Diablo Dulce

1/8/2009

A big Democratic FUCK YOU.

Filed under: General — site admin @ 1:21 pm

Over the past two weeks I have written a lot of letters, signed petitions, bitched and moaned and cried. This Gaza thing is just sad. What can you say? What can you do? All I know is I am know at the point where I am not sure I could be friends with anyone who supports this kind of action. Truth be told I have a lot more Jewish friends than Palestinian. However, most of them are pro-Palestinian or at the least pro-PEACE. This situation, long and short term seems pretty hopeless. The only chance is a strong U.S. stance. The only prospect for this is a huge condemnation by American Jews. This probably will never happen and I truly believe will be the slow death of Israel and the long apartheid of Palestine.

Either way, these days, even with Barckorama, most of my Jewish friends wouldn’t take a minute of their time to write their leaders. Some, because they are “too busy,” some because they are so disaffected by how our world runs. Sad. I am not sure what else to do. Even as I write this from my perch of far away privilege I realize fruitlessness of it all. These are big guns. And the world is cruel. It is just maddening to hear these politicians mouth off, their only defense their re-election.

Dear Senator Reid,

Your recent and consistent statements of unconditional support of Israel are truly disappointing. As a registered Democrat and an active member of my community I am appalled that the Democratic party can take such an unjust and biased position. Over 700 dead, countless wounded, no food or medicine? A prison of death and hopelessness.

There can be no justification except campaign contributions from pro-Israeli lobbies. This support is not in our national interest, or even for that matter, Israel’s. How can we expect other countries to have any respect for us when your leadership is so clearly unbalanced and shortsighted? This issue demands nuance. You are skilled enough to know better.

You ask the question, “What would we do if Mexico was lobbing rockets into California?” I ask you, “What would we do if we were expelled from our homes and all 300 million of us were placed in refugee camps in Nevada, not allowed access to basic supplies and not allowed to leave. Oh, and had to suffer whimsical bombings by our oppressors, kids being shot for throwing rocks, journalists refused entry, and our oppressors disregarding more UN resolutions than any other country ever?” The list goes on. One day, history will condemn Israel for its crimes against humanity and you and your fellow Democrats for your support.

I am ashamed to be associated with the Democratic Party and my money, energy, time and loyalty will go elsewhere if no immediate change in rhetoric occurs.

Sincerely, Jason Broome

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1/1/2009

A Reverse Picardy Third.

Filed under: General — site admin @ 1:12 pm

A forward from Tulula bass player Mike.

On Tue, Dec 30, 2008 at 12:17 PM, Bill Amatneek wrote:
A Picardy Third, or Tierce de Picardie, is “a practice of ending a composition with a major chord, when the rest of the composition is in a minor key.”

Is there a name for the converse, for ending a composition with a minor chord, when the rest of the composition is in a major key?

MTIA.
Happy New Year to all on the list,
Bill Amatneek

———- Forwarded message ———-
From: Tim Swetonic
Date: Tue, Dec 30, 2008 at 3:44 PM
Subject: Re: [2xbasslist] Picardy Third question
To: Bill@amatneek.com, Double bass list <2xbasslist@u.washington.edu>

This is what Wikipedia says:

The “reverse” Picardy third, where an expected major chord is replaced by its minor equivalent, is almost never used at the end of a work – an example of this rarity is in Mendelssohn ‘s Characteristic Piece Op. 7 No. 7 in E. A similar effect, often used, is created with a deceptive cadence in the relative minor key (for example, in C major, replacing the expected tonic chord with A minor); this effect utilises the lowered third but without affirming the tonic key.

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Gaza Revisited.

Filed under: General — site admin @ 1:10 pm

The killing in Gaza continues. Hundreds have been killed, thousands injured, air-strikes have caused utter devastation and entire families are left homeless. Civilians in the south of Israel are being held captive by a government which lies to them and abuses them. Destruction and death in Gaza will not ensure their future, but rather lead to more violence and killings.

Join us in protest this coming Saturday, 3.1.2009, in Tel Aviv. Together we will call out:
Stop the Killing! No to the Siege! Yes to life for both peoples!

In these dark days, let us stick to our message:
Jews and Arabs refuse to be enemies!

Our demand: A full truce and the lifting of the siege on Gaza NOW!

We meet at the corner of Frishman St. and Khen Boulevard at 18:30

* Information about transportation from across the country will be published shortly.

Please note: For the past week mass arrests have been carried out amongst Palestinian citizens of Israel who are exercising their democratic right to protest. On Saturday, at 13:00, before the Tel Aviv demonstration, a mass protest rally will be held in Sakhnin by the High Committee of Arab Israelis against the killing in Gaza. Please make an effort to join â�� your presence is of the essence!

————-
For donations, crucial for our demonstration, please send checks made out to “Matte Hacoalitsia” at PO box 1335, Kfar Saba 44113

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All is quiet on New Year’s day.

Filed under: General — site admin @ 1:07 pm

There are many Christmas songs but how many New Year’s?

Wow, my last post was in July. Hmm. Good thing or bad? I tend to lean towards the bad. If I am not posting it means I am not inspired to write, or I am inspired to write but too busy or wrapped up in other crap to deal with it. Either way it ain’t good. (Why does ain’t still come up as a misspelled word? Some kind of anti-redneckism? One thing I would change were I King.) I guess there is always the other option. I am so busy doing inspirational stuff that I can’t break away to write about it. Unfortunately not the case, or is it?

Truthfully it has been a struggle. How do I make a living in a rural environment without going insane? To add to this, I have now become sole (for the most part) breadwinner and have the responsibility of a baby girl now as well. A quick note on this. Said baby girl has been something so wondrous and amazing I could never have expected in all my dreams. Quite a surprise for this curmudgeon of the philosophy of shoe droppings. And as such, has been the key to sanity as well as the occupier of any free time, which as many parents know, is no sacrifice whatsoever. The biggest surprise is my ability to willingly remove my ass from couch to rock her to sleep, and enjoy every minute of it. I hear you toddler parental units saying, “You just wait.” And maybe you are right, but for now it is a pleasure.

And so I guess that is the struggle, balancing family, work, house and art and smelting it all into a metaphorical home. Good night Irene.

All that said, something has to change. I need the melody. Everyday without it is like a methadone withdrawal. For those of you sans experience, it is much less painful than smack withdrawal, but not so much so that you won’t go slowly insane with restless legs and exhaustion. The combination is what leads to the insanity. Tired but can’t sleep topped off with feeling like crap ala flu symptoms. A gross understatement of the malady but you get the idea. Anyway, my life without music is like that but instead of a light at the end of the tunnel, there is regret, apathy, complacency and finally defeat. Yes, it is wonderful and makes for a lot of late night pity parties dancing like sugarplums in the brain, all this while watching re-runs of Survivorman. Hmm.

So, the conundrum. Twenty-two years of music and can’t get no respect can get tiring for this sadly in need of validation soul. Try as I might I have not been able to get to the place of “No man, I just do music for myself, I don’t need to be heard.” Well I do. There I said it. Happy now? For me music is all of the above. From the little tingling of the mind right through to the live show, the recording and way beyond. And for better or worse (worse, remember the glass is empty, I mean half empty) one of my bands does one part of the music, one band does another part of the music, and then there is me (seemingly alone) left with everything else (else meaning the actual business crap part of it that no one else wants to deal with so Jason ends up doing it).

