Fret Time: Grove Church and Quick Before Sinking

A lot of fret time this past weekend. It started Saturday afternoon with a sound check and rehearsal for the Grove Community Church. We practiced until about 4:30 then rocked the 5:00 p.m. service.

I played my Les Paul Classic Gold Top through a ’65 reissue Fender Deluxe. The LP sounded good; easy to play, tons of sustain. I miss not having a trem bar, though.

Later that night I sat in with Quick Before Sinking in downtown Riverside.

I brought along the Fender Stratocaster, and played it through Adam's Mesa Boogie. QBS is an amazingly talented group of guys, so I have no idea why they asked me to sit in.

Quick Before Sinking is: Adam (The Epic Beat) on guitar and vocals...

Dr. Mark on bass and vocals...

Scott on drums and percussion...

Ian--who is also a great drummer--dialed in the sound for the band, and snapped a few photos...

And I did something I rarely do in public: I sang.

My brother D-Rave says I'm not a vocalist, and I have to admit he's right on this one. But no one ran screaming from the venue, so it's all good. There's a video of it floating around on the web, but I'm pretty embarrased and can't post it here...

Most of these photos I stole off of Jon Risinger's web site. Sorry, Jon. But when you look at the picture below that my daughter snapped during the show, I think you'll understand why...

Then early Sunday morning I was back at the Grove to play two more services.

But my brother Gary is always on my mind, still. That's an Infant of Prague mass card from his funeral, there on the left side of my pedal board...

U2: A Known Line on the Horizon

My last posting and recent Tweets about U2 might have led you to believe that I’m down on these guys. Nothing of the sort.

Although “No Line on the Horizon” may not be their best work, it’s still a very good CD.

As they did back in 2004 with “Vertigo,” the band released as its first single a rather unrepresentative track (in this case, “Get on Your Boots”) which, I suppose, is part of a concerted effort by U2 to continually redefine itself and not be limited by those chime-y, majestic anthems that first made them famous. But I can’t imagine such a choice helped album sales out of the gate; I read somewhere that opening week sales were off compared to “How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb.”

No matter—fans seem to have sidestepped “Boots” and instead quickly focused on “Magnificent” (a chime-y, majestic anthem), which probably would have made for a stronger lead-off single. Other standout tracks include “Breathe,” with its more familiar U2 chorus; “Moment of Surrender,” an R&B-tinged bass hook that would have sounded at home on “HTDAB”; and the haunting “Cedars of Lebanon.”

Even the few tracks that do not quite rise up to U2’s best work still feature passages—a pre-chorus here, a line or two of lyrics there—that are simply brilliant. I suspect that “No Line” will continue to reward with repeated listenings.

Some reviews have taken the band to task for repeating itself—as if they, or any other great band for that matter, could ultimately slip its own skin and be something other than the sum total of its very heart and soul.

What’s more, would fans even want that? If they regard songs like “Boots” or “Vertigo” as novel digressions and continue instead to revel in Bono’s earnest lyrical proclamations set to Edge’s echo-laden guitar hooks, why not ride that well-known line into the horizon?

U2 Wants My Money...

…and they’ll get it too. It’s just a question of how much.

I mean, it’s one thing to lay out $9.99 for a new CD—in this case U2’s “No Line in the Horizon." But for only $22.99 (an extra $13.00) I could get the CD, plus a limited edition 36-page color booklet, fold-out poster, and a download of new film by Anton Corbijn featuring the music of U2.

Hmm…

But wait—don’t answer yet!

For $36.99, you get the CD in a special 60-page soft cover magazine-style book, plus the film download.

Or for a mere $64.99, folks, you get a deluxe limited-edition-collectors box set, with the CD in a cardboard folded sleeve, 36-page color booklet, fold out poster, plus a 60-page hard cover book, AND an additional fold-out poster, AND DVD of the new film from Anton Corbijn…

Or, for you audiophiles and vinyl fetishists, $19.99 buys you two LP discs in a folding sleeve with 16-page oversized booklet!

Umm….

The $9.99 CD it is!

Is it any wonder that Larry Mullen always looks vaguely disgusted with Bono?

Weeds

Spent a few minutes weeding the flower bed out front yesterday and it got my mind to thinking. A blog is like your yard; don’t pay attention to it, and after a while it dies.

Lately this site has been looking like a lawn with a bank foreclosure sign sprouting from it. All brown and weeds…

The other day, a fellow blogger knocked on my door. “Hey Cieslak, could you post something new here for chrissake! You’re driving down the values of other websites around the cyber-hood.”

That, or squatters could break in and start posting on their own…

Fine.

I’ll open up the garage, roll out my rickety old gas-powered word processor, spark up the thesaurus, and drag out the rusty editing tools. Cut back some of this undergrowth. Water the imagination. See if I can get a few metaphors to take root and bloom.

Problem is, the next day, my back will be killing me.

Face Palm

"Face Palm: Because expressing how dumb that was in words just doesn't work..."

Sort of Says it All

Dismantle the Sun

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead

Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,

Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.

For nothing now can ever come to any good.

(“Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone”—by W. H. Auden)