Category: Blog

It’s fair to say that I like the sound of winter. Cold air seems to carry sound waves differently than warm air. I don’t know the physics of it but it must be true just as sound carries differently in water. I could google the science of it but why spoil the mystery. I could put a question mark on that last sentence for proper grammar but that would spoil the meaning. In fact when one writes one can do whatever one wants and punctuate or not at whim. Re-task words to suit one’s porpoise. Art is the same way. Freedom.

One of the most beautiful symphonies I’ve heard was performed by frogs. In a large meadow after a spring rain and they were making more frogs. Or discussing it. It was a large group discussion among many frogs. They would reach crescendos of chirpling in a sort of rhythm that became united and then separated in fractal deliciousness and occasionally fall silent. Then one frog would chirp and another across the meadow would chime in and then a thousand frogs would sing and echo through the valley and then they’d fall silent and the cycle would repeat. I forgot to mention the creek. There’s a creek in the middle of the meadow and in the pauses between choruses the little waterfalls set the stage for the next passage. All of this is true.

There’s so damn much ugliness in the world these days. The US government is on ugly-overdrive. Patriarchy is having an ugly-fit, grappling desperately to hold onto its ugly past. It won’t work. Women are announcing their candidacies for office in record numbers from sea to shining sea. May they win and may this ugliness wane for the love of god. God. There’s a fascinating term. The gross hypocrisy of the GOP and its professed allegiance to Jesus Christ, champion of the poor and downtrodden, while acting in stark opposite to what Jesus would ever do. I am so very glad the swine in Alabama LOST and that Doug Jones won. I liked Doug Jones’ victory speech too, quoting Martin Luther King, very promising.

I have friends who should run for office. I bet you do too. Maybe you should. Democracy will belong to those who show up. It will never ever be perfect. We make a terrible mistake if we want perfection. The whole point of Democracy is it’s an attempt at a most not bad society. If only corporations and villains show up, then its dystopia and misery and doom. Those things are bad. So yes, we should get rid of the Electoral College, a racist anachronism which disproportionately favors red states and reduces California voters’ influence in national campaigns. Yes, we should repeal “Citizens United” which is the precise opposite of its Orwellian name. Yes, gerrymandering and voter suppression and all these things can make the game seem hopeless, and we won’t fix all of them at once, we may not fix all of them at all, politics was and will remain corrupt and ugly, BUT! Doug Jones won. Doug Jones won because black women and men (and enough progressive white folks) in Alabama made him win. And that is NOT ugly! It’s beautiful, and it can be repeated in races throughout the country.

The mid-term elections are soon, now. Mercifully they are less than a year away. Amid all the disasters of the last two years, storms and fires and the sometimes overwhelming mounting horror of a government that has chosen to deny that climate change is upon us, while embracing white supremacy and misogyny and bigotry of every kind, oh, and while reaching into the pockets of working men and women, removing their wallets and handing them to the very goddamn super-rich, while doubling down on fossil fuels and making us an embarrassment and pariah on the world stage, IT IS PRETTY EASY TO FALL INTO DESPAIR! But we don’t have to, and we ought not to. And I for one am going to think of the voters of Alabama, God bless their sweet hearts, the ones who rejected every foul thing embodied in Roy Moore and those who endorsed him, this in the state where much of the civil rights and voting rights movement played out and people died for the right to vote in the 1960s, yes I am going to think of them, when I need a dose of positivity and optimism, and I am going to CHOOSE to be active and participate and live and give and thrive, because this world belongs to all of us, and we can make it better for ourselves and each other.

That and I’m going to release a song in the next few days for the holidays. I didn’t do any Christmas shopping this year, I made a song and I’m giving it to all my friends and fam near and far by means of Interwebs. I’m excited to share it. It has “Love” in the title, which will surprise no one who knows me. It also contains rock and roll.

Them’s all my thoughts this morning, just felt like sharing. Run for office! I’ll vote for you! Let’s do this.

Here’s a porpoise.

And what the hell, this, because hell yes.

The Uptones were motivated to get together by the horrible fires here in California. All of us have friends and family affected directly or indirectly by these disasters, so when Moose floated the idea of a benefit show at Ashkenaz, we pounced. As did our friends in Skank Bank, Matt Jaffe & the Distractions, and The Recyclists. We had a great turnout and a wonderful time and raised $1,780 for the fire relief effort. A huge thanks to everyone who attended or contributed from afar.

We donated the proceeds to the North Bay Fire Relief fund, run by Redwood Credit Union. You can learn about the fund and their efforts at https://www.redwoodcu.org/northbayfirerelief, and you can also donate there. For details about how they are distributing the funds they raise, here’s a direct link to that info. Fire survivors in need of assistance can apply for it there as well.