Disclaimer or something: Anyone who has read this far who I make music with, try not to take any of this too personally. As always I treat this space as one that no one reads and is subject to momentary pangs and giant simplifications of the processes actual events. Feelings are not facts. However, this stuff has been rattling around for years and needs to come out, needs to be sussed out or at the very fucking least, accepted and surrendered to.

Onward nihilistic soldier. Reality is what it is unless we change it and change it we must if we are to grow. For those of us that live in fear of change, this is a bitch. My m.o., since I became aware of my fear, has always been to run straight into it. The result, a tirade of accomplishment, some failure, lots of moving, lots of music, some pride and arrogance and even more anxiety. It would seem the pot of gold never appears. Every fear is overcome only to present another. Fear = anxiety = stress. So yes, my neck hurts.

Break it down. The folks I create effortlessly with live 2 hours away. More of a project and think tank than a band. Folks I play live with live close, but creativity and inspiration come from the stage. The thing that most people glob onto is my solo thing. But, I do not enjoy playing solo unless it is the perfect situation, i.e. dark room, attentive audience. Nor am I particularly inspired by my solo stuff. Is this because most of it is old? Probably. So, as always, it comes back to me and fear. And, as usual, this is no surprise. What am I afraid of? What will happen if I go down in the basement and write songs? Other stuff won’t get done. Maybe my songs will suck. And there is the other thing, and maybe this is the key. For me, writing songs is deep. Real deep. Scary deep. It takes me way down to that place I never really learned to go. To the place in your head right before you go to sleep. It is dark. Quiet, but not in a calming way. Unknown and scary, pretty much somewhere you don’t want to be. And I avoid it with a passion. Always have. The proverbial kid who needs the night light. The best thing for me was going to sleep knowing my Mom was in the next room with the light on, folding laundry or something. And here I am almost forty and I cannot for the life of me go to sleep without reading or watching TV. I mean I can, but it ain’t a happy time. (There is that fucking ain’t again.)

And here comes the next generation. Serafina is having the same problem. Can’t fall asleep without the boob or the car or Daddy rocking her. I have since learned they call it “ability to self-soothe.” I guess I missed that one as a kid. Maybe it has something to do with my Mom’s advice of letting Serafina cry herself to sleep. Or maybe that is how you learn to self-soothe. As always everyone has a fucking opinion on this, everyone in the own camp of rightness.

The answer seems pretty simple, learn to self-soothe and the skies will part to a showering of riches and glory. And here I am 11 years clean, years of therapy, years of meds, good friends and family and still struggling. “Just do it man,” they say. Oh to walk in shoes my friends. All I can say is you better learn how to hike, chop wood and dig. Without those chores I would surely be locked up. All the happy pills in the world are no substitute for outside.

As always we are back at the beginning. Life ain’t so bad some days and some days it is. Always changing, lullingly predictable in the short term and then the big stuff throws you. And then my beautiful rescue mutt Ham rests his muzzle on the thigh and it is hard not to admit the real stuff. A spurt of spit shine.

Happy 2009, JB.

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7/2/2008

Gaza Strip

Filed under: General — site admin @ 10:49 am

See this movie. If you have any doubt that the Israeli government is one of the worst promulgators of State terrorism watch this documentary. This is not for the faint of heart. It is the real deal. It is truly horrifying what the Israeli government has done, is doing and will continue to do. And this was before things got really bad in Gaza.

Makes me feel like the people who do create documentations like this are the real artists. What I do for art is meaningless. But, that is another story.

The filmmaker is James Longley and his website is http://littleredbutton.com.
Looks like there are some other great films he has made.

Some other documentaries I have watched recently and recommend.

Biography: Barack Obama (not a great presentation, but informative)

Ralph Nader: An Unreasonable Man (highly recommend, really shows you why this guy deserves a medal, or at least a lot of fucking credit. has probably saved more American lives than anyone ever.)

Why We Fight (nuff said, will make you sick)

Sicko (you know it, will make you sicker)

Festival Express (Buddy Guy rules, some great moments with Janis and the Dead and the Band)

End of the Century: The Story of the Ramones (some good moments)

The U.S. vs. John Lennon (oh america, what the fuck is wrong with you?)

Neil Young: Heart of Gold (not as good as I wanted it to be)

The Syrian Bride (not a doc, but great, really shows the power of art in bringing people together)

The Future of Food (holy christ we are fucked. this is excellent)

Who Killed the Electric Car? (umm, could this country’s capitalist system be anymore inane? I read a really good article recently by John F. Kennedy Jr. that explained very clearly why our system is so far from a free market. If we really had a free market system we would be so far ahead of the curve on new technologies instead of idiot companies like GM being paid to kill their own products that sell and work! It is so ridiculous you will not believe it is true. But, it is. GM recalled all of there good selling electric cars from the market and sent them to slaughter.

An Inconvenient Truth

Wal-Mart: The High Cost of Low Price (yes, wm is doing a lot of really good green stuff these days and that is because it makes financial sense. they are also responsible for the direct downfall of small business in america and screwing their workers in huge ways. i have been directly and adversely affected by there horrible polices. just give me a call and i’ll tell how)

Bukowski: Born into This (nice)

Berkeley in the Sixties (a lot of stuff i didn’t know about the cross over and strife between different ideas and groups of the time, a good look into how harsh and militant the activism was)

No Direction Home: Bob Dylan:

Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room (if you lived in CA during this debacle, as i did, you will be very pissed off and poorer)

March of the Penguins

Born Into Brothels

Rana’s Wedding (another good palestinian film)
Divine Intervention (and another)
Paradise Now (and another, required viewing…)

DiG! (anton from the BJM used to live upstairs, nice to see he has been keeping busy)

The Corporation (evil)

Metallica: Some Kind of Monster (worth seeing)

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1/19/2008

The Story Of Serafina

Filed under: General — site admin @ 10:57 am

I awoke on December 4th, 2007 at 10:10 am to find Trish lying down, staring at me with that â��I donâ��t feel too goodâ�� face. I asked her if she was having contractions. She uttered something entirely vague. Trish isnâ��t the best articulator when she isnâ��t feeling good. Having been with her for eight years I knew this. Luckily I anticipated and prepared myself for weeks for this inevitability. I chided her in the last days of her pregnancy, â��You are going to wake me up if the baby is coming right?â��

We had gone through a labor scare the previous Saturday. Trish was actually much more ready to call in the dogs then, but looking back now, this probably had a crying wolf effect. I do entirely recommend this approach if at all possible, even if the woman has to fake it. It is quite the motivator in getting your bags packed and quelling the willies when she does actually go into labor.

Anywayâ�¦ As I pressed her for more information she starting mentioning nausea. When she requested a bucket by the side of the bed I figured it might be time to get up and make some coffee, just in case the party was really starting. When I heard her throw up I decided to call Joe and Kathleen and then got out my stop watch.

Side note. It might be cliche, but no matter how prepared you are, things that have never gone wrong will. A cosmic validation of Murphyâ��s law maybe. More than likely it is the failings of adrenaline in those anxious moments. I know this from being on stage. When I am nervous and about to play a show, the littlest problem can become a catastrophe. This is especially true for us guitar players with way too many effects pedals. One bad battery or connection means no sound. And instead of looking at it logically and going through the process step by step, one tends to freak out and get more and more flustered until exasperation sets in. Finally you unplug the whole effects board and just go straight into the amp, meanwhile you have wasted ten minutes and the crowd has decided to go outside and smoke. Of course this doesnâ��t happen to me anymore now that I am a seasoned pro (ha!), but just saying.

