Daily Dose #72 "And So It Begins...."

The blank screen  stares at you. The blank page dares you. A glaring, white, mocking flung gauntlet.

“Just who do you think you are?” It asks. It aims directly at all the things that scare you the most. All that you fear. All your insecurities. All your perceived deficiencies, and all those that hide in the shadows of your unknown blind spots.

And so it begins. You either face all those fears, or you don’t. Not playing the game is always the third move on any chess board.

Its an internal confrontation, and one frankly, that I’ve been avoiding for quite some time. I reached a point in my life where I was just exhausted from waging a war with myself inside my own cranium. Call it battle fatigue, post traumatic stress syndrome, or whatever you want.

I retired. I got tired of failure. I got tired of loss. I needed some peace.

So I moved to Sodus Point in Wayne County, NY, USA to become “A gentleman apple farmer”. I was due for a major battery recharge, and this is where I found it.

The Gentleman "Apple Farmer"

I made a new life with someone I loved and someone that seemed to love me back. The genesis moment of a new me, really. I tended the “farm”. Cooked and cleaned, made sure my woman was taken care of. Toiled in the gardens, took care of the critters, fixed up the house… learned new skills that eluded me in my previous nomadic musician’s existence. I learned how to be simple. I learned how, above all else, to preserve my tenuous hold on my own sanity without the benefits of serotonin re-uptake inhibitors and lithium. I learned how to meditate. I learned that is was ok to just STOP. Take a break. In this case, it was a five year time-out.

One of the casualties, or collateral damage however you want to look at it, was that I stopped playing the piano for a few years. I wrote a song once about the piano being “the only thing that has never let me down”. That may be true. Perhaps I just got tired of letting IT down (and more importantly, letting my friends and people I truly loved down through the medium of playing the damned thing). It became pretty evident to me that no matter how hard I tried, I was never really gonna master that 88 keyed beast to the point where I was going to be able to play what I actually heard in my head.

Sorry, piano. It's been great fun, but like with any substantial future ex-lover, painfully it was time to say "Au Revoir". "Arrivederci". "Ciao". "Auf Wiedersehen". "Sayo-the fuck-onara". The future is now.

There was a lot of saying “goodbye” to a lot of things. Primarily, the definition of “self”. “Tear it Down, and Build it Up Again”. I was more than content stripping a deck, weeding gardens, walking dogs, and plunking on a ukulele every blue moon.

Exiled On Fitzhugh Street. A place to let go, relax, and empty my overflowing and chaotic monkey brain

I didn’t exactly stop being creative, however. I just directed my creative energy, and the disciplines I learned through a lifetime of creativity (and the music biz), and applied them to other things.

So I went on to other projects, and other objectives. I wrote a lot. Created a lot of content in the forms of Internet Dog Beauty Contests, Blogs, a video cooking show with my Dad that almost got off the ground, to continue to experiment with some theories and predictions I had about Social Networking Platforms (which proved to be pretty accurate). Worked a straight job that was deeply connected to the underbelly of the State and Federal government (Fun; even wildly compelling, but ultimately my exposure to sausage making in the political “Arena” was starting to be bad for my health...and Karma. Someday, I may write about those experiences, but in the meantime? I kinda like being above ground and breathing.) I got passionately involved in environmental activism concerning hydrofracking in NY State.    

But ultimately, no more music, and most definitely, no more “Little Georgie”. That set of clothes was just getting too binding; Confining. and I was beginning to get used to being fat and more specifically, centered and happy for once in my life.

Every once in awhile, my old life would reach out with an offer that involved music and I would have to be as gracious as possible while internally promising to myself that I wouldn’t turn into Al Pacino in Godfather III (“Just when I thought I was out….They pull me back IN….).

Or at least they were trying. I’m pretty slippery these days. Must be all the olive oil.

Some very prestigious and plummy studio production offers floated up from New Orleans with the production company I used to work for (those ones were tough to say "no" to), along with little local gigs, and bands looking for a “keyboard player” (I don’t even know what the fuck that IS, even… I’m a piannaplunker, and a hack at that at best...those ones were rather easy to say "no" to).

I always graciously and gratefully thanked folks for thinking of me and advised them I was “retired”, just hoping that the phone would stop ringing. It eventually did.

I still kept a bit of toe dipped in the music pool, though. In retrospect, I think I was always “cheating” a bit by doing so. I was still journaling, writing poetry, stuffing shoe boxes full of ideas and possible songs that would never see the light of day… maybe. It was a tiny ember, not the raging wild fire that its always has the potential to become. Man still needs fire, or at least a way to start one.

Several offers did come in from a few regional studios over those years, to specifically try and convince me to do a “spec” deal for a new Hungarians record. That was really the only bait that I would bite at and rationalize myself into a position of “un-retiring”.

The best part of being a musician, for me anyway, is recording. The studio is sacred ground. That’s where the real challenges reside. Ultimately, the goal is to leave something behind that is of lasting value, but to get there? All of your creative cylinders have to be firing at full strength.

Can you do it? Do you have anything to actually say? Can you write it? Can you organize it? Can you hear it? Can you execute it without compromising your vision, and thus your standards and principles? Can you calculate the distance to the far off target? Determine trajectory and escape velocity and come within a few light years of actually hitting it?

