do.
And I'm looking forward to it.

My apartment doesn't have air conditioning, or even any sort of swamp cooler. I have some half a dozen fans in perpetual motion, keeping me addicted to Xcel's electricity.
All of which adds motivation for teaching private lessons at Arapahoe Community College this summer, as well as the Olde Town Pickin' Parlor (in Arvada). Sure, I like teaching lessons anyway, but sitting in air-conditioned comfort provides a bit of extra incentive.
Summers always get a bit slack. A lot of students take the summer off (or at least a month or two, here or there). Usually, this is balanced out by playing weddings, and I've had a few of those this summer. Most of the weddings are set in the mountains, which gives me another means of escaping the heat of Denver for a bit (although even the mountains have been warmer this summer; take note, Al Gore).
The slower summer season does give me a chance to work on some new music. There are plans for me to perform one of the Boccherini Quintets (for string quartet and guitar) with the other string teachers at Arapahoe College, sometime this Fall. And I've been working on material that I hope will ultimately result in some three new CD-projects to be released over the next year or so.
As I write this, it can make summer sound somewhat uneventful. To the contrary, however, I have put a bid on a house (looking at homeownership in a truly serious way for the first time in my life), and my mother's health has become dangerously fragile; all of which has created an emotional roller coaster every bit as scary as anything Elitch's might offer.
In the midst of all this, my Australian houseguest, Pony, has proved something of a godsend. Actually, she was the one to find the house that I am bidding on (the girl seems to have a good bit of time on her hands). And she has been a source of some comfort and encouragement, as I contemplate how badly things are going for my mother (and how much this is tearing my father up, too, for that matter).
So, under the quiet, dull, unrelenting heat of summer, many changes are wrought.

I have a new roommate. My friend, Leone (affectionately referred to by many friends as "Pony") arrived from Australia on the 22nd of May (this is both an indictment and an explanation for why I have been so long in updating this blog).
I can't remember who it was said that the British and the Americans were two countries separated by a common language, but the same is very true between Americans and Aussies. I have introduced Pony to biscuits; not the cookies that they call biscuits, but the doughy things that we pop into the oven and have with jam for breakfast (encouraged by the Pillsbury Doughboy). "These are biscuits," I proclaim to her, "as God intended. Not cookies."
At which point she calls me a Dag. I am still trying to work out this word, Dag. Her explanation has been a bit vague, or oblique. But I don't think it's necessarily complimentary.
In the course of the last month or so, Pony has accompanied me to a variety of gigs, as well as my high school class reunion in Iowa (which included a drive through Nebraska; boy, do I know how to show a girl a good time!). She has met my family, and (by now) a heavy representation of my friends. She has met all this potential torture by cooking me meals (while I am busy with practicing or teaching lessons, or whatnot), or intruducing me to Thai food. And from time to time, she asks if I am doing alright with this alien invasion.
A couple of close friends used to kid me that I was "not compatible with earth women." I recently pointed out to them how very well Pony and I are getting along. "Ah, but she's an alien, isn't she?" they responded.
With all due respect to Down Under, that could be the explanation.