So back to the stop watch. Get a watch with a second hand they told us at birthing class. They never said anything about testing it out. Bastards! And of course my new cell phone will do everything but wipe your ass but it does not have a stopwatch. In comes a timepiece on a chain that I got from turning in some Camel cash about eighteen years ago. Remember Camel cash? Man if I could get back some of the wasted moments of my life. Long story short, it looked cool but I never used it until the day I pulled it out of a junk drawer because I needed to help deliver a baby. Okay you guessed it, piece of crap, doesnâ��t work, not at all. So much for Joe Camel.

â��Joe, I think Trish might be going into labor, she is nauseous and moaning about every four minutes or so. You might want to head over here. Oh, by the way do you have stopwatch?â��

Joe is Trishâ��s oldest brother. He is a practicing family doctor and has delivered hundreds of babies. Trish asked if he and his wife Kathleen would be with us at the birth. She really trusts them both and knew they would be great support, especially for me. Turns out she was right. They were honored by the request and took a week and a half off work and headed west to the Catskills to basically do anything and everything for us, before, during and after the birth. We can never repay them. Maybe we could have done it without them, but it would not have been very pretty.

Back to the watch, sort of. One of the main things Joe and Kathleen did was wade through all the alarmist bullcrap one is fed when you are about to have a baby. You would think a woman had never delivered a healthy baby before in this country. I tell you, after you read all the books and go to classes it is amazing how much you learn that you didnâ��t need to know and how little you learn about what will actually happens. Donâ��t get me wrong, I am glad we were informed, but for Godâ��s sake have someone around who has gone through this before. No matter how much you read, this is trial by fire and you better have a hand to hold.

Joe and Kathleen were our hands. They built a house from the ground up with Kathleenâ��s brother and his wife while living in a teepee with their baby, all the while Joe was in residency. And then they had another kid. And they are still together. And that was some twenty years ago. Now if they donâ��t have some wisdom who does?
So Joe tells me not to worry about the stop watch.

20 minutes and a stop for Ritz crackers for Trish and they arrive at our house. It has now become pretty clear to me that something is going on. Trishâ��s inability to communicate her ails has gone the direction of primate wails. I send Kathleen upstairs in the hopes that she can communicate with the beast.

Somehow Joe and Kathleenâ��s eyes tell me what I already know. This is happening. Time to get it together.

45 minutes later we are out the door and on our way. Record time. At least for a Stenger/Broome combo. But we are moving in the right direction. This despite almost being locked out of the car while it was running and somehow managing to forget the mother-to-beâ��s suitcase. This we did not realize until we were at the hospital. Did mention the hospital was 50 minutes away? There should be a transport system to take expecting parents to and from the hospital. On the way there I am driving like a bat out of hell, travel trailer in tow. On the way back I should have been pulled over for going too slow and not keeping my eyes on the road because I am looking in the back seat every five seconds.

Alrighty, why the travel trailer you ask? Well, stories of 3 day labors and C-sections and hospital beds. Seemed like a good idea at the time. But then again so did the 85 CDâ��s, the boom box, the suitcases full of clothes and the emergency pregnancy kit. You know what you really need? A couple changes of clothes, your toothbrush a comb and as much camera equipment as you can carry. And snacks. Oh yeah and a car seat and something for your little bundle of joy to wear home.

After a ridiculous but brief stop at the doctorâ��s office to confirm what we already knew, we arrived at the Dutchess hospitalâ��s birthing center in Rhinebeck, NY. It was an hour later, but it was well worth it. Trish was ushered into a private room and the staff started their poking and prying. In the end, the only complaint we had about the place was the toilet paper (bring your own) and the fact that a couple of nurses took a bath in perfume before coming to work. HELLO! Women giving birth, might not be the best place for strong scents. Sheest, even I knew that. Trish actually shoved one away from her while she was in the middle of it all. Oh yeah, and the coffee and food was almost as good as your high school cafeteria, but you knew that, it is still a hospital after all. They do actually give the mother a choice of steak or lobster after she has performed her duties which is nice. Oh and they ask her if she has any food allergies. The list for Trish is long. No wheat, no sugar, no dairy, no vinegar, no soy sauce. Of course, right after the birth, the first thing Trish did was order spanacopida, a chicken quesadilla and a reuben with fries from the restaurant down the street.

Anyway, the hospital was great. We, and our baby, were very well taken care of. Although we have never had a baby anywhere else, we would both enthusiastically recommend this birthing center if you live in the Hudson Valley. Just donâ��t bring cigars. There ainâ��t no smokinâ�� on hospital grounds no more, but you probably knew that. Gone are the days of cats with cool hats and waiting room chats.

So here we are in the room and Trish is in labor. Contractions like clockwork every three or four minutes. She is leaning here, lying there. Moaning everywhere. Gentlemen, nothing you have been through will prepare you for watching the woman you love give birth to your baby. It has to be one of the most powerless feelings in the world. Basically the only thing she can do is motion when you do something wrong. Even if you do something right she is still going to have a contraction, if you do nothing she is still going to have a contraction. I did my best. I tried to answer all of Nurse Bettyâ��s questions so Trish didnâ��t have to. I held her gently. I stood by her side. I held her hand when she reached out and tried not be offended when, in the next moment, she shook it off as if it was the last thing she wanted. And the moaning? It is unlike anything you have heard before. And surprisingly the timbres and tonalities vary only slightly from room to room. It is as if some primordial moaning button has been pushed. You walk the halls and hear the same wail emanating from each laboring mom-to-be in a strange stereophonic John Cageian horror symphony. It is deep.

You canâ��t be prepared for the wail, but some of the things they tell you in books and classes actually work, so try them. I finally convinced Trish to get in the shower. Everyone kept saying â��get in the shower you will feel better.â�� It is your job to listen and then figure out a way to translate these suggestions into options. This is a true challenge but worth the risks involved. Once she got in the shower we couldnâ��t get her out. I think when you are experiencing something as intense as labor it is really hard to move on to the next thing. You canâ��t imagine getting wet, you canâ��t imagine getting dry. But, it really seemed to help, at least while she was in there.

I think the shower was the final straw though. The baby had had enough. She wanted out and now. Trishâ��s belly even looked different to me when she came out of the shower. She lied down on the bed.

That would be the last moment of relative calm in my life before baby.

The next contraction was like a tsunami. Trish let out the loudest noise I had ever heard. It was terrifying. It was like some Mongolian throat singer anomaly. It had the shrillness of a scream but the depth of a roar. See above, but amplify it through Madison Square Gardenâ��s loudspeakers. Apparently there was enough volume for the entire birth center to hear because a midwife and two nurses were in the room before I could blink. And they didnâ��t look very calm. â��What happened?â��, they yelled as they rushed in and grabbed Trish. They didnâ��t wait for an answer. They discovered her water had broken and with it a coating of meconium. Ahh, the wonderful world of baby poop. In this case however, not so wonderful. And apparently very scary. Supposedly the presence of this indicates the baby is under stress and enough so that it has to come out soon. And that is what they said. â��It looks like we are going to have a baby.â�� Not so strange, but remember the warnings of three day labors? Well, remember what time I woke up? Okay, we arrived at the hospital at 2:30pm. It was now 4pm. For better or worse this would not be a three day labor. In fact, the entire labor would last eight hours, one third of of one day. Okay, I gave away the ending, but this one is about the ride.

