In Memoriam: Mr. Michael Kieran Finbar Hourihan

Seldom does a person touch our lives in a way that forever warms our hearts and limps our strides. For some, a person of such influence will never exist. For those unfortunate enough to be reading this eulogy, that person has come and now gone.

An unlikely bride eyes Mr. Michael's maraca 

Mr. Michael Kieran Finbar Hourihan was a man of many talents. Known by many an unsuspecting bachelorette party, Mr. Michael had become a fixture of the local bridal circuit's most salacious bar-based traditions. Never more than a back-bend away, Mr. Michael was keen to seek ought brides-to-be and their mismatched bridesmaids who had long since exhausted the requisite rash of penis-shaped favors and resolved to an evening of heavy drinking and sweaty sing-along dancing. Mr. Michael would breathe life into the most defeated of bachelorettes; a beacon of hope that, one day too, their husband may share in their love for candy penis necklaces and unintelligible screams that girls just want to have fun.

Post flauta explosion

Lest we forget Mr. Michael's love for food, specifically flautas. As if designed exclusively with Mr. Michael in mind, the flauta is constructed in a long, slender fashion often filled with delicious meats and spices that explode in one's mouth when taken in fully. How many licks does it take to get to the center of a flauta? Mr. Michael preferred not to know, often indulging in the full length of the meat stick, carefully bypassing his gag reflex, and consuming all that it had to offer without leaving a single trace behind. As Mr. Michael would often explain, "Nana taught me it's rude not to swallow".

Disregard for potato famine

And that brings us to Nana, Mr. Michael's beloved grandmother. Mr. Michael was so close and so dear to his grandmother. Nana had almost entirely written him off, citing his disregard for female affection akin to that of the Irish potato famine. It was later understood that Nana had confused, in an albeit abstract and nuanced way, the words "female" and "famine". Despite his being a constant reminder of traumatic times, Mr. Michael bought the love of his Nana with a quilt he never quite completed. In an almost convenient bout of senility, Nana began to mistake Mr. Michael in her later years for his younger, and much more family-oriented brother John. Mr. Michael never corrected Nana for this mistake.

With friends

Above all else, Mr. Michael was known to his friends as the pillar of the Northampton (New Westfield) community. At a moment's notice, Mr. Michael would participate in and brighten the spirits of any mundane activities in which his brethren may be engaging. He shared coffee. He shared sushi. He shared the dance floor. He shared tears. Mr. Michael was the friend who was always there, who was never not there, and who was never sometimes missing. Mr. Michael was always free to spend time and to give time. A friend of the highest degree. Elite by his own measure, and yet humble by nature. Mr. Michael was a man amongst all walks of life. His friends were the gamers, the engineers, the artists, the bartenders, and the juggalos.

Coming to terms and moving on.

Today we lay these memories of Mr. Michael to rest and we set forth on what can only be expected a colorless, and woeful existence. Mr. Michael has found love, or at least some manner of commitment, in the wiles of one Zackary Lilley. Mr. Michael has entered into the sacred bond of complication with this individual; Their relationship so enmeshed that Mr. Michael has yet to understand it fully himself. This change in relationship status has written a new chapter in Mr. Michael's life and thus closed the book on that of his friends. He is moving on, coming to terms, making a mends with himself, his choice of sexuality, and will be in our tireless prayers as he navigates the firey waters of Hell for it.

Speaking on behalf of them all: We will miss Mr. Michael and the times and farmstand preserves we used to share. He used to have time for us. He used to want us. He used to love us. He used to be...
our friend. <3

A Scene Diluted

I realize I missed the last meeting, ...and the one before that, but I'm dying to know the algorithm for success that is driving A Scene United. 


For those unaware, A Scene United is a local band support group that has come together over the past few months in Western Mass. The support group has been spearheaded by a small sampling of area business owners who believe they have the answers to revitalizing the Western Massachusetts local music "scene".  


Before you denounce the validity of my pontification due to lack of participation and otherwise convenient truths, allow me the honor. I don't attend these "scene" support groups. I don't go to shows every weekend and support local bars....I mean, bands. I don't even play live music anymore. And sure, you may likely suggest that my stance stems from bitterness, jealousy, or other misgivings, none of which would be accurate. I don't feel at all cheated by the "scene". In fact, some of my most favorite memories were made while I was an active member of the "scene". Should you arrive at any other creative justification for my angle on this topic, do feel free to share.


