HEART

I chronicled my Monday night trip back from rehearsal with Boy Johnny on En Mass, the blog devoted to people who use mass transit to get around.

For all the walkers and bus-riders out there: after reading about my ordeal, you may want to consider getting yourself a set of wheels.

Anyway...

So, I was droppin' gangsta rap beats with Bro Man (aka "The Syllabeast"), Down Low (aka "D Nuts") and BJ Fornicati (aka "The Fiend") when I got a call on my land line. I looked at the number on the Caller ID.

It was Eve.

Holy shit, I thought.

I went into the other room and answered the phone.

I know this is going to seem like a tease or a gyp, but I can't get into the specifics of what we talked about. I can give you the gist, but I decided, after our conversation, that I would try not to focus my blog so much on her anymore.

No, she has not found out about it. I just think that, given the circumstances, it's better that I don't keep bringing her up as often as I do.

So, here's what I can reveal:

1. She's not mad at me.
2. She wants to be friends.
3. She thought I was in Vegas when she called.
4. She accepted my offer to be part of the animation team again.
5. She has been writing on her own.
6. She did not read my letter, which is a good thing.

I ended up regretting that letter, the one I posted as an entry. She took one look at that three-page, single-spaced, typed letter and decided that she wouldn't try to read it, as it probably contained a lot of angry words. But I think it might have inspired her to write out her own demons.

So, we were supposed to meet last night-- to discuss the animation --but she had to tend to other things, and I told her it wasn't necessary to come by The Garage just yet.

We're trying to make it work. I think if we stay friends, we may be able to co-exist with minimal drama.

Anyway, so after this roller-coaster week, where I found myself bowing out of the Boy Johnny project, I've been re-evaluating my creative endeavors.

I'm sick of playing bass for other people. Now that I have the home studio computer set-up, there's nothing stopping me from just doing my own shit, and putting it up online for others to peruse.

Fuck everybody else. I'll still help Elle and Katie, but once the first demo is done, I'm going to focus on my own songs.

I'm tired of playing for people who lack a coherent vision. I'm sick of bending over backwards for people who have unrealistic dreams of fortune and fame. I'm disgusted with ego-driven divas and talentless hacks who can't get over their rock and roll fantasies of yore.

After meeting the singer for Boy Johnny's group, I finally realized that there is a whole subsection of Los Angeles comprised of over-the-hill musicians who want that last stab at the brass ring.

This is why I said I was going to stop playing music actively at age 35. I don't want to be known (as Chris Rock so eloquently put it) as the Old Man In The Club... you know, that guy who's not really that old, but just a little too old to be up in the club.

What really put me off about Johnny's singer was her meticulous attitude towards me. She didn't think I was "ready" to play her songs, but I'd already practiced twice before with just Johnny. This was the first time she came to a rehearsal, and she already felt that I wasn't "right" for the gig.

Meanwhile, she brought up the fact that she printed the wrong address on the flyers for the show in Downey.

Can you say "fucking nutcase"? Can you say "unwarranted diva"?

So I'm going to start my own group, with Eve and Bro Man. I've been warning them about it, and now my threats are going to become a reality. Eve can't play bass to save her life but she could sing if she so desired. Bro Man can recite spoken word poetry, and his rhyming skills have improved ever since I decided to make him into a rapper.

Yes, they will need much coaching and coaxing, but they have heart, and that's what it all boils down to-- heart.

Fuck your head, it's your heart, your soul, that you should heed when creating art.

Your head is for analyzing the art afterwards; your heart dictates where the paint strokes land, where the notes should go, which words will fit.

I don't have time to think about how awesome I look onstage with the bass strap slung so low that I can't even reach the strings. I don't care for the carefully coiffed hairstyle or the canned repartee that passes for stage banter nowadays.

All I know is, if you feel it, then everyone else in the room will feel it.

When I told Bro Man that I was talking to Eve again, his remark was: "Cool! The band is back together!"

Now that's heart.