We are still in very scary land. Basically they were worried enough about the baby that they wanted it out and fast. And so the pushing started. â��Push! Push!â�� Am I in a movie? I mean you see this and you read about it and hear stories and then you are standing there. You are standing there. And this woman is splayed out on a bed and the midwife is on the bed and someone is shoving an oxygen mask on her face and all kind of machines are rolling in the room and they are beeping and blipping and â��can you just press that little yellow button right there to turn off that alarm?â�� Yeah sure, no problem. Itâ��s all good. Holy crap.

Pretty soon, midwife number two arrives. Now this is just a fluke because all this happened at the exact moment of a shift change. Trish did request a midwife instead of a doctor and at this practice you have the option. She now has two for the price of one. And they are good. Different strengths but they are both really good. And Trish is pushing and pushing, well sort of. For those who donâ��t know, and I didnâ��t, and Trish didnâ��t seem to either, you only push when you are having a contraction. Now we were educated, birthing class, breast feeding class, and this book and that book but somehow this little detail evaded us. But you learn quick. But what they canâ��t teach you anyway is how to push. And somehow the midwives knew that she wasnâ��t pushing. She looked like she was pushing, and let me tell you she thought she was pushing. Because once they started to push her to push and to push more she started yelling back, and loud. I CANâ��T!!! I CANâ��T!!! Oh man it was horrible. Because the last thing you want someone to yell in that situation is I CANâ��T!!! And what are you supposed to say? â��Now dear, this is not the time to be pessimistic, of course you can, just try a little harderâ�¦â�� The gloves would come off.

But this is the conundrum. This woman is trying to push a ping pong ball through a nostril and someone in that room has to convince her this is realistic. Women do it every day. But she never has. And at that moment she could give a flying you know what at a rolling donut. Pushing this thing out does not seem like a natural nor realistic act.

And I am not sure that she can push it out if she is screaming I CANâ��T. In fact, I have been through enough with Trish to know that there is no way in hell this baby is coming out until she acknowledges that she can. One of my biggest fears going into this was having to tell Trish something like this. No one likes to be told what to do, but Trish really doesnâ��t like me to tell her what to do. And she really doesnâ��t like me to tell her what to do when she is in any sort of compromised or stressful situation. Not the best odds for me.

But I tried to summon every ounce of gentleness and supportiveness in my tone and somehow someway, between me, the midwife, Joe and Kathleen and everyone else in that room she stopped yelling I CANâ��T!!! and just started yelling. She says I really helped her, I am not sure how, but if I can take just a little credit for what happened that day (besides some lustful thought 9 months previous) I am going to revel in it.

As if all of this was not enough there was an issue with the babyâ��s heart rate. Turns out there is not much else they can monitor. so a lot of the delivery procedure gets based on how the babyâ��s heart is responding to the labor. Things arenâ��t as advanced as one might think. The entry of a little human into the world is still a very inexact science. Instinct plays a huge part so it is really good to have a midwife, doctor or doula you trust.

Another thing we didnâ��t know was that when the woman pushes, the babyâ��s heart rate goes down. Ideally it will quickly recover to what they call the baseline or normal rate. The problem with our baby is that it was slow to recover. This, plus the meconium, made the midwives worried enough to find out if the operating room staff was around and to get Trish prepped for an emergency cesarean. There was some confusion as to who was where and why, more than I would have liked. This did not help the alarm factor but we got through it. Before we knew it, the doctor was in the room.

This is the picture now. The doctor has one of Trishâ��s legs and is coaching me. I have the other leg screaming bullet points to Trish. Kathleen is whispering sweet somethings in Trishâ��s ear. One of the midwives is playing catcher and scout and scene director at the exit point. Joe is in the corner doing his best to be wallflower/documentor. Nurse one is barking alarmities about O.R. readiness. Nurse two is working the baby machine. Nurse three is doing god knows what. The director of the birthing center is coming in and out lending a hand. And in the middle of it all, poor Trish is lying spread eagled, pushing and screaming like a champ.

This went on for an hour. At some point Trish picked up on the whole pushing thing and it was clear the baby was on its way. The staff was still worried enough to prepare for and eventually implement an episiotomy. If you donâ��t know what that is, look it up. Living through it once was enough for me. And although the babyâ��s heart rate was recovering better it was still clear that the sooner it was out the better. I told Trish I could see the head. I really couldnâ��t but I thought it would help. Turns out it did help. On the next push I saw the head. It was not like any head I had ever seen but apparently that is exactly what it was. It was now or never. If it didnâ��t come out on the next push they were going to use the vacuum. Again, not exactly sure what, how or why a vacuum, but glad I didnâ��t have to find out.

A very important and relevant note. Trish was doing this sans narcotics. She never even requested them.

The next half and hour or so were some of the most amazing, surreal, primal, out of body moments I have ever experienced. Trish pushed the head out on the next round and then they pulled this miniature person out of her. Something switched off (or on) in my head and the room sort of went gray. But it was more than gray, it was like that black and white tinted with yellow effect that you see in movies sometimes, I forget what it is called, that but in watercolor form. Dreamlike feels a lazy description, but accurate. Coated with opiates, but so alive, so awake. Like nothing I had felt before. It was the strangest thing.

I mean they pulled a living body out of her body! She pushed this little person out of her body! It was living in there, growing, feeding, kicking for months, inside of her! It was so animalistic and natural. It was amazing. No matter how much I had thought about this before, the reality of it never hit me until I saw this thing come out. And it sounds so dry, it didnâ��t come out, it flowed out, like it was the most supposed to thing ever. No matter how many times I had put my hand on her belly and felt the baby move in the past nine months I just didnâ��t get it until right then.

The staff swooped the baby up. Joe nudged me towards the table, â��touch her, talk to her.â�� They were cleaning her off, checking her, measuring. I touched her. I started crying. I looked over at Trish, torn by where to be. Someone asked me to tell Trish if it was a he or a she. I said I didnâ��t know. Can you imagine? You wait nine months, everyone asking, â��Do you know the gender?â��, and you donâ��t even think to look until someone asks you? It didnâ��t even occur to me. I was just stunned by this little monkey lying there. And by the way, how can you witness a woman give birth and not think we descended from the apes. Iâ��m an ape man, Iâ��m an ape ape man. So I look at this little monkey and at this point I am so bewildered by what just happened I have no idea if it is a boy or a girl. I mean for all I know they have these squished up little penises when they come out. I think I muttered something idiotic like â��well, if I had to guess I would say it is a girl.â�� Indeed. A beautiful baby girl. I was in love.

I never thought I would be the emotionally awestruck guy at the birth. In fact, I was worried that I had become so jaded and caloused in my thirty-seven long years that I would not be appropriately sentimental. Wrong. I was putty. I was weeping. I couldnâ��t stop. Maybe I was just so happy everyone was okay. Maybe it was the drama of the previous hour. Maybe I just couldnâ��t believe that what just happened just happened. It took me by surprise. And so did my attachment to this little person I had never met. If the nurses had taken one more second cleaning her up I would have knocked them out. I wanted Trish to see her, to hold her. And she did, and then little baby took her first poop all over her gushing Mommy. Thatâ��s my girl!

