Dream Theater - Instrumedly (Live At Budokan)

There is no better band when it comes to pure musicality than these guys. I dare you to count the mode changes, key changes and time signature changes.
Please take the time to listen to this on a set of headphones or good speaker system. It is 12 minutes long, so plan ahead. I could barely breathe after I heard it the first time. What else can I say? I wish I had the skills of both Mike Portnoy and John Petrucci.

Not Another Project!

This little gem is a 1973 Honda CT70. I picked it up for an undisclosed amount from a fellow Eurekan. It is going to be our new project. A while back, I got on this kick to build a go-kart. My oldest son and I (in the red shirt) drew up some plans based upon 20" BMX bikes. It was going to be awesome. We even put a bulletin up at the post office stating our need of old bicycles. We received around ten. Including some sweet GT frames, which we just rebuilt for my two boys.

Unfortunately, things began to go awry. I just couldn’t make the design not clunky and nasty looking. Not to mention the amount of usable steel on the bike frame was a lot less than I had originally anticipated. So, we decided against pursuing the go-kart/bicycle idea further. But, I still had a promise to keep.

I went to the local motorcycle guru here in Eureka and he had this thing rusting in his yard. After a little bartering, it was mine. I think it is the perfect setup for me and mine. The bike is a dual sport. Meaning that it is legal both on and off street. It is an automatic, good for the Goddess, and beginning riders. The best part of the deal is that there is an unlimited amount of parts to be had, because they are being reproduced by a Chinese corporation. This includes a 125cc motor that can take this steel pony to speeds of over 70 mph. Tempting, but I don’t like the idea of a ten year old riding that fast (or even half that fast).

Lately I have been reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. I recommend this book heartily. The best part of this project is that it fits right into my idea of quality in so many ways. I will be learning how this bike works extensively because every part will be taken off and inspected. We have already begun stripping it down to the frame. My boy likes the idea of "militarizing" it. As a result of this, we purchased a special gunsmithing paint in olive drab. Stay tuned, but don’t hold your breath. Our estimated finish time is the spring.

This Isn't Really a Post

This isn't really a post. I'm cookin' up a new one, it'll be hot and ready soon. I just wanted to let all who care that I have added a few pictures to some previous posts...... if you care to look.

Paul Gilbert of Mr. Big Fame

I loved his version of this. If you remember the original, you'll realize how different this remake of it is. I love how he is singing whilst tapping during the chorus. It's just sick how he can do that! Enjoy.

An ode to Whodoggy and Ibid

This song reminded me of you two. Since you goofs are the same age, and have a lot of the same tastes which are tragically acoustic.

Flymo

A few of you may remember this thing.

Simply put; it was the bane of my summer existence. This was suppose to be the latest whiz-bang sophistication of lawn mowing in the '80s. It wasn't. The Flymo should have been named the Dragmo, because I would just drag it across our Rexburg lawn whilst cursing my Dad for making me perform feats of manual labor.

I think back now about my chores and that damnable chalkboard that magically assigned them, and I find myself amused and a little ashamed. I am amused because the chores seemed like they were impossible to get done. They were my own personal Everest. I am ashamed because I could drag out a chore like mowing the lawn, which took, at most, 30 minutes. Only two hours and fifty-nine minutes later I would finish a shoddy job; pissed and winded from the work of avoiding work.

Back to my Dad, the Flymo, and cursing. I would mow the lawn and because the motor was so noisy I would vent my frustrations verbally. My language would have done a Sailor proud. The part that still makes me chuckle is that I could see my Dad watching me....and laughing! This, of course, just infuriated me at the time and so I would cuss louder and with extra vulgarity. His reaction was only to laugh harder.

I love this memory now.

I get to relive it with my own children, and I find myself laughing when they lose thier silly tempers.

Such is fatherhood...I guess.

Crazy Kid

My daughter was in Bible school a few weeks back. One of the things they were doing was making homemade cards for soldiers.

Inside the card she wrote, "Good News! You’re still alive!"

This is the same kid that when asked what she wanted to be when she grew up, she responded with, "A banana or a Rainbow Maker."

I love it. A little ray of sunshine in a rainy world.

Einstein - Kids in the Hall

The Kids in the Hall - Trapper

This reminds me of summer nights in Rexburg. I loved this show.

Rush was a great experience.

Neil was spot on as always. I kept thinking as I was listening and watching, "This is surreal, that is Neil Peart down there and he is really playing and I am watching and gee whiz that roll was awesome." Among other things. His kit was a brilliant red. There was a camera directly over his head and it was a treat to watch him execute in such detail. He completely revamped the solo that he has played in one variation or another the last few years. He still switched kits, but the electronic kit sounded like nothing I’ve heard. He did an ode to swing that was much longer than the solo found on the Rio DVD or Different Strings. My friend, the music teacher, went with me and loved this part of the concert. Mainly because there were horns playing...stinking horns! It was obvious that the drum solo was a tribute to Buddy Rich (who really was the master). I never saw the professor smile.

