Huberts Trip

This is my "Alice's Restaurant" of songs, I suppose, but I hope to make it less repetitive and less a song that one has a once-yearly tolerance for, around Thanksgiving.
This is about the first third of the song, and is a
Hubert's Trip (first leg)

Click here to hear)

skeleton, compared to the finished version that I envision.
The advancement that I made here is the realization that a song which I have played several times has a lot of advantages as a vehicle to make a recording of, than a song which is being improvised (pulled out of one's ass).

I Make "Something."

Wasn't it last Monday night that I played on Bourbon Street and got a 5 dollar bill and a 1 dollar bill, and then left to get a large Hurricane Lager then stood and watched football outside a bar; and then found a bunch of excellent food; and went back to my spot and got to sleep relatively early; and woke up Tuesday morning with a couple dollars and change on me?

I think that was last Monday.
Well, I basically did the same thing; again.
With the exception of Leslie having invited me to crash at his place at around 10 p.m.
And with the exception of not being spit upon by a "dog skeezer."
By the time midnight came and I had gotten sandwiches, corn, lemon rice, fresh broccoli, apples and a pear from Rouses "friends of the homeless" Market, I forgot all about Leslies offer, and went back to the sign spot on Basin Street.
A Nightlight?
The newly renovated Saenger Theater across the street from where I sleep has installed a big sign over its entrance which was glowing with a hundred light bulbs last night; illuminating me too much and forcing me deeper into the brush.
I hope that they have it lit just to publicize the fact that the theater is almost ready to re-open; and don't plan to keep it on every night, like the Joy Theater does on the other side of Canal Street...
Homeostasis

Now, I am off to see if I can improve upon last Tuesday.
It seems like I have reached a point where I am putting out a steady amount of music and getting back a consistent amount of just a bit less than what I need.
Last night, I sounded out the chords to "Something," by the Beatles and am only hazy about one particular chord...
I have been able to put songs together faster, lately.
Doing things first thing in the morning helps; and cutting back on drinking at night has, too.
I am coming up with a list of songs to eventually go on my first CD...

• The Bum Song
• Hubert's Trip
• Crazy About A Crazy Girl
• Terrapin Station
• A Day In The Life
• The Man Who Couldn't Decide What Flavor He Wanted
• Computer Technician Blues

 

Plus, I've started a couple new songs, one tentatively entitled "I Didn't Have Time To Write This Song," and another one called "Purple Heart," about a homeless guy I knew in Jacksonville, Florida who had one...
And, I might try to polish off one of the songs that I wrote when I was 14 or 15 years old and only knew major and minor chords; and try to give it some New Orleans flavor.
"Hubert's Trip," kind of falls into this category, as it was based upon a simple bass guitar riff which I would play at the same time as I sang. I'm able to play more complex things and sing now, and thus will be looking for a way to jazz it up.
Paul, of Doreens Jazz Band, seems to like the lyrics and has asked me if any recordings of the song survive.
Unfortunately, all those cassettes have been lost in transit.
There was one version which had a vibraphone mixed in; which I thought was cool.
It was made at the house of a person who collected exotic instruments (native indian and such) which was being house-sat by a friend of mine; back around 1988.

Data Retrieved

Pulled Like Taffy
So, three days after losing my 1 gigabyte data traveller thing, and having thought that I had tossed it away into the trash can of the Panda Express, along with the bag that a turkey sandwich (without mayonnaise) came in, a guy walks up to me at the Dauphin Store, asks me if I'm "Daniel McKenna," and upon my answering in the affirmative; hands me my green wallet type thing with my cards and my data traveller thing still in it.
He had identified me by looking at my jail ID, which I carry around as a souvenir from that institution, gotten after I trespassed upon the Riverfront, or Riverview, or Riverside Hotel property.
The picture is stretched verticly as if I am made of taffy and was pulled, and it amazed me that the guy, who I will call "Colorado," recognized me from it.
But he did, and I got back all my lyrics, some pictures and a lot of writings. He found it on Dauphin Street, not in the Panda Express' trash.
I gave him a dollar. It was on one of those nights when I made only about 10 bucks, but, He had 0 dollars, on that night.
He is from Colorado Springs, or Golden Springs, Golden, or somewhere in Colorado. He made it sound like a guy on the street with a guitar could do mighty well in somewhere in Colorado, from the way he talked. Lots of people with money, or something like that...
Laundry First; Then Serda's