"I made our mother cry," I told me sister.
"How did you do that?"
"I told her I love her."
My sister chuckled, "Yeah, well I guess you don't say that often enough."
It was late afternoon. I was between gigs on a busy day. I had played five hours of classical guitar at the Lone Tree Golf Club, for their Mother's Day brunch, and had another gig later in the evening. But in between gigs, I was chillin' at my apartment, talking with my sister (who was celebrating Mother's Day with her husband and their daughter, my six-year-old niece).
Making my mother cry was the result of a phone call in the morning (before starting my day of gigs). I'd sent her a card, a little bit of money to treat herself in some fashion, and I'd called, just in case the card had not made it in time. But it had. And Mom was very sentimental and weepy about it.
There are one or two mitigating factors. My mother was diagnosed with Parkinson's some 15 or 16 years ago. Apparently, just as Parkinson's wears down the control of muscular impulses, it also wears down the restraint one might otherwise exercise over emotional impulses (or so some of the doctors say). Whether or not that is the case, my sister, my brothers and I have noticed that Mom seems to get a bit more weepy over sentimental matters anymore.
Still, I'm not posting any retraction: I do love my Mom (take that, Sigmund Freud!!). Actually, I think I pretty much lucked out as far as both of my parents go. They are decent, caring human beings. And while it is true that they had some profound reservations about my embarking on a career as a musician, I have come to appreciate (more and more, as the years go by), how much they did to help me make it work.
I played in my first rock band when I was 15 years old. I played keyboards for a band called The New Rivieras (the lead singer had been a member of the original Rivieras, who had the hit, "California Sun", back in the early sixties; Sha Na Na, Grease, Happy Days, and all that were making the 50's and early 60's look really nifty-keen again and he was trying to cash in on it). Anyway, I was 15, and definitely the youngest member of the band, by at least ten years or more. My parents let me play with this band, including club gigs that sometimes lasted till 1am or so. Among other things, this showed an incredible degree of trust, both in me and in the other members of the band (that they wouldn't let me get into any serious trouble, as it were).
Later, when I was heading off to college, they paid the dime for my bachelor of music degree (even when I decided not to get the degree in Music Education that they wanted, in case I needed "something to fall back on"). I suppose I could say that, for my part, I showed a pretty consistent and focused resolve to do something with music. At the same time, I am the oldest son of an insurance salesman. I inherited enough of my father's sales acumen (and my Granfather's workaholic ethic) to complement my musical aspirations. Eventually, as the years went by, my parents observed that I was still doing the music thing, and I had not died of starvation, drugs, venereal disease, or whatever other horrible fates musicians are supposed to be heir to. A few more years down the road, and they noticed that I was actually very happy doing what I do. I still am. I've said it many, many times: I count myself among the blessed in this world, that I can make a living doing something that I enjoy so passionately.
With the passing of a bit more time, my folks were more demonstrably proud of my musical career (actually, they were always kind of proud about it, but the worry that went along with the whole package gradually wore away to leave an overabundance of pride).
During my childhood, my mother gained something of a reputation with my friends. I guess this is because she can be a very strong-willed person (I had to get it from somewhere, didn't I?). And her basic strategy (in nearly all things) is to take the bull by horns, and confront any difficulty full on. Even with the Parkinson's: she plunged into research on the disease, consulted with various doctors, and took the best advice in trying to slow the progress of the disease as much as possible. And in this regard she has been incredibly successful. But then... well.... that's my Mom. She would generally manage to do whatever she set her mind to (again, I had to get it from somewhere).
None of this is meant to take anything away from my Dad. But Father's Day is a good month or so away, and I have time to brag on the Old Man in another blog entry.
So, today, I had a good moment with Mom, then spent some five hours playing for various moms and dad and kids. Despite the long hours, it's a good gig. You wouldn't expect little kids to be so knocked out about classical guitar, but they really get into it.
After that afternoon gap (and the pleasant chat with my sister), the second gig was at the Hotel Monaco, in downtown Denver. It was a private party for a young man who had just received his master's degree, and was celebrating with some fellow students (and one or two professors, from the looks of it). This gig was a little more laid-back (a smaller crowd and all), but it was still two hours; which, on top of the earlier five hours of playing, made for a long day. Although I had once or twice (fleetingly) entertained the notion of heading off to the gym for a late-night workout, I don't think that's going to happen. A good night's sleep, then I can think about pumping iron, first thing in the morning.
I think even Mom would cut me some slack.

I had a gig at the Village Roaster (in Lakewood) tonight. It is one of my smaller venues, so I thought to sort of experiment, and took my Blackshear guitar to do the gig tonight. This guitar (made in 1993 by Thomas Blackshear, of San Antonio, Texas) is a concert classical guitar, and thus a naturally rather loud instrument. So I wanted to see if it would do well enough on its own (without benefit of any amplification), and really, it did very well, indeed.
Early on in the gig, a young man listened to a few tunes, then asked if I gave lessons (do I give lessons!?!). So, after a few minutes of chatting, he left having arranged to start with lessons at the Pickin' Parlor on Wednesday night of next week (this was a good deal better than any tip, although he also dropped a couple of buck into the hat I'd set up for that purpose).
Later on in the gig, there came a party of six: four adults and two kids (I was to learn that the two adult women were both aunts to the kids; a little girl named Tara, and her younger brother, Luke). The kids were totally into the guitar music, and eventually took to dancing to whatever I played. There was sort of a comic bit, in that Tara would be dancing and seem to "accidentally" knock the cowboy hat off her brother's head (not that she really fooled anyone). The adults gave the kids some four bucks to drop into the tip-hat on their way out.
A little while after that, I was in the middle of playing some Bach, when there was a sudden bright flash, followed by one of the loudest (and closest) thunderclaps I've ever known. This was then followed by a real gusher of a downpour. Fortunately, by the time I was done with the gig, the rain had dwindled down to little more than a drizzle (and easy enough get all my stuff into the van without getting too wet in the process).
All in all, not a bad way to spend a Friday night.