Alex played well. He didn’t switch axes very often. He was playing what I believe was a customized Les Paul with a Floyd Rose and all the goodies. He also played a white hollow body of sorts. He sounded great. I think that he wasn’t mixed well, (see my last paragraph). He seems to be the goofiest one of them and the most likely to dance around and stuff. He had his row of toy dinosaurs on his amps. Again, the camera work was most appreciated by those of us in the poor seats, or poor lawn area rather. I even got a little insight on how to play the intro to Spirit of the Radio thanks to the cheating camera. It is a crying shame how underrated Alex is by the masses. Some never seem to get their due.

Geddy owned the show. This guy knows his bass biblically. He stole the show with his bass and keyboard skills. I was blown away that he could play both instruments and sing for three and a half hours. He was also the sense of humor behind the show, which is important. He really shined during some of the newer stuff like The Main Monkey Business and especially Malignant Narcissism. He also didn’t switch instruments very often. I think that he played two different Jazz basses for the duration of the show.

The highlights of the show were Passage to Bangkok, Tom Sawyer, Malignant Narcissism, Freewill, Spirit of the Radio, Subdivisions, and The Main Monkey Business. Really, I enjoyed every song though. This was by far the loudest thing I have ever endured. In fact, we moved to the back of the venue out of sheer pain. Finally, my friend found a used napkin that we shredded and stuffed in our ears in desperation. I should have expected this, it was a rock concert after all, but never again without ear plugs. I don’t remember Van Halen being that loud. It has been two days since the sonic assault and my ears are still ringing.

Sorry Grifter, they did not play The Trees or Red Barchetta, but I hardly noticed. And I love those songs.

Well, it’s one huge venue concert a year for me and this one was worth every penny. Until next year......

Helmet

This brings back such great memories. This performance is awesome. So tight.

Thank God for every breath.

I picked up a case of Walking Pneumonia a few weeks back. I hope you guys can forgive me for not posting. I found this experience coupled with the recent tragedy in my little community most sobering. The weight of death and its certainty has just brought me so down. Time is a cruel thing. Life is too fragile and I understand so little about it. Just that I love it and fear its end.

Suddenly, parenting is almost too much, because the loss of a child seems unbearable. Suddenly, my relations aren’t close enough. Suddenly, my friends mean more and some acquaintances mean less. I waste so much of my precious time. And worse yet, I know these feelings will fade in a way and I secretly want them to. I wish life could be the even time signature that I am used to. I will never be the same...once again. Change is good, but it also hurts. I need peace, and it seems so hard to find.

Oh, and I swear a blood oath to you that this will never become a video blog, but I will be posting videos off and on.

Chaucer and Dad and J.R. and anyone else who care to chime in-

This is an emergency and sorta’ awkward.

If you had the choice to see Dream Theater or Rush, but not both, who would you choose and why? I have seen neither. I would value your opinion. My apologies if this is inappropriate. I’m not sure what constitutes proper etiquette on these things anyway. Many thanks.

King Crimson

There is an awful lot going on in this song. One of my favorites. Also, I am trying to figure out how to post videos.

Dear Damsel in Distress,

I miss you. Where have you gone? It seems that in every movie that you have been in lately, my gender can no longer rescue you. Also, where did you learn Kung Fu?

Why the spinning round house? Why the ‘tude? Why the anger? Why the masculine muscley muscles? Was it V.I.P? That utter tripe. Was it Barb Wire? Was it the disproportionate fighting chicks in Street Fighter and its ilk? Was it Seven of Nine?

I don’t know when you changed. It wasn't that long ago. I miss the girl next door: vulnerable, non-butt kicking character you once were. I wish you would put a little meat on the bones, and unlearn the kung-fu. I wish your body was normal and you were fine with it. I wish your lips and chin weren’t pumped full of goo. I wish you were sweet: instead of the harsh war-scarred attitude you’ve had of late. I wish you didn’t look like a Bratz doll and I wish my daughter didn’t think that you were pretty. You’re not.

You have covered up your vulnerability and replaced sweetness with testosterone. A strong woman is not necessarily the one with the capability to pull off a flying roundhouse.

I miss you.

G-man

Eureka lost one of her daughters on Saturday.

May your brown eyes brighten heaven the way they brightened our community.

Farewell little one.

Some random musical ramblings.

Robert Fripp is a genius. Aside from wasting a ton of time this weekend, I have reinforced this musical maxim. King Crimson are just so spanking good at what they do. I can’t help but love prog, it never gets old. I watched an old video of Elephant Talk on the mighty Youtube, it is most impressive.

The only bad part is that I feel torn between Belew and Fripp as a guitarist and then watching the incomparable Bruford; he makes me need to pound the skins so bad I can hardly stand it. I wish I did not love both instruments. I’m really not that good at either, but I do enjoy myself. If you like prog rock, check out King Crimson. Also, check out a group called Aphrodite’s Child. I am still getting used to them, but I love Four Horsemen (Thanks Joneseph and DZ).