And so little Serafina was born. Come to find out ,Serafina means the highest classification of angel. I didnâ��t even know the angels had their very own caste system, but apparently there are cherubs and arch angels, etc. and Serafinas are the highest order. They are said to have six wings and show zealous love. Now sometime during the labor one of the nurses asked Trish, in an effort to get her to connect with getting the baby out, if she had a name. Serafina popped into her head. She had never thought about it before, didnâ��t read it in the baby name book, and it was definitely not on our list. Coincidence? I think not. Somewhere up there was a Serafina looking down on us all and she wanted to make damn sure she got a little bit of credit.

Tuesdayâ��s child is full of graceâ�¦
I was born on Wednesday, but that is another story.

And it is strange, all that happened. And here I sit, writing, in front of the fire, snow on the ground, my dog Ham by my feet, wife and child upstairs asleep. And it is a wonderful. I am home.

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6/28/2007

Diablo Dulce Apparel

Filed under: General — site admin @ 10:21 am

Diablo Dulce Apparel

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6/27/2007

A little taste of the mint…

Filed under: General — site admin @ 6:38 pm

Just had the most incredible experience walking the dogs. Went up the driveway in Westport and the fireflies were out of control. I have never seen anything like it. Well maybe when I was a kid, but never as an adult and never taken it in like that. Absolutely unbelievable it was. Like walking around in the Elfen lands or something. Like there shouldn’t or couldn’t be something this cool here on earth, here in my reality. But there it was, is. The fields were alive. And I am here and alive. And my awesome dogs.

And the funny thing is the timing of it all. I had just gotten up from one of those late night conversations with Mom recanting the old days. And this time it was the not so good old days, when I was using and life was insane. Just talking about it had me in knots and nauseous. She was saying how she had come to believe in God because of the couple times she had prayed for something and it happened.

One time in particular. I was in SF living in addiction and gone daddy gone and she said she was on the porch in Virginia smoking a cigarette (an addiction caused by the stress of my addiction) and she just said, “God we need a miracle, my son is going to die.” And then the phone rang. It was me and I was on the verge of giving up. The good kind.

Apparently she had told Jocelyn’s Dad that if he didn’t get his daughter out of there I would never leave and if I ended up dead or on the streets she would hold him responsible. That is another story and a long one, but basically her prayers were answered and I guess mine too.

It is wild that is has been 10 years since all that shit. That surreal and completely alternative existence. I mean talking about it now it doesn’t seem like me. Like that could have been me that lived that life. But it is, and I was. Do I have some stories to tell and recently it has been on my mind to tell them.

But the main thing I wanted to get down tonight was these glorious feelings I am capable now. It seems that the more time goes by the more I am able to appreciate these things. And the closer I am to nature the closer I am to this truth in me. Maybe should be a Wicken. But really it is a shame that city lights and TV’s and schedules pull us away and out of touch with the fireflies. It should be a holiday once a year on the night when it comes together. Everybody would get a call, “tonight! tonight! it is happening tonight! Wake up your kids! Run into the fields! Rejoice! Rejoice pitiful humans, this is the real thing!” Like a revolution. Like Paul Revere and shit. Breathe that shit in. Live the truth. We should all be so lucky.

And so for that I am grateful. Grateful for the experience of death and coming back. Sorry for the hurt yes, but glad for the wisdom and compassion for those beating the track. 10 years and some months ago, I was far from the fireflies. All junk sick and day to day, circle to circle, head in hand. And so here I am, far from there and not there yet, but happy for a moment and aware. So aware.

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4/15/2007

a hard rain

Filed under: General — site admin @ 10:35 pm

what the *^%$&#!. my front yard is a pond. which normally would not concern me since there is water to be found there on occasion but this is fucking ridiculous. i am pretty sure i could swim in it right now. no lie. and there is a river in my barn. this is some rain. i mean it was raining really hard earlier, i got soaked and i had rain gear on, but now it is insane. i just took the dogs out and it is like noah’s ark. it is hard to freak me out with weather, i like the drama, but this is pushing it. she’ll be coming round the mountain. the ground is so wet that you sink into it like pillow foam and a miniature river of muck and water emerges instantaneously to engorge the space where your foot just was. been even hearing the volunteer fire department sirens going off. that is not normal. but then again it snowed last night, april 15th, so what the fuck is normal these days. i was wearing a t-shirt until the beginning of january. dan dan daaaaaa! the beginning of the end. apocalyptico. i tell you it is an easy thing to become an over reaching drama queen these days. christ if you aren’t at least wondering a little bit then you are probably the one with the screw loose. that’s my story and i’m sticking to it.

in other news… played a couple gigs last week. first one was with tulula. it was a great night. you know the night when the band is finally a band. not just the giddy of the new, but the new with the soul to back it up. fresh and deep. it was good. i was feelin’ it. and so were some other people. it was one of those nights that makes you remember why you write and rehearse for hours and lug all that shit around and for what? $10 and a coke? come on, give me a fucking hamburger! but they got you. they know you want it and you would do it for free and if not you, then some other mope with some friends. ah it is fucking depressing when i think about it. but then again, the point was that it was one of those nights that made it worth it. and then i did a little thing at a songwriter show and same effect. acolades and feeling. i know that isn’t how you spell accolade or at least i would question it in any other context but this ain’t a party and even if it were, admission is free so suck it. but it was good, but it burns that i am not doing it in front of more people or for money or just more, more. no, that is not why i do it, but damn it makes you wonder. why are people that are no good doing it for money and more and not people that are good? don’t answer that. i know. give me $25 grand and a publicist and i will give you good. or give me that hair and the 8 days a week to push and play and i will give you good. or just give me the click. a little bit of the this and you will be feeling fine. eye of newt. but anyway, back to my original point which i have actually not made yet. part of the reason the gigs went well was my changing up of guitars and rehearsing with the stuff i was going to use. guitar first. really expensive guitar, bought in spain, used for years, just been sounding like shit. i mean the damn thing is so out of intonation i want to smash it. but instead i gave it to mike to fix so we will see. picked up my shitty old yamaha that kitsos sold to my sister who gave it to me and fuck it sounds so good. so good and through the bassman? man, i am back. it just helps so much to have the sound you want. it amazes me how long i will beat my head against something. usually until my head breaks. and duh, rehearsing the vocals through what i am going to use live? i mean i know this shit. but then i guess i forgot. it is good to have this refresher. makes all the difference. i mean these shows i am playing are all about the spartan. we bring the p.a. and all the gear, no lights, etc. now that i say it like that it kind of pisses me off that we don’t get paid more but whatever. the point is practice the gig with the stuff you are going to use. i did and the gigs were good. balash. i don’t know what that means but my mom says it sometimes and it seems to fit right there. okay enough blathering. this is jason broome at 1:33am on april 16th signing off from the a thrasingly wet hull of das boot.

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3/17/2007

Guitars and Humidity

Filed under: General — site admin @ 2:51 pm

This is from my buddy and double bass player in my band Tulula. His name is Michael Guarente and he is also a classical guitar player and luthier. He will build the crap out of a guitar for you (or anything else made of wood for that matter). Here is his very informative answer to my very ignorant question. I might have thought to ask this in the first 20 years of playing guitar…

On 12/2/06, Jason Broome wrote:
do you worry about your guitars drying out?
did boo come home?

————————

Subject: Re: dry guitars
Date: Saturday, December 2, 2006 4:47 PM
From: Mike Guarente

Yes, worry about that as soon as you turn your heat on in the fall. Your guitars want to be in a comfortable humidity range at all times, i.e. 40-60%RH. More specifically, they want to be in the exact environment in which they were built, in an ideal world. Outside of this range the guitar will shrink when it’s too dry and expand when too wet. Your sound will be affected and the instrument runs the risk of cracking or swelling to a point of unplayability.