I gave the final exam to my music theory class at Arapahoe College yesterday. One of my students claimed that he had at least four distinct thoughts of suicide, while taking the exam (but then, he also claimed that if he didn't feel so challenged, he would be asking for his tuition returned), so it sounds like I managed to make it challenging enough. That leaves the grading of exams and papers, and the turning in of final grades. But, aside from that, the spring semester is effectively done, and I will have a something of a break until the summer term begins (immediately following Memorial Day).
Such breaks are when I try to do more than just maintenance-practicing, in regards to my own guitar playing. I try to get in a few extra hours a day, and move forward, learning new pieces and such. I suppose it doesn't sound like all that much of a break to others, but it's a refreshing change for me. As much as I do enjoy teaching (and I can honestly say that I very much do enjoy teaching, whether classes or private lessons), there is a particular bliss in playing the guitar, and even in the whole experience of practicing. Practicing is not really the same as playing (something that has been impressed upon me to very good effect by Ricardo Iznaola). Practicing is a combination of physical discipline, along with figuring out the most efficient or effective way to play a piece, or even a particularly troublesome spot in a composition. Sometimes, it can seem like a cross between a workout at the gym and solving a crossword puzzle. And that's when things are going well. Of course, there can also be times when there can be no apparent progress ("plateaus of progress", as described by George Leonard, in his book, "Mastery"). Such times can be sort of a test of faith. You just give it you best shot, and trust that somewhere down the road things will become noticeably better.
Now is also a time when I hope to do a bit of recording. There are several projects at hand: a solo effort to record a collection of renaissance guitar music (hopefully in time for the Pennsic War, in August), plus a similar project with my band, the Abbey Rogues. On top of that, violinist Julia Hays and I are long overdue to get some of our repertoire available in some sort of commercial recording. Plenty to do.
Meanwhile, I have a good friend arriving from Australia in a couple of weeks' time. She is looking to take something like a year to visit the United States (more or less), along with a bit of traveling to other parts of the globe, as well (this is something I have discovered that Aussies are somewhat notorious for: these extended wanderings). She is a close and dear friend, and I very much look forward to her arrival. Although it's been a few years since I've had any sort of roommate, so adapting my little apartment could prove an interesting adjustment.
And her arrival may herald the shifting of gears in some other ways, as well. She has considerable business experience, and has generously offered to help me sort of evaluate where I am at in terms of various professional goals, activities, and whatnot, and see where I can go from here, as it were. And I welcome this input. Sometimes, it can be hard to do that sort of inspection of ones circumstances on ones own. An outside perspective can reveal something that may have been otherwise overlooked. It's the same reason I continue to take guitar lessons, after all. Sometimes, someone else can watch you and catch something you can do differently, to greater effect. I look forward to the possibilities.
In June, I go to my high school class reunion. It's amazing to admit that it's been some 30 years since I left Burlington High School. As a consequence, I find myself engaging in a bit of introspection, or a review of my history (now that I have a fair bit of history behind me, as it were). And I can be brutally honest with myself, at times. I look back, and, among other things, I can see my part in various episodes and incidents. Yes, there were bullies who picked on me in middle school and high school. At the same time, I can see where I was a pretty obnoxious asshole at times, and so drew the attention of bullies (didn't keep my head down all that much).
This is not to say that I've taken over the role of those bullies and have taken it upon myself to beat myself up. I just think it's healthy to recognize what part your own actions play in the way one's life winds along. Just recently, Cho (the shooter at Virginia Tech) released that video tape to NBC, where , amidst his various ravings, he blamed pretty much the rest of the world for his actions. Nothing was his fault, of course. And I've seen this many times: people who blame all their troubles on anyone and everyone but themselves. I'm not saying that you have to consider yourself lower than dirt or anything, but the sooner you acknowledge your part in what happens in your life, the sooner you can take some power in where your life goes. To a great extent, I really love my life. I am making a living as a working musician; something that continues to please me to no end. I am surrounded by good friends and family. But I do feel that a vital part to that whole equation is that, over the years, I have become ever more conscious of my own part in how my life moves along, and I have become ever more honest, both with myself and those around me. 'Not perfect, of course (not sure there is such a thing as perfect on this plane of existence). But (in a typical zen attitude) maybe perfectly unperfect.

The Buntport Theater, here in Denver, is doing a production, called "Moby Dick Unread", that runs through tomorrow (Saturday) night. I won't make it to the show (as I have a gig of my own tomorrow night), but I have read Melville's famous novel.
Now if only the folks at Fox News would get around to it.....
A few days after the shooting at Virginia Tech, I happened to catch a bit on Fox News, where they were remarking about the fact that the shooter had Ismael tatooed on his arm. Fox brought up various biblical references, particularly that Ismael, as a son of Abraham is considered part of the lineage that leads to the Muslim faith.
Please!!
Cho (the shooter) was an english major. Any english major in college is bound to read Moby Dick at some point; the opening line of which is "Call me Ismael".
I realize that most of the time I keep my blog to my musical activities and such, but the killing of some 32 people on a college campus pretty much affected everyone in some way. For days afterward, there was an increased presence of security at Arapahoe College (where I am an adjunct professor).
But I was a bit taken aback at what seemed a great deal of confusion as to the motives of the shooter. It seemed to me that his motives became pretty clear in a fairly short time. He was a loner, very socially awkward. Like many such folk, he had a tendency to be very self-absorbed, and an inability to see other people as other people, but rather as objects; either objects of desire or objects of frustration (or some combination, in many cases).
Again, like many such folk, nothing was his fault. Everything was blamed on the rest of the world.
None of this is all that very new. There have been people nursing such thoughts (and homicidal impulses) since the dawn of time. It has just become a good deal easier for such folk to gain access to deadly firearms (and especially in this nation).
And, of course, every time something like this occurs, there is much talk about how to prevent anything like this from happening again. I'm not sure that is at all possible, really. First of all, there is the availability of firearms. Then, you have to pay attention: look for people who show these signs (and there were a good number of warning signs, in this case). And then there's the factor of the media itself. By making such a wide exposure of such incidents, it feeds folks who have such impulses to try to outdo the last incident (this guy was trying to surpass the carnage of Columbine, for example).
It all just underscores the fragility of life, I think.