Some of you, though I understand it to be very few, are active participants in a local band support group called A Scene United. I've come to know of this support group through many folks who have not yet blocked me on Facebook. In fairness, I did not want to take their interpretations as gospel and decided, rather, to investigate A Scene United for myself.


The Facebook page is a testament to the cause; a members-only group page. How better to facilitate the communication of ideas between bands and local recording studio/record label/jack-of-all conglomerates? Additionally, there is a website (www.asceneunited.com), which effectively exhausts any interest that managed to survive the initial Facebook format. Much like the asteroid that wiped out the dinosaurs, long-form prose offering detailed multi-faceted solutions to the lack of success all local bands are experiencing is available for your education. And yes, all local bands. If this were false, you would be able to name at least one local band that tours outside of New England. Hell, forget touring....one band that 25 people outside of New England have ever afforded a second listen.


Truly, though, the humor of A Scene United is easily found in its intended purpose. The notion that a "scene" can be united through a systematic approach is pure lunacy. In fact, the need to encourage unity negates the very premise of a "scene". A true "scene" needs not be encouraged to unite for it is already united by its true and honest composition. 


A Scene United strives to draw blood from a stone. Though Western Massachusetts wasn't always a desolate non-communal wasteland for local music, it certainly has become it. Nostalgia for what once was can serve as a glorious way to waste time. 


Unfortunately, there is no algorithm for success in music, locally or otherwise. There is no 12 step program to achieving unity within a local music "scene". There are always, however, those who are none the wiser. The fresh crop of new bands who would likely pay for a chance to play anywhere just because someone told them they need exposure. There will always be the bands who don't know any better. Those bands will continue to be used and abused by the masterminds behind such predatory scams as local music compilation discs and Rock Fest-esque events. These same profits of local music success are the ones who have something to gain from efforts toward "scene" unity. 


No local band that had not achieved area recognition will suddenly gain success at the hand of "scene" unity. It's fundamentally ridiculous. Furthermore, any person who goes to a struggling chef seeking the answers to restaurant success is merely an imbecile. It's important for those who are not aware to understand that you are seeking leadership from people who have failed at the very subject they purport to understand. 


And who am I to speak as such? I'm someone who made a name in the "scene". I was part of a band that was well known, well received, and well liked. We didn't have a secret playbook, nor did we attend (or host) support groups. We merely wrote music that some people liked. I'm forever grateful to those who attended any one of our shows. I realize you could have been doing something else. I don't think so little of you as to believe I could forever trick you into attending our shows. You're smarter than that. You came because you liked the music. Or because you wanted to see some dudes almost kiss.


I digress,...Those most invested in uniting the "scene" also have the most to lose. And no, I'm not referring to the bands. The bars, the clubs, the recording studio/record label/jack-of-all conglomerate(s). They have the most to lose. Individual bands, despite what some may say, are interested in their own success. No club, promoter, or studio/label/jack-of-all conglomerate is interested in the success of one. These people are most interested in a marginal improvement across all parties involved. It makes the most business sense, and let's not forget....They're in business to stay in business.


Without excited bands, there is no scene. Without excited bands, there is no entertainment for bars. Without entertainment for bars, there is (almost) no one buying drinks. Without excited bands, there is no need for a recording studio. 


These pillars of your "scene" need you (bands) more than you need them.


And lest we forget the one common strain that pertains to successful bands; They have all, at one time or another, written a song that people liked. It wasn't their professional fliers, or their ability to network. It wasn't because they went to each other's shows that they gained a following. It wasn't because a band's show was a themed event. All of these bright ideas will bring a few people some of the time. True success, true recognition comes from having something that people want. If you're a band seeking success, you better hope you've got some music that people want to hear. If the "scene" doesn't respond well to your music, you may need to take a hard look at what you're doing. It's not difficult to stand out in this area if you have something to offer. This is, in large part, because there are so many bands with very little, if anything, to offer.


That being said, if A Scene United goes any further than to say "Go write a great song", then they are wasting your time. Thankfully, you've likely got more time than you know what to do with. Here's hoping you choose to spend more of it writing songs.