Was There

Last night at Serda's was a glorious event, with a new guy, who plays saxophone, playing that instrument, accompanied by Jimmy Lee, at one point, and the guy who plays very fast and taps notes and harmonics, at another point. The sax guy eventually hit his groove, or the guy accompanying him hit his groove, and, there was some righteous gigging.
Then a comedian performed, for about as long as it took me to smoke a cigarette. I missed his entire act doing just that, going back inside in time to hear him say "Thank you," to the people.
Becca was there. She got there early enough to be destined to have a couple of hours of before I would go on, due to the organization of the sign up list. I think I got bumped in favor of the new guy with the sax, but that is understandable, in light of the fact that it just seems natural to let a new guy go on right away, I guess.
I snuck around to the side of the building where I had stashed a $1.20 beer, so that I didn't have to buy too many @$2.50 inside. I feel slightly guilty when I do that, like I'm not supporting the venue which is allowing me to get my music "out there," to "the people." I rationalize that I am helping to support them if people enjoy my music. Upon my return to the venue, it was just time for me to go on.
9/16th-Assed Music
I borrowed a pick from Jimmy Lee.

Was Brewing Coffee

Joelle (Miss Underhill) was behind the bar. I couldn't see Becca in the spot where she had been sitting. I figured that I might have missed her. It turns out that she was "in the back," and could hardly hear me, but she was there. I probably would have put a little more into my performance if I thought that she was still there, but, I went up and gave it my "all," which usually amounts to about 89% of me. I put all my water content into it, if you will.
I like to think that, through playing and practicing and honing my skills on the street, I have improved from doing half-assed music, to doing nine sixteenthed-assed music.
I don't know why, in thinking back, that I didn't go sit and talk with Becca some. I could have squeezed it in, between runs to the back of the building for $1.20 beer, smoking out front, etc.
I guess I have the excuse that I was nervous before performing and distracted by trying to come up with a novel idea for a song.
Laundry Done
I was going to improvise one about the laundromat guy, who wouldn't let me go into the restroom to change into my newly cleaned clothes, after I had spent about 6 bucks in his establishment newly cleaning them. Words were exchanged, and I made it clear to him that I would NEVER again patronize his business in the "hood," and use his raggedy-assed, half broken, dirty washers.
I ran into him later and he apologized. He said that if people saw me doing it, they would all want to do it. He was probably worried about me taking a bath in the restroom before changing into my newly cleaned clothes, and leaving hair in the sink. The raggedy assed sink.
I almost tried to do The Laundry Blues, or something, but wound up sticking to previously done stuff, adhering to my new axiom about one time a week being short of the saturation point of people's song hearing capacity. They didn't hear the song every one of the past 7 nights, sometimes two or three times, and aren't as prone to be as tired of it as you, the performer. That's the axiom.
There were some pretty good moments. The low point was when, in the middle of Hubert's Trip, I ran out of gas, in a sense, before I even got him to Las Vegas, which I think is one of the best parts of the song. It can be a 12 minute song, and I was 5 minutes into it, and had only gotten Hubert to the West Coast.
The Man Who Couldn't Decide What Flavor He Wanted is getting easier to play, now that I have dropped the key one step to B, and, easier to play means easier to come up extra lyrics "on the fly" to add and hopefully make the song longer, stronger, faster and better each time its played.
The Carcass Song is still being somewhat of a struggle, as I haven't settled upon the riff which is to be the recurring motif, played under the main verse. Obviously, it has to be one that I can sing and play at the same time, but, to me that means embellishing it to the point where I couldn't sing it and play it at the same time if I tried to embellish it more. That's when it takes a level of concentration where you have to be in "the zone," to negotiate. In my opinion.
Musically, I was happy to see that, when I made the effort, people seemed to be actually paying attention. I was given a sample of ice cream, after doing The Man Who Couldn't Decide What Flavor He Wanted, which is about ice cream.
After I was done, Joelle said "Good job," as she walked past.