Some simple rules:

Always use your case when not playing. It’s the best defense for most bad things that happen to guitars. If you bring the instrument in from the cold, let it acclimate in the case for a bit before taking it out.

Never leave your instruments in the car, especially in extreme weather. Car is number one enemy to stringed instruments. Same applies to home heating sources. Use common sense and remember that if you’re the slightest bit uncomfortable, your guitar is not happy.

If you’re not sure what RH your house is, get a hygrometer. I got some digital ones at radioshack for $20 or something. If you heat with a wood stove or radiators, it’s a good idea to leave a pot of water on them to release more moisture into the air. Run A/C in muggy weather.

As you know, there are basically two styles of guitar humidifiers available – those that go in the soundhole and those that go in the case. The former are a little on the risky side because you can actually damage the instrument if you over-humidify. The latter are really simple to make. I made mine out of a film canister and a piece of sponge. I tend to only use it in extreme cases. I have a Dampit for my bass, which is a perforated rubber tube full of sponges that you wring out and hang in the F hole, and the same precautions apply in that case as the soundhole humidifier for the guitar. Again, I only use that in extreme cases.

There’s a company called humidicase that makes cases with built in hygrometer and humidifier. Use your imagination and save yourself a couple hundred bucks… I’m not sure where to get them, but there are litmus-paper style humidity guages, too. There’s a strip of blocks that change color with the changing RH. It’s read by matching the color to an index strip alongside. Simple. Good for a case or whatever.

So there’s the long answer to your short question. I’d advise you to leave your instruments parked next to heaters and support your local luthier. Yuk yuk. Your studio doesn’t seem really dry, though. It might even be too humid.

Basho came back quite eventually, soaking wet and quite happy and content. He’s doing great with “sit,” “cathch,” and “come” but has no comprehension of “shake” or “down” and very little understanding of “stay”. One day at a time. Snugs is dog-friendly! Basho is a good maker of friends. His middle name is Robot, which he also fails to understand.

What’s the name of the vet you reccomended? I still need to vaccinate, etc.

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2/17/2007

the diplomat and the refugee

Filed under: General — site admin @ 4:50 pm

i am the son of a diplomat and a refugee. last night (actually 5:14am) lucas looked up at me from the bottom of cold stairs as we were heading out the studio and said, “who knows why we do it.” it was just one of those moments that hit me. he was referring to the fact that we had been mixing one song for 10 hours straight, we were exhausted, hungry and burnt, and cold. we had just spent 10 hours staring at little blinking lights, wave forms and each other and listened to the same song about 245 times in a row. And this was the second night of this song. Not to mention he has a wife and baby at home and a more than full time job. I can’t claim the baby part but I had driven 2 hours to NYC and had a 2 hour drive back. Daniel, also with wife and kid, had left a few minutes earlier only because his parents are in town and he had to wake up with some semblance of self in the “morning.”

So, what the fuck? Are we insane? Well, yes, obviously. Given many of the things we have gone through in the past in the name of music we are completely off balance. I mean talking over the tour of Spain we did one can find no logic in our pursuit. And here I get back to the son of the diplomat and refugee. You see I am referring to logic in the ever present psychic hoverings of mother and father. To them I and we are insane. And there are countless moments that I drive around thinking that I am somehow cheating life. That I should be doing something more responsible. More real. With a desk and a phone and fax machine. With paper to shuffle and gutters to clean. I mean my God, when my Dad was my age he had started a whole new mission for the U.S. government in a god forsaken West African country. He had a fleet of land rovers to dole out to the U.S. contractors. He had servants for Christ’s sake!

And yet, anyone looking at what I have done with my life in the last ten years would see many of these trappings. The house, the car, the wife (well sort of), the venturing into the buying and selling of whatever. I even had a fucking desk job for a while. But it just doesn’t matter what I do. I can never get to that state of “I am doing enough.” I can never reach it. It is unatainable to me. There is no possible way I can meet my own personal expectations in the shadow of President of this and Chancellor of that. I mean Captain of the Mayflower? Give me a break.

And so here I am. And 3-4 times a month I drive home from Manhattan at sunrise. I guess our band is aptly named at least. And even though all this other shit is swirling around my head I realize there is no other way. Daniel and Lucas and I and countless others out there in basements and foamed in rooms and garages have been doing this for years and years. We have done it while sick, while pregnant, addicted, in recovery, depressed and elated. And this has been the constant. The music. The friendship. The creative process. The zone. There were actually times last night where I was lost in the mixing of the song. To me that is amazing. I mean my brain never shuts up long enough for me to hear any one thing. “You should be doing this, shoveling that, organizing this, excercising that.” Shut the fuck up! Live man. And so I wouldn’t have it any other way. It gets me out. Of myself and the house. And in the cigarette breaks I get to hear about Dan’s fucked up housing situation or how Nico started crawling and we share our lives. And is the record taking a long time? Sure, but I couldn’t care less because it is really fucking good. I mean this is some epic shit here. I mean the songs are fucking great. The sounds are the best we have ever done and after 20 years of crash and burn bands and drugs and coast hopping this is fucking magic. I still think they are wrong about that one break, but I will live. But for the most part this band, the three of us have formed some kind of consensus making, work sharing, creative process that just blows me away. Maybe because every band I have ever been in (and there were a lot) has been so dysfunctional, but man have we come a long way. I mean there were moments last night where I was mixing! Not sitting there thinking “look at me I’m mixing,” or “here we are mixing a record,” but I was actually mixing. Just doing. That for me is amazing. I mean I don’t just do anything. Analyze this, self conscious that, it is as if I am the camera and I am following around this guy who is doing all this stuff. “Oh here he goes, gonna shovel the walkway now, time to change the oil.” I don’t know it is weird like I am living someone elses life. Man I am starting to think I am insane. Or maybe I was (am) and that is why I do things like music. It brings me back to that little light that we all seek.

So, yeah, there are reasons I do it. The music is great. Actually it is brilliant. Obviously I don’t think enough of my own shit to say this out loud, but those two guys I play with have it going on. They are thinkers, and poets and musicians. And I am honored that they let me play with them. I mean not to get all fucking corny but sometimes I wonder why the hell they let me into their little club. But it is a pretty special thing to have such good friends that you can work with. And for so long. I mean I met Daniel when I was 16! And Lucas when I was 19. And here we are. Pretty cool.

And so after all these years and all those sunrises and in different parts of the world it comes down to the fact that this is just what we do. Yeah we do it for love but it is in our bones. I mean Jesus, we must have 20 albums of stuff between us and lord knows we don’t do it for money or health. But this is gonna be a good one. It would be nice for the world to hear it but even if they don’t I know there is always a next. It itches. We scratch.

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2/14/2007

Bass Player Joke

Filed under: General — site admin @ 4:39 pm

A conductor was getting an orchestra together for a performance but was having trouble finding a bass player. He called the contractor and was told the only player available was a jazz bassist. The conductor didn’t want to work with jazz musicians! He said they dress lousy, they’re always late, and they all have an attitude problem.

The contractor finally gets through to the conductor that the jazz bass
player was the only bass player available. The conductor, being desperate for the part to be covered, acquiesced and agreed to use the jazz player.