Ben suggested I deliver the checks in person, so I got in touch with Tracy Mooberry, who works for the group that manages the fund, and drove up to her office in Santa Rosa yesterday, and yes, we took a selfie.

$1,680 from the ticket sales and donations, and another check for $100 that one generous attendee at the event wanted to write directly to the relief fund.

We hope this helps at least in some small ways. Thankfully MANY others have stepped up and donated very generously to this and other organizations who are providing much needed help and relief where it’s needed. I’m also heartened to see how MANY musicians and artists immediately organized fundraising concerts and events. May our communities heal and recover. The love in the air is thicker than smoke.

It seems to me somewhere between absurd and offensive when politicians or pundits or anyone else claims to know when it is OK or not to talk about something. I think we can talk about anything we like whenever we like. Guns it is, now, again.

Gun stocks went up after the Vegas shooting, as they do with such events. The NRA represents gun manufacturers, and they profit from gun violence. I can’t imagine a more sinister organization.

I don’t like guns. I certainly don’t love them, as some people claim to. I find that sentiment bizarre, honestly, and even sick. Own them if you must, be responsible and careful with them, but love them? I don’t follow. I love my guitar, it’s an inanimate object too, and I love it. Cars, I understand loving cars, polluting and dangerous machines though they are, I still get it, the love part – connecting to freedom and mobility, the open road – I can love cars. But somehow America also has a love for guns. Why?

Guns are at best a necessary evil, made necessary simply because other people have them. They are instruments of self-defense or aggression, justice or oppression. Guns in the hands of potential enemies make necessary the having of guns. It’s an ugly circle that started long ago. But what they do is maim and kill. That’s their function. How does anyone love that? Perhaps they are using a definition of the word “love” that I am not familiar with.

Much has been said about this week’s calamity in Las Vegas. I keep hearing the word “investigate” – on NPR and elsewhere – they’re investigating to find out the motive behind the crime.

The guy snapped. He snapped as men sometimes do. People debate whether he was insane or not, of course he was insane. Anyone who does that is insane, or there is no such thing as insanity.

The weapons he had purchased under our lax gun laws made certain that he was able to kill and maim a maximum number of people when he snapped. That is because of the efforts of the NRA. Because of their complete success in preventing any reasonable gun regulations.

I’m not so interested in the motives of the guy who shot all those innocent people, after all we can only speculate. I am interested in the motives of the NRA. Is it just money? Because they sure are raking it in. And the more violent our society is, the more money the weapons manufactures make. What is behind their sociopathy, and why are so many congresspersons so readily purchased by them?

As for the psychology of why some men snap and do this sort of thing, I found this article –

Why The Vegas Shooting Happened, and Why Men Keep Doing This – by Charlie Hoehn, good food for thought. I’m not sure if I agree with all of his assertions and conclusions, but I am certain he’s talking about some of the root causes of these terrible acts. Loneliness and isolation do drive people crazy, and there’s a lot of loneliness and isolation to go around these days.

I’m weary of the killing, the hating, the endless propaganda and lying, bullying, bigoted monstrosities yelling at us to become less kind, less thoughtful, more angry, and more fearful. “Resistance” is a word we use often lately, and I embrace it and I’ll tell you my resistance today comes in the form of simple humble compassion and empathy for all beings. Sometimes we can and should affirm to ourselves and maybe others, that we will not have our humanity reduced because others have chosen darkness.

Another day, another opportunity to be kind and thoughtful and generous in the small or big ways that we can.

What the hell. After such a meandering post I suppose I’ll include my song about guns. This is one of the last studio recordings by The Uptones, from 2009 I think it was. Followed by an XTC song that offers a practical solution. And one from Nirvana just.. because. And then “Why?” by The Specials, from their final release, and, that just gave me the title for this post.

Be safe ya’ll. Peace and Love, already.

-Dinny

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Here are some resources to defeat the NRA if you have time or some money to contribute:

Everytown for Gun Safety is an organization committed to opposing the NRA and enacting reasonable gun laws. I sent them twenty bucks. A drop in the bucket but hopefully it helps. Join me?

This Rolling Stone article from 2014 offers some strategies and 411: How to Beat the NRA In 7 (Not-So-Easy) Steps

The image below says it all. If someone knows who to credit it to, please let me know. Thanks.

