Finale: Act V
Scene: [Hardcore and Teddy are sitting in lawn chairs in front of Carl’s trailer. Teddy’s luggage sits near him.] Hardcore: Been good to see you, Teddy. I didn’t expect it. I don’t expect I’ll see you again, at least not in this life, ha ha. Teddy: Not unless you come West. Hardcore: I don’t dare drive very far no more. Teddy: There are other means of transportation. You know, people live under bridges there, too. Your chosen lifestyle is available to you. Hardcore (laughs): Oh, I know. I seen pictures on Facebook, people on the streets of San Francisco, sewage in the gutters, little kids running around, naked. [Carl enters from the trailer.] Carl (laughs): Don’t you bad mouth Facebook, Hardcore. Hardcore: I ain’t. Just saying what I saw. Carl: We all know whose side you’re on. Hardcore: I’m not on nobody’s side. I’m sideless, ha ha. Carl: Clueless is…
(Dis)Covering “Things Have Changed”
I’ve been adding a lot of Dylan songs to my sets, almost a whole Dylan set, motivating me to get a set of my very own compositions on my iPad for live performance. When I started building backtracks for this time-machine hired-musician project I call Euphemism’s Prism, a remnant of the lockdown; when I had to learn to divvy up the music with my other artificial selves, musical descendants of the blonde boy, child is father, I turned immediately to Mr. Tambourine Man with my desire to cast a dancing spell, then to Just Like a Woman where Queen Mary is a friend. I recall vividly sitting on my drummer’s throne just after the incredible Bose got here, ready to render Mr. Tambourine Man live for the first time. My harmony tracks were balanced and reasonably in tune, the guitars were aligned, as were the stars I guess, because I…
Magic Made in the Moment
Saturday night at 36 Handles in El Dorado Hills, where Euphemism’s Prism played its first quasi-post-pandemic gig, was the setting for the performance of some musical magic that helped me understand more deeply what I’ve thought of forever as a binary choice. Music is either a) live or b) recorded—I’m not counting music written on the page as “music,” though my bracketing of sheet music is arbitrary, I realize. Literate musicians do “hear” music through their eyes as they read it, but I’ll leave that avenue for later. Even a week before the gig, magic happened. I own an electric 12 string guitar built almost two decades ago, one of only 1,000 to have been built by a master builder. I’ve wanted to get my hands on another one, but they show up for sale but rarely, and finding one at a brick and mortar would be like a needle…
Magical Moments and Music
Lately, I’ve been reflecting on music, its making, its meaning, well, its magic. Before Covid (BC), I hadn’t fully appreciated the nuances and subtleties of “live” vs. “recorded” music. I remember Three Dog Night live in Chicago around 1969 performing in a cavernous warehouse, long hair twining through giant strobe light flashes, dancers alone, in pairs, and in clusters, obviously tripping on one thing or another. Try a Little Tenderness sounded like the recording, passionate, powerful, but it was bigger, not just louder; more raw, gutty, gritty, sweeter. It took until 2020 for me to plumb the depths of this insight as I pursued my second childhood dream of making a last stand with a band—hence, Euphemism’s Prism. Once the dam broke in my consciousness, all of these memories of bands and musicians came flooding in—audio memories of live bands (Beach Boys anyone?), old analog tapes of Small Circle of…
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Euphemism’s Prism plays live folk-rock, blues, country rock, and classic rock to entertain your audience of listeners.
How does music work its magic?
I’ve played music since my youngest days in the heart of Illinois in a town of a few thousand people. My first instrument was a plastic guitar, my first device a transistor radio, my first tape deck a 3” Aiwa from the drug store in the county seat. In third grade I started formally learning to play drums in the school band. In middle school I played local gigs at birthday parties with my buddies. In high school I took some music theory courses and learned a little about white keys and black keys. Now that the leaves have changed colors and my ship is on the other side of the sea, I look back in wonder at the motivating, healing, calming, stabilizing, joyful cocoon these tiny twelve notes knitted into the flow of time have held me in. How does such a thing happen? How do we thank the…