On the day of the first rehearsal the conductor arrived early and noticed the jazz bassist was already there. He was wearing a suit and tie and was on stage practicing his part. During the rehearsal, the bassist played his part quite well and was responsive to all the conductor’s requests. At the second rehearsal the jazz bassist turned in a nearly perfect performance.

At the dress rehearsal the bassist was playing his part flawlessly. At the break, the conductor said to the orchestra, “I have an apology to make. I was dreading having to work with a jazz musician, but I must say that our bass player has certainly proved me wrong. He has always been neatly dressed, he has always here early for the rehearsals, he works on the part, and he has really learned the music.” Then, to the bass player he said, “I just want to tell you that I truly appreciate your effort and dedication.”

The jazz bassist replied, “Hey man, it’s the least I can do, considering I can’t make the gig.”

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2/13/2007

2007 SUPERBOWL HALFTIME SPECTACULAR

Filed under: General — site admin @ 3:38 pm

Alrighty, finally moved into new house, getting over a cold and have a password to this here blog again. I am trying to get the comments section working so you can all have at me.

Here is something good from some friends of mine I went to school with. The Prince impersonator is especially good. By the way Prince is my new hero. (sorry Jimmy Carter) The way he put his phallis and cohones in America’s face was awesome and topped the famous titty episode for me. America needs more androgynous cock and balls.

But anyway here is my buddy’s short…

“If you haven’t seen the SUPERBOWL HALFTIME SPECTACULAR, click the link
below. This is the live feed of Steve Young’s journey around the block
during halftime at a friend’s party. It’s brilliant:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D_7XnT5bMIs

(Additional explnation from Lou: If you did not witness our halftime
spectacular, here is a brief recap that explains the video:

*During last year’s Superbowl party, we asked Steve Young (Mr. Halftime
Spectacular) to test the limits of his intelligence and drinking ability by
completing 3 Rubix Cubes and drinking three beers as quickly as possible. He
did it in 10 minutes and 54 seconds. This year we wanted to test his
physical ability (while drinking) so we asked him to complete an obstacle
course which included push-ups, running drills, football throws and a lap
around our Brooklyn street. To Steve’s surprise, the lap around our street
(caught on video) would not be as easy as he expected…. especially when he
ran into the OTHER halftime spectacular. Thankfully, our hero proved he was
the real Halftime Spectacular and made it back into our party where he
triumphantly drank his final beer of the obstacle course.”

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12/9/2006

Jimmy Carter is my hero.

Filed under: General — site admin @ 6:19 pm

Glen Beck, Ed Koch, Wolf Blitzer you should all be ashamed of yourself for putting down such a great man. How dare you criticize someone with his experience, intellect, and obvious passion for justice and peace? Shame on you? Man if you think Jimmy is out of line with his thoughts you should have a look into my brain and I am a far cry from a suicide bomber. I mean I have trouble killing a fly. Mosquitos maybe.

Man the Israeli lobbies are really doing a job on this guy. I swear after watching him in the past couple of weeks he has really inspired me to get back in the game and stand up for what is right. What Palestine under apartheid? No, really? If Jesus comes back he would be a Palestinian.

I tell you though I saw an inteview with Shimon Peres and he said a couple great things. He said “one should always strive to be optimistic and unsatisfied.” I thought that was great. He also said you can look at the world as a woman about to give birth or as a dying man and he preferred the first. It was interesting to think of a man like that whose beliefs I mostly oppose and think are injust to speak in that way. I mean I am a bitter fuck and I don’t even live over there.

Anyway Jimmy Carter rules and will go down in history as one of the greats. He is my hero.

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11/26/2006

R.I.P. Marco Tuxedo

Filed under: General — site admin @ 8:24 pm

Marco the cat used to run out of the apartment everytime Verne opened the door. “Pest control!” I would yell, eventually banging on the door. We would hear Verne stumbling around and then he would open the door and refuse the service even though his apartment needed it the most. And then Marco would escape and scamper down the hall on the stained red carpet. Marco was a very curious cat. Either that or he had grown tired of the reek and insanity of his environs. You see Marco was a gift from one of Verne’s young black boys culled from the insipid sidewalks of the Tenderloin district of San Francisco. I had rented the apartment to Verne because he had money. His references were shady and I knew better but he used to be something, an academic, and I was under pressure from my boss. This was the dot-com boom in full force and I was in the epicenter of it all. A stone’s throw from downtown and an empty one bedroom was a good $1600 a month loss to the man upstairs.

So I rented to him and it didn’t take long to figure out that Verne had a weakness for alcohol and young men. And he had the money to buy the rocks to lure them in. And so the carnival began. Every day would see Verne slipping further into his grave and his addiction and his boys taken full advantage of his demise. And me, yelling and putting up notices, part time policeman, social worker and sometime apartment manager. 50 Golden Gate avenue was quite a place.

Marco the cat was in the middle of all this madness. He seemed to take it well. He liked people and was just looking for love anywhere he could find it. On the rare occasion I entered Verne’s dwelling to chase down rent or some other inconvenience I looked on Marco with pity in his squalor.

Then the day came when Verne ran out of money. His boys stopped coming and so did his rent. Given the choice of the street or death he accepted a plane ticked sent by a sister. I ended up driving him to the airport with my new girlfriend in her ’69 Buick Riviera. What a picture. The two lovebirds and a drunk on his way to rehab. I wheeled him to the plane in a wheelchair because he could barely stand at this point. No this was not part of my job description but you need to understand it only takes one and with eighty apartments in my care I was going to make damn sure this one got on a plane.

We went back to the building to check on Marco. Verne hadn’t mentioned him, I don’t even think he had a name. The apartment was more than disgusting. Beautiful hardwood floors under a crackhouse veneer. There was a tub of cat litter that hadn’t been cleaned in months and a bowl of dog food. I didn’t know what to do with the cat at that point and I am allergic but I went ahead and stuck him in my office.

And it went from there. Marco became the office cat. I couldn’t take him to a shelter and I had a huge office and he grew on me. Initially I dubbed him Tuxedo because of his black coat with tuxedo white markings complete with little white booties. But, then there was a painter named Misha. Misha was Yugoslavian. He off gassed paint toxins and alcohol. He always said as long as Scott let him drink on the job he would be forever loyal. He called me Baio. Misha once came into my office and sat down and told me he had just found out that his Mother had died. He said he hadn’t talked to her in months. He cried and then got up and went back to painting and never spoke of it again. 50 Golden Gate avenue was quite a place.

He called the cat Marco. I don’t know why but eventually it stuck. Marco would lay about in the lobby and greet all one hundred and fifty tenants as they came home from work. Everyone loved him. Tenants who had never spoken to me would sit there stroking him and talking to him. Then he found the windows. He would end up in different apartments and just hang out until the resident brought him to me. The only problem was when he got into the speed freaks apartment. She was going insane as it was and to have this creature end up in her unit probably didn’t help matters. Sometimes it was okay and she wouldn’t scream at me.

Marco had this thing with paper. He loved to lie on it and then shread it. I would come into my office in the morning, okay, late morning, and Marco would be sprawled out on my desk, regal as the Queen, and all of my papers from the previous day would be shreaded and strewn all over the floor. He had this mischevious smirk that seemed to say, what? You got a problem? He enjoyed it.

It wasn’t look before Marco came to live at my new home across the bridge in Oakland. There was a huge yard and lots of places to play, mice to kill, dogs to torture. He was a king among cats and seemed to know it. We had a dog door and when we went away for a couple days he would go over to the neighbors house and live there. We didn’t even know. He loved people. Couldn’t get enough. They had an open house next door to sell the house and Marco hung out on the porch to greet all the lookers as if he was the realtor. He sold the house.