Another Saturday Night

Saturday night is upon us. Many Y2K survivors are heading out for spin-dip and diluted alcoholic beverages. Some may even be commissioning the services of a liaison from the outer reaches of the Holyoke flats. Despite the many plans perpetuating moral turpitude among his peers, one Michael Kieran Finbar Hourihan has planned to do quite the opposite.

Today, to most, is known as Saturday. Though to Mr. Michael, this day has taken on an entirely different meaning. Years ago, a tradition was introduced by Mr. Michael's father. Each Saturday, the Hourihan boys and their adoring father would devote the evening to rolling pretzels, preparing assorted chocolate and fruit dips, and sharing fables of young adulthood.

This long-standing tradition of spending Saturdays with Mr. Michael's father came to be known as Dadurdays.

Dadurdays have become integral in the Hourihan household, such that Mr. Michael and his brothers often find themselves thinking obsessively about it on Friday evenings. And this, my dear readers, brings us to present day.

Just last night, Mr. Michael found himself daydreaming about warm, salty pretzels. Even though it was a full day away, Mr. Michael was so compelled by these daydreams that he could not even bring himself to leave the house. Several invitations had been extended, but Mr. Michael felt he had no choice but to remain home and guard the sacred pretzel ingredients.

You see, Mr. Michael is a man of such character and conviction that he cannot be swayed. Some young men of similar age and demographic may find themselves lured by hordes of franchised restaurant servers seeking a night of fiscal indiscretion and irreparable liver damage. Mr. Michael is above such fleeting attempts at id satisfaction. And be not confused that Mr. Michael is apathetic or indolent, as this is truly not the case. Rather, Mr. Michael has clearly defined priorities by which he quite nobly lives his life.

And so it was, last eve, that Mr. Michael remained at home guarding the precious ingredients that would later become a delicious treat and a means by which father-son bonding occurs. By a quarter past nine, Mr. Michael had nodded off, slumped against a fifty pound sack of flour and the course ground salt, corner torn open for a preemptive taste. Dreams of making pretzels and sharing stories of straight sex were abound. Morning was oh so near.

Mr. Michael awoke to his mother wiping a few stray salt crystals from his dried and cracking lips. He went about his routine in the usual fashion, but it seemed something was not quite the same. Sure, it was Dadurday, but Mr. Michael no longer had pretzels on his mind.

It was by eight o'clock this evening that Mr. Michael made an unexpected announcement. Mr. Michael was planning to spend the night with friends, thus abandoning his father (and brothers) on Dadurday. Mr. Michael had received an invitation to watch silent films and shoot animal tranquilizers. Never before had such an opportunity been presented, and certainly not on Dadurday.

Though it left his father in tears, Mr. Michael left his home with the deliberate plan to become inebriated and wild. Mr. Michael's father circled the town for hours in hopes that he might find Mr. Michael's car, planning to make every attempt to convince him to return home to Dadurday.

Mr. Michael was nowhere to be found. He was laying in a dark room, strobe lights flashing sporadically, crack smoke and black light cannabis posters providing ambiance, with his mouth gaping open and an animal tranquilizer needle still lodged in a forearm vein. How stark a contrast from his night prior.

It was Mr. Michael's father's worst nightmare unfolding before his very eyes. Back home, the farmstand preserves were over-boiling on the stove. The entire pretzel-making endeavor was seemingly at its end.

Dadurday had truly become Sadurday.

DK

A Letter Of Recommendation: Michael Hourihan

 

It is with the utmost confidence and sincerity that I present this recommendation on the behalf of Mr. Michael Kieran Finbar Hourihan. Mr. Michael imbues all those he meets with a sense of spirituality, camaraderie, maturity and leadership that is impossible to ignore. In fact, it is for these very reasons that Mr. Michael has been asked to perform the sacrament of marriage.

Those most familiar with Mr. Michael would likely find him running youth groups at the local seminary, offering meals at the West Springfield soup kitchen, and lending a hand and watchful eye to the elderly as they cross busy streets downtown.

Mr. Michael is a diamond in the rough. A true rarity in modern days. It is uncommon to find persons in our society today who can be appropriately referred to as a pillar of the community. Mr. Michael is just that.