One of my favorite bands in the roaring 90’s was this four-piece from Berkeley called Engine. Their name suited their music perfectly. They sounded like a well-tuned engine made of guitars and drums. They had that synergy some combos have that makes them sound bigger than the sum of their parts. I enjoyed watching them melt stages in San Francisco often, when the South of Market live music scene was in full swing both over- and under-ground. It was a good time for bands, and Engine gained a loyal following, recorded an album, and signed to Caroline Records. Boom, suddenly they had to change their name. Another band owned “Engine,” and I and other Engine fans were dismayed. I expect the band was too. Anyway, they quickly adjusted their name, and went on some major tours with Jawbreaker, Counting Crows and other hot acts of the time, did a few more records and then disbanded. Reunited recently to play the big “Riot Fest” concert in Chicago, they decided to book a Bay Area show as well. I have my ticket. It’ll probably sell out, so I’d suggest getting yours now if you want to go. Somewhat rare in the world of band reunions, they have all four original members, the only four guys in the band at any stage back in the day. I think that’s neat. Also somewhat rare among rock bands, they don’t do any covers. I don’t think they ever did. They wrote all of their material, and each song frames the others, creating a sort of Engine-world that you can walk into and explore. I visited there often, and I look forward to jumping down that rabbit hole on Oct. 21. There’s talk of more gigs, and I would love to see that as well, but, there’s also talk that the earth is flat, so, you know, don’t sleep on it. Oh, one more silly thing. They were called “Alternative” as a genre, as was anything with a guitar after Nirvana. I think when “Alternative” became a popular music genre name, the American music biz began its final descent into total brain-death. The band plays Rock music. Or Punk, if you must. Now that’s sorted. A great band with a name they had to change, filed under “Alternative,” with lyrics about identity crises and alienation. It’s perfect. Oh, and their guitar and bass riffs are killer. And they’re my friends. Here’s the FB event page. Bye now.

Had a dream last night that my dad was dying, and we were all in the house I grew up in on Josephine Street in Berkeley. In reality my dad died suddenly about two years ago while I was away. The dream was nice and as these things go, his presence was very life-like and seemingly real. He texted me, which is funny, because he never actually used text messages. In my dream, he texted me from the next room, even though we were having a vocal conversation at the same time, as people do these days. He wrote: “Deep clay.”

We talked a little about how people live on in their loved ones’ memories, and I felt then a sense of responsibility somehow, to remember him as accurately as I can. I don’t believe I have ever had that particular thought, before this dream. Luckily it’s not hard to remember him, as I had the good fortune of knowing my dad very well. And he was quite unique, not an easy person to forget. This was a nice visit, although a little strange. He knew, in the dream, that he was dying, and he seemed not entirely concerned about it. As for what he texted me, I’ll just leave that without expressing an interpretation of it, for the words are fine just as they are.

I sometimes walk in Piedmont Cemetery when I need to put things in proper perspective. It’s a great place to wander, and on a weekday morning like today there’s hardly anyone there. One thing that impressed me today was the fountains. They’re sprinkled throughout the grounds and they all have basically the same design, and they’re all running. The whole place is beautifully maintained and among the few people I saw there this morning were some dedicated groundskeepers. I noticed the sound of the fountains today, in a way I hadn’t fully appreciated before. It’s so soothing, so meditative, so nice. Running water, like the sound of a creek, I mean there’s a reason people meditate to sounds like that, recorded or by actual creeks. I realized that these fountains with their multiple spouts were perfectly designed to create a sound very much like a little waterfall. Or perhaps rain. It’s lovely. And as you walk around through the monuments and dedications to departed loved ones, you can always hear these fountains. You approach one fountain and it gets louder, as another fades to quiet behind you. It’s very musical and I took a moment to applaud the architects of this.

I thought of my dad, naturally, as he was a composer and appreciator of found music in the tradition of John Cage. Like, you decide to hear the world around you as music, and thus it is. It’s a thought I’m grateful to have learned early in life, as it’s given me decades of fun and entertainment. I mean the sound of the freeway, right now, airplanes passing and echoing through the city, it’s all music if you want it to be. Easiest thing in the world. So in the cemetery I considered my dad at length, and had what I will call a nice visit with him. What I wasn’t prepared for before he passed, was the absolute permanence his presence would hold with me. At times I miss him terribly of course, but as often, as today, I simply hung out with him. We had coffee and a chat and wandered around, looking at stones carved with the names and dates of fellow travelers.

The history there is endless. You pass one grave and you pass a lifetime of stories. Of love, of struggle, of success and failure, of relationships with so many other souls. And in these gardens there are thousands, and thousands, and thousands of these. I took some pictures and mused, there’s no way my dad could ever walk through a place like that and not take some photographs. I didn’t used to, I was far too lazy to mess with film and develop it. But instant satisfaction from my iPhone? Hell yes. In the course of my walk I realized that I’m doing more things like my dad as I get older, not less. Or maybe I am just noticing them more now. I don’t know. Like I said, he’s here, and that is just a trip. Someone said “What is remembered, lives.” I thought of that today and smiled, what an incredible thing is human memory. It can be awful, too. Best to do things you wont regret! As much as humanly possible.