His favorite thing was to sleep on your belly and sometimes your head. He loved the sun. He loved to go for walks with the dogs. He would walk around the block with us. When we moved to the country he would take to walking around the pond. He wanted to be one of the pack and rubbed up against our dogs with love.

We had to put Marco to sleep last week. It was really hard. It was the fifth death in my life this year. I have had a lot of pets die in my time, but I have never had to play God before. It was the right thing to do and he was suffering in the end but man what a responsibility. We brought him home and wrapped him in a blanket and buried him high on the bank of the pond under the apple tree. It is one of the hardest things I have done in recent years.

Marco was a champ and I loved him like a child. I plucked him from the darkest depths of depravity. It doesn’t get much worse in this country than a crack den in the Tenderloin. He took to his new surroundings well. Never was there a more well-adjusted rescue. All I can hope is that we gave him a few good years. I will remember him running with fierce abandon after a chipmunk or just lying in the sun on the grass loving the breeze.

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11/3/2006

Woodsqueer— Mixing the new WSS record.

Filed under: General — site admin @ 9:30 pm

Last night marked the first night of mixing the new WSS record. Working titles… Woodsqueer or Spook Hole Road. Man this thing sounds good. It is really nice to put a ton of work into something and have it come out sounding great. And I am not saying our music is great, you already know I think that or why the hell else would I do what I do, but rather that actually sound of the music is great. Feel me? Great tones, easy to get your head around, etc… just made me smile a lot. Probably the best sounding recording I have ever been a part of. As a wise and eloquent man once said “you can’t polish a turd.” And I think we have managed to come up with something quite sweet smelling.

And again, obviously I am biased, but wow. Having the studio really helps. The gear is great and Lucas and Daniel really have a handle on what is going on. Most of the time. Rather than beat them off the board I have taken to sitting back and being ears and sometimes secretary. Those boys are fanatics and I am not about to get in the way.

So we started mixing “Barns on Fire.” I don’t know if I have ever heard anything come together so beautifully before. The drums sounds great. The bass is awesome and the guitars are like little the Devil’s angels and God’s getting together to play footsie. It is sweet. I don’t mind if I do pat us on the back once in a while. Someone’s gotta do it.

Who reads this anyway? And so what if I am a little woodsqueer? You would be too sitting up here in the middle of nowhere with too many dogs and only one leash.

The name of the studio is now dubbed Hell’s Kitchen Recording. http://hellskitchenrecording.com Coming to a psychiatric institute near you.
The Barns On Fire. Whatcha gonna do?

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Touring in Europe.

Filed under: General — site admin @ 9:15 pm

Here is something I wrote about touring Europe.

> Jason,
> I know you and The Westport Sunrise Sessions have gone over to Europe and
> toured a couple of times. My band and I are really into the idea of doing
> this as well. I was wondering if you had any advice (or leads) as to
> where I should start out looking to set something like this up. Thanks in
> advance & I hope you are doing well. Peace & Respect…
> David

Hey David,

Sort of a big question with lots of answers…

I was lucky enough to get hooked up with someone through another band I toured with in Spain. This guy took a liking to me and was kind enough to keep the ride going with my new band. He is a poet and just does it for friendship more than anything.

So…

I have tried half heartedly to break into other countries without much success. I was actually thinking about taking another stab soon. Basically it is the same as setting up a tour in the U.S. with a few major differences.

And this advice is assuming you have no backing, no money and no audience.

Europe bad…
Declining dollar.
Much more work.
Language barriers.
Passports, plane tickets.
Equipment clusterfucks, voltage, rental, etc…

Europe good…
You usually get paid.
You usually get room and board.
You usually get listened too.
You always get to be in amazing places with cool people.

And since we care more about the good then the bad I would suggest this.

Figure 1 or 2 countries to focus on.
Plan at least 2 weeks. (3 is better)
Don’t go in August unless you absolutely have to.
Try and get into some festivals or get paid by towns.
Small towns are better paying and more people will show up.

There are some European booking agencies. Check the web and send emails but you need to follow up with phone calls.

Here are a couple from old notes.

Paper Clip Agency: Holland
31.24.323.9322
info@paperclip.agency.com
Rob Berends/Rude or Hilde Spille

Check out rock.fr or rocky.fr for clubs and agents in France.

It is just like the U.S. Try and find someone who likes you and will take you on. Especially if you don’t know the culture or language. Otherwise you just have to slog it out and push and go back and back again.

Just be careful and understand this business is shiite and just because you are in Spain or France doesn’t mean you won’t be in a dive bar at 5 in the morning trying to get your money from a coked out bartender. Even with all the help we had we still find it hard to come close to breaking even.

That said, I wouldn’t trade it for nothing and would do it again in a heartbeat.

If you end up going through Barcelona I could give you a couple contacts to get you started there.

Hope that helps. Best, Jason

P.S.
One more, and UK has the advantage of no language problem. (sort of) Oh and these days you might want to have a Canadian flag around. Americans aren’t so popular out there right now and we felt the impact in very direct ways.

Killer Bee Uk Tours
Unit 14A Colenzo Dr., Andover, Hants SP10 1JN UK
PH: +44-1264-392495 FX: +44-1264-392368
Darren Smith info@killerbeetours.com
http://www.killerbeetours.com
We offer tours to the UK. You can use this either as a
Rock ‘n Roll vacation or as serious promotion.

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Government and me.

Filed under: General — site admin @ 9:08 pm

I don’t like my government. And I want it to change. But how? Does my vote count? Don’t answer that. I know all the answers. If I were King things would be different.

I will not be a part of this two party farce any longer. And don’t be crying any of that giving the vote to the bad guy shit. I tried that the last election and will forever regret giving a vote to the ketchup man. Maybe if it had mattered.

Bah humbug. Vote for the after party.

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10/25/2006

Googly ga

Filed under: General — site admin @ 5:41 pm

Just googled my name for the first time in a long time. Yes us vain music folks with big egos and even biggger insecurities google ourselves every corn moon or so. And for the first time ever I am at the top of the Jason Broome Google heap. Yeah baby, give me a ticket for an aeroplane. Buy me a milkshake. Shake my milky way.

One of the main advantages of this, besides being “famous to me” (http://diablodulce.com/Famous.html) is that now all of my long lost friends won’t google me and think that I become a motorcross pro after high school and died a flaming and heroic tragic death on a motorcycle. Although there was some poetry in that, and I have had my share of near death experiences on motorcycles and think that my end will come because of speeding and wheels one day.

But today I am me and I am not dead.

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First Snow

Filed under: General — site admin @ 5:33 pm

Drove up to Livingston Manor today looking for a house. Everytime we got up into the mountains the rain turned to snow. All the leaves are brown and the sky is grey. Not really, but it is really feeling like that time of the year. Down in the thirties every night.

Was supposed to start mixing the WSS 2 tonight but I am sick. So let it snow. Me likey.

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A big Democratic FUCK YOU.

A Reverse Picardy Third.

Gaza Revisited.

All is quiet on New Year’s day.

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The Story Of Serafina

Diablo Dulce Apparel

A little taste of the mint…

a hard rain

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the diplomat and the refugee

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R.I.P. Marco Tuxedo

Woodsqueer— Mixing the new WSS record.

Touring in Europe.

Government and me.

Googly ga

First Snow