When others of similar age and demographic are frequenting lounges, bars, champagne rooms, and bordellos, Mr. Michael can be found spending time with family. Mr. Michael has found a wonderful talent in crochet work and enjoys spending Sunday brunch preparing pastel-colored infant wares with his mother. Saturday nights are typically reserved for rolling homemade pretzels with his father and brothers, which Mr. Michael enjoys dipping in assorted chocolates and farmstand preserves.

I've had the privilege of knowing Mr. Michael in various social circles. I have watched Mr. Michael grow from a confused, restrained young man into a caring, wholesome and truly egalitarian member of our community. Though his advances are often mottled by his modesty, Mr. Michael is consistently revered to be a role model and a patriarch well before his time.

I am eager, elated and enamored to have been afforded the opportunity to recommend such a wonderful man for the duties of Justice Of the Peace. May the Lord find you kindly.

DK

Crocs: I Want to Wear Them......Now

Today, I feel like I'm officially ready to kiss winter goodbye and dust off the old Crocs. That's right. Crocs. I wear 'em. I enjoy 'em, and for me there is no superior footwear for the warm weather.

Before I go any further, I should mention that the winter does not stop me from wearing Crocs products. I have boots and fur-lined varieties as well. They're warm, and easy to slip on when taking out the dogs or chasing kids off of my snow banks.

But with the warm weather comes an interest in planting and gardening, and just spending time in my yard. For those days, I choose Crocs over all others. When I'm done in the yard, I can literally hose off my shoes and they're good as new for the next round.

Now, many people I know have shared in the common belief that Crocs are shoes for people who've given up.

But given up on what?

My Crocs actually aid in my productivity. They make it easier for me in the winter because my boots are entirely waterproof and warm. They make my warm weather activities a breeze, since I have Crocs sandals, closed-toe shoes and even canvas shoes (which are so comfortable that I wouldn't mind sleeping with them on).

The traditional Crocs design is far from attractive. It looks like a garden shoe. Mostly because it is a garden shoe. But not all Crocs are created equal.

I'm not advocating for the people who show up at restaurants in their Scooby Doo pajama pants, winnie the pooh hooded sweatshirt, and crocs. Those people have given up. Absolutely. Especially if they have giant gold earrings with their name on them.    .........Just sayin'...................................You don't need to give up on life, or own a Subaru Outback, to wear Crocs.

But to ignore that Crocs have evolved such that they are now often unrecognizable to the unfamiliar eye is just ludacris. People who feel that they are above Crocs are jumping on a bandwagon that is no longer relevant. I'm not arguing that there is a Croc for every occasion. But I am saying that there are many occasions for which my Crocs are completely functional and appropriate, and more so than any other footwear I have ever owned.

So let the rash of jokes begin. I wear Crocs. I drive a Cube. And in the summer I wear capri pants. Take it or leave it. That's who I am.

DK

BUN Architects

With so much of our lives unfolding on the walls of Facebook, it's a wonder that more people haven't mastered the art of 'Blowing Up Notifications'. I feel blessed that quite a few of my friends, intentionally or otherwise, have become quite proficient at this art. I also can't help but feel accomplished knowing that these friends have learned by my example.

Blowing Up Notifications (hereafter referred to as BUN) is a term used to describe the efforts of one or many Facebook users who directly contribute to the popularity of a given post. These BUN architects make numerous comments on a post, thus catapulting the item into "Top News".

The most skilled BUN architect has a sidekick. A straight man. Someone to push the envelope. A team of BUN architects are able to infiltrate a Facebook Top News feed in a matter of minutes. The attack comes swiftly and without warning. At its best, the BUN architects may even hold a conversation completely unrelated to the post of origination, and do so over the course of numerous comments thereunder.

The effects of such a BUN architect, or team of BUN architects, are fleeting at best. Sure, the occasional photo album may fall victim to a BUN attack and, years later, someone completely unsuspecting comes along and is forced into awkward contemplation of Aztec pottery and suicide. These are the ties that bind. These are the fruit of a BUN architects labor. For, a BUN architect does not act only to satisfy the moment, but to color the memories for future generations.

And also for butterfly kisses at night.