Van Halen is in a continual state of letting me down. After yet another botched reunion attempt that ended in failure, I think I am done with these jokers. I hope that Edward can beat his addictions, he is unique; I just hope he doesn’t leave us unnecessarily early. Mike Anthony has been replaced by a 15 year old, which is just wrong. The Van Halens snubbed the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. David Lee Roth didn’t even show up. What a disgrace. To top off the insanity, Velvet Revolver wouldn’t play Jump. I didn’t know it was Velvet Revolver being inducted, why did they have a say in the matter!! They so totally screwed up Runaround that I was speechless. I could have farted the song better than they played it. What an utter wasted opportunity. Imagine if the original lineup had walked out on stage and played "Ain’t Talkin’ ‘Bout Love and Jump and then Sam Hagar came out and sang Right Now and Amsterdam. That would have been classy and shocking. At least Sammy and Mike were gentlemen enough to mention the rest of the band in civil terms. This may be the most botched induction in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame’s short history. It was worse than the Blondie debacle.

My little letter to Eddie: Dude, a porn star girlfriend? Making soundtracks for porn? You are Eddie Van Halen! You are the father of modern guitar, among the likes of Jimi Hendrix. You are not some starvin’ street guitarist. I am sure you could put out solo music, I’d buy it. Hell, tell Alex to put out a solo album! Why? Why? Why? You need to go on a long motorcycle ride alone, I mean for weeks. Or a wildlife retreat, with jerky, beans, and dried fruit. And I mean somewhere wild, not some Californian rich boy getaway. Purge the pampered rich guy from your system and become hungry again. The world misses you.

I was recently forcibly baptized into the world of Indie music. A friend (who shall remain anonymous) had me listen to a playlist of 102 songs. I had only heard maybe 3 of the bands on the playlist. I admit that it was a scary experience to step away from my usual progressive rock fare such as Rush, Dream Theater, and King’s X. Usually, I need a lot going on in my music for me to enjoy it, and I wasn’t sure about Indie stuff and its acoustic oddball simplicity. Let us not forget the usual snobbery expressed by the purveyors of evil Indie music.

So much for my expectations. For the most part I truly enjoyed myself. And I even heard one song that was a spiritual experience. I consider this most fortuitous, yeah even serendipitous. I estimate the odds of finding a song so moving to be one in a thousand, and I was able to find this diamond in a playlist of 102 songs. As usual, my perspective has been broadened and once more I will never be the same.

What was the song you ask? It was The Trapeze Swinger by Iron & Wine. Not the studio production, but the Itunes exclusive live cut. When I first heard this song I think my heart stopped beating, my eyes misted, and my mind filled with the rushing sounds, smells, and raw emotions of young love. Thank you Mr. Beam and your lovely sister too.

Why do we limit ourselves so often? There is a whole ‘nother world out there.

I ask you friends, family, and acquaintances. What have been your musical surprises?

Jaime,

If you read this again please e-mail us. We have lost your contact information.

This weekend was fantastic! I worked hard, which always feels rewarding. I like it when work is where I rest and home is where I work. I even enjoyed a few epiphanies.

It started off kinda’ crappy. The Goddess tried and failed to start the ever temperamental Trooper. She ended up hitching a ride to dance classes. I then tried to start it, and walked away in a state of total discouragement. I didn’t even mess with the thing for the rest of the night, such was my dismal attitude.

Friday morning seemed promising. The Trooper mysteriously started. The Goddess and I drove around town for a few minutes running errands. At the post office it died an undignified death. I walked home and towed it back with the Warhorse (Bronco II). A quick check with a spark tester betrayed the problem; almost certainly the ignition control module. It is a common problem with this particular GM ignition system. I am grateful it failed somewhere close. I was bummed. I didn’t really want to spend Memorial Day weekend fixing something. It turned out to be only about an hour of work.

Saturday was spent carving up the landscaping of my tiny, manageable yard. There were flowers planted aplenty.

Sunday, oh terrible Sunday. Church is always too early (and too often). I am woefully lazy. Yet, during the festivities of the second hour a strange thing happened. It began with my friend Darth Boecks whisking me into the Family History Room. From there, he proceeded to interrogate me, asking me lewd and specific questions about my ancestry. It turned out to be pretty fascinating. Later after the festivities were over, I went home and called Whodoggy, and we were pulled into the dark side of family history. The trouble was neither of us could remember our paternal great-grandfather’s name. One of us made the brilliant decision to get Original Voodoo on the tele with us (using the space age technology known as a conference call). He expanded our knowledge of the family name and all was good and well. Then it happened.....Whodoggy noticed it (damn him).....our parents are 5th cousins!!!!! There you have it. One could say I have been baptized again, because basically everything I’ve ever done wrong or stupidly happened because I am the product of an incestuous relationship!!

Thanks Mom, thanks Dad for the straight shot to heaven.

Monday dawned a new day. Have you ever noticed how a lot of movies for kids feature the promise breaking Dad? Yeah, well that’s me. One of my offending promises was a tree house that I started building 2 years ago. My poor kids, my ambitions were greater than my capacity to deliver. This weekend I fulfilled my promise. My children and I constructed the tree house. And it is a good house, built upon the rock of my belated kept promise. It features such things as a hardwood floor (2 x 4's), windows (without glass), 2 levels (there really is no 1st level), a great view (of a tree), and a natural wood finish (weathered scrap wood). They love it!
Woe is me and my overactive conscience.