The new guy with the sax seemed to have his jury out on me. I think he was sitting there thinking "What kind of saxophone line would I play over this??" during some of my less saxophone friendly stuff, oh, like The Carcass Song...
Then Becca emerged from the parlor, where she had been stationed while I played. She gave me a hug (an excellent Christian one) and told me how she had been in the back and couldn't hear me that well. I would have done more songs with screaming and shouting in them, had I been aware of Becca's plight. Hopefully she wasn't offended that I didn't go back there and talk to her. I could have, I mean, I had on newly cleaned clothes...

Trivial Persuits

The Strings I Got

Strings Attached
Yesterday, I went to get strings.
I walked up to the bus stop next to a store. There was a guy sitting there, who offered me a drink off his beer.
I reached for a cigarette, he asked for one. He let me use his phone. I tried to call my mom, but got the machine. He asked me if I had any razors. I gave him one of my razors, although I only had two.
I told him, during our conversing, which bus I was waiting for. It went by, without stopping. From his angle, he would have seen it before I did. He didn't think to flag it down for me.
Given the prospect of having to wait for the next bus, I went to the store to get a beer. "Would you grab me one, too? I'll owe you one. When I have; I share" said the guy on the bench, who wasn't waiting on a bus, as a matter of fact.
I went into the store. For an extra $1.06, I was able to get a 4 pack. I got a pack of cigarettes, and a bag of peanuts. I put two beers in the plastic bag and hid the other two in my pack. I opened the cigarettes and put 4 of them in my empty pack, and hid the other 16 in my pack.
I then returned to the bus stop. I sat back down on the ground next to the bench. Placing the bag containing the beer down in front of me, I set about tearing open the peanut bag. Looking at the bag on the ground, the guy on the bench said, in a querulous tone of voice: "Are you gonna give me one of those?!? (When he has; he shares)
I gave him one. I took out the box of 4 cigarettes and lit one. By then, there were two other gentlemen there, looking disheveled. The man on the bench had his head turned towards them, and was telling them that, no, he didn't have a cigarette, in reply to the inquiry on that head, which they made upon their arrival. They weren't there to catch a bus neither.
Turning his vision back towards me, and noticing the cigarette, he said "Save me half of that, would ya'?"
I handed the cigarette to him, after smoking half. The other two worthies, at that point, asked him for some of it.

When he "has."

I sipped beer, and ate peanuts, thinking to myself that, if the guy on the bench, or one of his associates were to ask me for some of my peanuts, I would become distempered and probably say something sarcastic, like: "Anything else I can get you?" So, I moved to a spot a bit away from them, and where I could get a better view of the approaching traffic, in order to better flag down my bus.
The three began to argue. I think the other two were telling the first, that his persistent begging had driven me away from them, in which body language they read that I didn't want to give away any more cigarettes nor beer nor razors nor peanuts.
The first guy, referred to above as "the guy on the bench," seemed to be argueing back that I was skilled enough with my guitar to earn enough with it so that giving them cigarettes and beer and razors and peanuts shouldn't have been a problem, and that I was being a trifling individual. Afterall, when he has; he shares.
And that is my 2,000 word story on a banal subject, which could have been condensed to the 9 following words: I ran into some bums at the bus stop.
My Goal
I got some strings, shown above, and returned to town.
I sat and played and made only about 6 bucks, or the cost of the strings.
A couple guys came along and requested that I play "Hubert's Trip," a song which I have only done at the Serda's Songwriter's Open Mic, on Wednesday nights.
They said that they hadn't seen me in a couple of months, and that is probably true. I have been lazy about preparing for the Serda's thing, and have skipped several of them.
My goal is to have something ready for next Wednesday.