DK

Friends In the Right Places

I'd really like to open the discussion about a very common problem in the workplace. I've had several jobs now, and in talking to friends and family, it seems that this issue is widespread and not exclusive to one professional field or area of expertise.


I am referring to when administrators, or other people in power, at a workplace hire folks who are their friends despite a lack of qualification or experience.

Of course, without an advocate on the "inside", securing employment can be a daunting process. I get it. It's something that has always been there. And it's not likely to ever go away. Also, I'd be lying if I said I never got a job with the help of a friend on the inside.

In fact, given the right potential and time to grow, an under-qualified new employee can often be pushed to work harder than the average candidate. They have more to prove. Sometimes this scenario can play out very well, so that both the employee and the employer benefit from taking the chance.

Other times, the risk is not appropriate to take. An example of one such scenario is the education system. Private and charter schools (especially charter schools) are becoming more and more popular across the country. The charter schools are held to many of the same regulations under the Department of Education, but do have some exceptions available that can be a recipe for disaster.

It's happening locally, and it is surely happening elsewhere. Our youth are being educated by under qualified, inexperienced teachers. These private and charter schools have regulatory boards that oversee the inner workings. If all is quiet, the state tends to fry bigger fish and the potential for danger is missed.

Some of these school administrators have hired department heads who are less competent than their underling staff. These "directors" hide behind a title and a convenient lack of classroom involvement. They are influencing the quality and direction of education for at-risk students and the parents are none the wiser. Nevertheless, your English Language Learner, your Special Education, and your otherwise special needs student is being disenfranchised by a system that has become more invested in the business of building resumes than it is about providing quality instruction and support.

It's a win-win scenario for all parties except the students. The school will now have someone who is deeply grateful for such an opportunity that they can be saddled with all kinds of tasks and responsibilities, appropriate to their skill set or not. The under-qualified employee is less likely to complain or speak out against unfair treatment because they are lucky to even be in that position. The school benefits by having a guaranteed workhorse at a rather dramatic cost savings, because they sure aren't going to offer compensation representative of the job title. They'll just offer ten percent more than the employee had been making previously, thus saving the school money that can now be used for other corrupt expenses.

It's happening. It's true. I wish I was just paranoid, but I know it to be true.

Schools are one of many situations that are at the mercy of similar back-door deals. It is infuriating that such corruption exists in our schools, and only ignorant to assume that this will not impact your child or the children of those you know. I urge anyone with school-age children to do their homework about the schools your children attend. Ask the uncomfortable questions about qualifications, degrees, experience. Your kids cannot advocate for themselves and trusting that the nice people at the local school have your child's best interest at heart may be an ill-advised stance.

There are many great schools and devoted educators. It is important to understand, though, that these devoted educators must play by the rules of their administration. Good intentions can only go so far when job security is such a real concern.

DK

An Acknowledgment of Hypocrisy

Something you'll never get out of Steve Dondley.

I guess this isn't over.......

So now a third party has entered what has become the most delusional and honest discussion to ever grace the internet this week. He hides behind the username Mikerios Zero. 'Rios, as I'm told he prefers, surely feels he has taken Western Mass by storm with his most recent blog post.

On the one hand, I must commend 'Rios for acknowledging a demand for additional perspectives on the local music scene of Western Mass. For some, this was a discussion that need not have ever occurred. If the pot's not black, don't fix it. But 'Rios is so adept, so in tune with the public outcry for squabble that he has decided to put himself in harms way just to satisfy the needs of the people.

It pains me to admit, for it is fault of my own I am admitting, but 'Rios is correct. Some of us don't denigrate the way we once did. Those were younger, more free-wheelin' days. In re-reading my blog posts, I found that I am guilty of this watered down denigration that 'Rios so eloquently addressed.

My blog posts were vague, cryptic and never named names. I should be ashamed of myself. Fortunately, Zero Fun John gave us a taste of the way things used to be, taking aim at me personally and even attempting to elicit an emotive reply by taking jabs at my self esteem and credibility.

I promise I will try harder next time, 'Rios. I promise.

The Hypocrisy That Divides

First, I'd like to thank those who reached out to me in response to my last post. It's encouraging to know that my feelings are shared by so many of you.