That’s the 1st one I snapped, that started my little “chat” with my dad. He used to refer disparagingly to movies or TV shows that he found unoriginal, as “Plot number 5.” He maintained that most Hollywood productions followed narrow plot templates and that they were making the same things over and over again. So when he reached a moment where a story seemed rote, he would grump “Plot number 5 again!” and turn it off. So, here we were at plot number 52. Random association and I’m going with it. A “chance event” as John Cage would say.

I am a chance event. Me growing up in Berkeley was a chance event. My parents met in Germany and my dad had been accepted to the Hamburg Conservatory when they got engaged. But he also got accepted to UC Berkeley in the music department, and being that Berkeley was his hometown, it had a certain appeal. There were other factors involved, but my mom once told me it could have been a coin toss, at that point. So my brother and I would have been born in Hamburg. You can’t really describe two more different places in the 1960’s than Berkeley, California and Hamburg, Germany. Either one fine – I love Hamburg, I love Berkeley. Apparently, they had one of the coldest winters in living memory that year in Germany, as they were deciding. And California looked bright and sunny and warm. The Beatles were new and rock and roll was rock and roll, and Kennedy was president and Martin Luther King’s thundering voice was touching the hearts of men and women around the globe. America.

It was a return, for my dad. For my mom, a new adventure. They actually sailed into New York Harbor, past the Statue of Liberty, after a journey across the Atlantic Ocean. Can you imagine? A few years later they were enjoying the Summer Of Love in Golden Gate Park, and my mom has told me the “Be-In” was the happiest day in San Francisco and all creation. I was there, I was two! I was a two year old hippie.

I wonder, if I had been born in Hamburg, what would be different. Would I be a musician? Would I have different values? How different? Different how? It’s hard to know. My parents would still be their great selves, but how would we all have been different? The thought entertains me.

As I walked among the stones, I marveled at how unique and brilliant a life is. And how random things can seem. One of my favorite John Lennon quotes is, “Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.” I recently used that in a new song, actually! Shamelessly took it for the chorus. Works well! Thanks John. Hmm. Three Johns in this post. My dad, Cage, and now Lennon. More chance events.

I’ll publish the aforementioned song. I published “The Laughing Man,” yesterday. It’s about death, and God, really. For an alleged atheist, I sure have been finding God a lot lately. I even capitalize it now, where I used to use a little g. What is it that happens to our souls when we die? Here is my definitive, authoritative, completely certain answer: I don’t know! That’s my religion: not knowing. I could make a church of not knowing. We’d have services where we all chant “I don’t know, I don’t know!”

The sense of impermanence weighs differently when you likely have less days ahead than behind. So I’m publishing my songs while I’m here. Not going to not do it. Because things can tend to go by

When you’re four years old, a year is basically forever. The idea of doing something “next year” was meaningless to me. I lived right in the moment. This little house we lived in on Josephine Street in North Berkeley with its jungle backyard, was a vast universe of wild rumpuses and colors and light and music. God I was lucky to be born where and when I was. And to have such sweet and creative parents. And friends. I’m very grateful.

I’ve got a song on my EP called “Dad.” It’s about my dad. Subtle, no? I wrote it about a year ago and it’s a wild, short punky ride. It has all the love and pain and anguish and glory it ought to have, and it wrote itself very, very fast. I recorded it with Mikey and Bennie (a mini-Uptones if you will!) a week later. That tune was a doorway for me, somehow. Whatever was left of my writers block, was obliterated by that song. See, I love it when OTHER people write personal, soul-searching confessional stuff. But me?! You want to know what’s going on under the hood with me?! Noooooooo!! I write topical stuff, political songs, hell, I only recently wrote my first girls-name song! “Sweet Lacy Anne,” it’s also on my EP. But to delve into the darker scarier inner bits like therapy? To plow the minefields of one’s mind and let out the gnarly bits? I leave it to Bob Dylan. Hell, John Lennon! Dude was fearless about it, just let it all hang out. He’s the most famous pers
on I ever thought I knew personally, just from his work. And after my dad passed, and I wrote that song, I realized that I’m not afraid to do that sort of thing anymore. If it happens to be entertaining, great, but I’m letting it out so it wont stay in here.

It’s a sunny summer day in 2017, fifty years after the Summer of Love. When I was a baby, and a young kid, the Beatles were not just my favorite band, they were my favorite anything. “All You Need Is Love,” “Can’t Buy Me Love,” “And I Love Her,” Love, Love, Love, Love, Love. What a marvelous message to start ones life to. I’m glad to carry it.

I’m off now to teach some youngsters how to play “Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds.”

Oh, there were turkeys at the cemetery. No way my dad would have passed them without taking their picture. Long live rock, be it dead or alive.