For some, my post was a response to misinterpreted or misunderstood information.

It is with my head held high that I stand by what I wrote yesterday. If anything, it's disheartening to witness talented and accomplished people project a sense of entitlement among peers. Especially peers in the local music scene.

I can't help but feel embarrassed for these people. Years behind them in the local music circuit, still ranting about how they have been disenfranchised in some way, by some one. And if not disenfranchised, they certainly feel under appreciated.

It's so sad because the reality is that no one cares.

Sure, there was a time when being outspoken and pretentious was a well-received part of the shtick for some bands. And there's something to be said for a new band to come charging out of the gate asserting the whole bad boy angle. It takes confidence and poise to pull it off, and some have made it their trademark.

This all becomes difficult to swallow when the rest of the equation is introduced. A number of years later- no measurable achievement, no record deal, no tour, and a revolving cast of characters. It stinks of syndicated television. The difference? We aren't seeing Dave Coulier demanding recognition and respect from new and upcoming actors.

People are not impressed by veteran local musicians who love to be hated. Quite frankly, people couldn't care less. Local bands should be kissing the feet of people who spend money to go to their shows. The fans a local band holds onto over the course of years are not interested in the jaded stance that the band projects. If people are still coming to your show after five or ten years, it's because they like your music, not your attitude or your image.

Even less attractive is to witness someone of talent and accomplishment attempt to unite a local music scene by speaking and acting in a manner that can only be described as divisive.
  
I remember the Western Mass local music scene when it was flourishing a few years back. My band was a part of it, and no one person or band created it.  No one person or band deliberately acted to fuel a renaissance of the local scene. It was a collective effort that took place without any of us knowing about it. Suggestions to the contrary are asinine.

No one can fault someone for forging ahead with a decent band that plays local shows earning a respectable turnout. And no one can fault such a band for having peaked years ago. It's local music, and it's bound to happen eventually. Internationally known artists experience the same phenomenon. There must come a time when these bands come to terms with what they have been able to achieve and either continue on as leaders, or bow out with whatever dignity remains.

DK

A Palpable Air of Narcissism: Local Music At It's Most Deplorable

Having played music for the better part of the last fifteen years, I've had the joy of getting to know a great number of local musicians. In meeting my amateur musician peers, it has always brought profound joy to witness those who have fallen head-over-heals for themselves and make no bones about notifying the entire human race of their superiority.

Naturally, I'm not speaking of any one particular person or band, as there have been many before whom I've knelt with humility.

You see, the local music scene in Western Massachusetts is no longer a living, breathing entity apart of which many artists contribute and grow. The scene in Western Massachusetts is a "pig in a cage on antibiotics"(thank you, Thom Yorke). It can be called smoldering at the very height of the current state. Tribute bands are drawing larger and more consistent crowds than any one local act.

This is not to dismiss the one or two original bands that are able to play locally and remind us all what selling out a club really looks like. These bands do exist in Western Mass, but they are a fine-tuned machine and a force to be reckoned with. These bands need not barrage the masses with their messages of self righteousness. The message is heard loud and clear as the line of people waiting to get into the club wraps around the building.

Unfortunately, some local bands just can't step off the Narcissism Express.

This is nothing new, nor is it anything worth blogging or reading about. Though if you're at all inclined to opine, please indulge me this.

There are many a band (and band member) in Western Massachusetts who have achieved some level of local recognition. Successful shows, recordings, loyal fan bases, articles, interviews, and tours. Some are so talented, in fact, that they have managed to experience a tour of shows without ever venturing out of New England.

All too often, these bands and band members of some measurable success take on a palpable air of narcissism. A projection that some widespread recognition is owed to them for the purportedly unmatched achievements they have made. An impression that, if the propaganda persists, we as an audience may be convinced of. And not only dare they gloat, but additionally expect that you share in their self-love. Lend a hand in the masturbating of their egos. No, you need not say anything. Just stand by and watch approvingly as they show you what a real band looks like, sounds like, and acts like. In fact, it's probably best if you don't participate. Your tawdry assertions of music are no match for the stage shredding that is about to ensue.

Many local bands over the last ten years have taken this route. Earning their stripes by announcing their greatness. Often times, those who take this approach have done so because the recognition has not met them in a more natural way. What is even more depressing to observe is someone of inarguable musical talent spouting about the internet in an overt attempt to assert his or her disapproval of other local bands homage to his or her own band.

Those who are experiencing success are not cluttering the internet with infantile complaints. There is no time to devote to such idiocy when true success is on the horizon.

I played for years in local bands. I've played in bands that have achieved some local success and recognition. I've played shows in Chicago for an audience of one, and I've played very lucrative nights in my hometown. My bands have been played on the radio, featured in local publications and recorded in Grammy-friendly studios. I and my bands have done all of this, but all the while never losing sight of how little it all truly is.

Being a local band in Western Massachusetts does not, in itself, garner any reverence. For the local band is just that- a local band. At it's best, the local band community stands together and supports one another as each band grows, changes, or inevitably dies. There's a camaraderie that comes from playing shows in run-down bars for few people and even fewer dollars. And there's a sense of pride watching friends perform their songs to a well-receiving crowd.

Nevertheless, those narcissistic local musicians can't seem to get beyond the praise that they feel is owed them.Why, when the ratio of success to years invested is less than inspiring, are some so determined to embody this vision of success. When will the embodiment of complacency be enough? Achieving complacency is not accepting defeat. Complacency, in this context, would mean the acceptance and acknowledgment of achievement sans narcissism and entitlement.

Every single one of us who has picked up an instrument has dreamed, however fleeting, of achieving fame and fortune by that end. Though, there must come a time when the dreams of success, and the posture that can follow closely behind, are replaced by another, more grounded, intent. Perpetuating these fantasies is not only futile, but surprisingly sad and evident to the onlooker. Those who have achieved success need not advertise their accolades. We will know you're successful when you no longer play local bars because you're now selling out theaters and arenas. Though your talents may be many, your mediocrity is not lost on the world. Give your audience a little more credit.

DK 

Something of substance.

I've literally got ten minutes before I meet with some good friends for coffee. Ten minutes. Nothing really to say.

Tonight's plans have deteriorated rather unexpectedly. Some friends and I were going to check out a local phenomenon at a nearby watering hole. Not a phenomenon like the John Travolta type. A real phenomenon. A group of fully grown (arguably over grown) men set out to entertain the locals with a catalog of songs so vast and grossly unrelated that the intent observer can't help but be stunned. It's real. It's real and it should be happening tonight.

And surely, this is happening tonight. Just not in our town.

Somewhere in the United States, this very phenomenon is unfolding. Rarely is something so grand, so entertaining, and so calculated and poised occurring in so many places, and with such varied artistry that the unassuming patron sleeps through a proverbial hydrogen bomb.

This is what I am missing tonight. Missing because it is not occurring, as I can assure you, these wondrous moments are not lost on me.

DK

Give me something to do. Please.

I know I shouldn't complain. I have many people in my life who truly care about me. I have a job where I feel accomplished and appreciated. I have my own home and I just bought my first car.

I just can't help but feel like something is missing. And I know just what it is.

I'm completely lacking a creative outlet. I don't have a band anymore. I haven't drawn or painted in at least ten years. And I haven't written a full song in almost five years. My guitars are locked away in their cases, and my amplifier is in disrepair.

Playing music is something I absolutely love to do, but I tend not to do it when I'm alone. For me, playing music is meant to be interactive. There's something incredible about the organic process of writing and not knowing where a song might go. When I play music by myself, I know exactly where it's going to end up. There's no surprise. Playing music with other people can be an adventure. One note can be the difference between mundane and exciting.

Playing guitar since I was thirteen, I've been in quite a few bands. Certainly, I'm more proud of some projects than I am of others. I just find myself longing for that creative process again. I miss sitting in a room with two guitars and pushing each other to be more creative.

Well, the solution seems quite simple, you say?

No.

All the bands I have been a part of have consisted of friends. It's easy to put together a band when surrounded by musical people. Today, I'm not quite as fortunate. I remain friends with all my former band mates, but they are all unavailable to play music.... with me. Several of them have new bands of their own. Others have little time or interest in further pursuing music.

What also complicates my situation is that I don't have the time or enthusiasm to seek out musicians with whom I'm not already connected in some way. Absolutely, I am responsible for my situation. I could surely post an ad on Craigslist and have a hipster-hating band together before the week is done. I just don't want to. I've heard too many horror stories about band auditions, and the time involved is staggering. I guess I've been spoiled. I've had the luxury of knowing musicians and the pleasure of the opportunity to play with them. Not only the pleasure of playing with musicians who were also friends, but the sense of achievement that came from being in a band that gained some local notoriety. Having had such experiences, I find myself doubting that I'll find myself in a room (no pun intended) with similarly talented and driven folks without undergoing the dreaded process of actually looking.

Perhaps the only thing left to do is write a personal ad. And since you're likely a friend of mine if you're reading this, perhaps you or some one you know may be just what I'm looking for.

Fast-approaching-thirty guitarist seeks a similarly saddled person of musical inclination. I do like walks on the beach, though I don't aspire to walk beaches with you (or our dickhead drummer). I'm not a virtuoso but I can play my instrument and fake it with the best of 'em. I'd love it if you knew how to play your instrument as well. It'd be great if we could push each other to be better, more creative people. That's really what I hope to gain from us playing together, as my dreams of becoming famous have long washed away. I'm not impressed that you have your dad's 1960 Les Paul and I couldn't care less that you have a drug habit. Neither of these things make you a rock star, and you need not reply if either sound familiar. We won't be ordering stickers or shirts before Christmas. Stickers and shirts don't equal credibility. We likely won't be playing shows before Christmas, either. I know, I know...this probably seems absurd. Especially since we've only just met and you booked three gigs for next weekend. We're going to take things slow and see what comes of our collaboration. To be honest, we may never play a show or order stickers and shirts. We may never drive across the country playing dive bars for free, all the while convinced that this will somehow garner some major label attention. Having read this far and not been driven away, I'd like it if you'd call. Perhaps we could get together for coffee and some discussion over our mutual admiration for all things Jack White. Maybe we could spend a day exploring your amp and guitar arsenal, as I can't imagine you're still using that solid-state piece of shit you bought back in 9th grade. I hope you exist. I hope you call.              Soon.


DK

I probably need help....

I'm becoming increasingly self-aware and it's nothing short of scary. What I'm referring to are the many moments throughout a day that I find myself needing things to be "just so".

There's something that I gain from certain mundane details being carried out in a way that I expect and approve of. There's a comfort in it.

It's worth mentioning that I almost scrapped this entire post. Though, sitting back and thinking about what I'm saying, it seems that these must be feelings that we all experience to some degree.

Sure, some of us lead more routine lives than others. And though I wouldn't describe my life as routine, I do find comfort in having an outline by which I can fill in the blanks.

Today I know I'm working. From home, but working nonetheless. I know I have two treatment plans to write, and that I'll likely be done with both before noon. At some point today I need to find time to pick up a few odds and ends at the grocery store. I need to eat. And I know already what I'll be having for at least two of my three meals.

I've always liked plans. I'm not very spontaneous, though I'm seldom without an activity to occupy at least part of each day. I'm sure some of this need for planning comes from anxiety. Though I'll be the first to tell you that having some anxiety can be beneficial. At least, it has been for me. Fueled by a small amount of anxiety, I'm able to manage my time, plan ahead and be prepared for whatever the day may bring.

With any luck, I'll find some time in my day to plan for a better blog post tomorrow.

DK

Genesis: Not the band

Those who know me well, or even peripherally, can attest to the fact that I have an opinion. In launching this blog, I make no suggestion that this is a unique quality, or that my opinion carries more weight or proves more valid than those of my peers. In fact, I quite value the opinion of those around me. I still solicit the advice of family, friends, and coworkers. I truly believe I have a lot left to learn in this life.

That being said....

I'm launching this blog as a venue for me to put my opinions out of my mind, and by doing so, set them free. All too often I have found that my boredom has led to ill-received Facebook commentary, instigating remarks on MassLive forums, and ultimately achieving a perception of myself that is largely negative.

I aspire to use this blog as a vehicle by which I can appropriately address matters of the day without being consumed by the call and response of social network banter. By no means am I declaring an end to my participation in social networks. That would be just silly.

With any luck, this process will prove beneficial for me and, at times, mildly entertaining for you.

DK