Here’s my cardinal production rule: If you feel yourself rationalizing and telling yourself “it's good enough”... it isn’t. Recording is an exercise in pushing yourself, and your boundaries, to a place you’ve never been before, and that place doesn’t have a safety net or fall back position. When you take it on, you better find a way to swim, because the only other alternative is drowning.

It's the ultimate “making art” experience in music, but when done right, it’s not for the weak willed, half assed, or feint of heart. All in, Baby.

Scary shit.

So I took those meetings with those studios. All fine facilities, all run and staffed by fine, adept and capable people. And yet there was always a red flag that would pop up.

One thing that I’ve become very facile at in my advanced years is recognizing red flags. In the past, I was ego-centric enough to think that I could overcome any red flag that would present itself.

I’m not that guy any more. Now? When I see even the potential for a red flag being raised, I run to the nearest exit. Especially when it entails a collaborative dynamic on the actual art that is the sole intellectual product of my own imagination. You dig?

Nothing really truly resonated at those meetings. There was always something that just didn’t feel right. The methods. The pitch. The room. The deal. Little White Lies or Tiny Sins of Omission. Hidden Agendas that became apparent after the fact. Bad communication skills. A lack of true transparency. Lack of Focus. No chemistry.

Always something a little jenky; suspect motivations that indicated the tip of a shit sandwich: Surreptitiously revealing itself and was definitely going to be on the menu down the line. I was going to be required to eat it with a smile on my face to get the opportunity to make and realize my vision, and then take on all the attached challenges of having that vision be judged.

So...fuck that. I’ll stay retired, thank you very much. I wasn't ready for those types of human clusterfucks. I'm still not.

From a business perspective, I understand the motivation of making the offer. Studios exist to make money to keep running. I respect that. And yes, amazingly enough, there is still an “Hungarians Cache”, if you will. Locally, and in a more minor capacity, nationally and internationally. There is a fan base out there, still; a testament to a great band, a great team that assembled and supported us behind the scenes, the work produced, a great design and a great concept. It was built to stand the test of time, and so far? It has.

Spitting out a Hungarians recording would present a lot of social networking opportunities as well. In the course of my career I’ve travelled in some rarified air at times. It was certainly possible to score a bunch of heavy ringers in terms of players and participants, if there were any kind of budget involved. I have “connects”, and if you’re talking about photos and videos being released over the term of recording, mixing, mastering, and producing finished product, combined with an integrated and funded marketing initiative, all of it being produced in your facility?  It isn’t a bad business idea for a studio to get behind it.

These meetings usually started with “I saw a Hungarians video on facebook, and I was amazed after all these years at how many views it got”. Leading with the metric data. Red flag #1. Again, from a business perspective, totally understandable… no harm, no foul. Just not where my head was at. Then things generally de-evolved and went downhill from there.

So invariably, it was back to the apple farm and self imposed exile. And it was all good.

Until I got drunk with The Mole at an Syracuse Area Musicians Award show in 2016. Then shit changed. More on that in the next installment of “Why George Decided To Open Pandora’s Box And Accept The Consequences Of Opening It”

Down The Rabbit Hole...or in this case, Down The Mole Hole.

"You may shoot for the stars and end up beaten and bloodied in a back alley behind Pluto, but at least I dare to dream; that’s better than being Earthbound mired in the muck of mediocrity"

I judge my forward progress and success by the crushingly epic nature of my failures.

The more epic the crash, the more I’m convinced I must be doing something right.

.

AS ALWAYS: PLEASE FEEL FREE TO COMMENT, SUBSCRIBE, AND SHARE THIS BLOG ADDRESS VIA COPY AND PASTE IN AN EMAIL, THROUGH THE TWITTER OR FACEBOOKIE "SHARE" BUTTONS,WORD OF MOUTH, FILTHY WHISPERED GOSSIP, FALSE NARRATIVE, TIN CAN AND STRING CONFIGURATIONS, PONY EXPRESS, OR CARRIER PIGEON. WITHOUT FEEDBACK OR ACTIVE "SHARING", WHAT YOU JUST READ.... DOESN'T EXIST!



COLONEL BEAUREGARD "IRON THIGHS" JEFFERSON, A.K.A. "THE MANAGEMENT"

 

Daily Dose #25 (06/21/2011)

A SONG IS BORN
(again)

About a month ago, I got a lovely email from a gentleman "Les", from London. He plays bass in a pub band and very respectfully asked me for permission to cover "Gutbucket", a song I wrote in November of 1993, and was the opening track to The Shuffling Hungarians first recording, released in November of 1994.

"London Les" had heard "Gutbucket" recently on some little private (or pirate?) radio station that specialized in American Jazz, Roots and Blues obscura, found the Hungarians Reverbnation Site and a live performance of the song from Brugge, Belgium.

He presented it as a possible cover song to his band mates, they dug it, and the permission letter was issued.


London Les didn't need my permission granted of course. No one would have known or been the worse for wear if he hadn't. But by following some kind of internal Karmic protocol and an ethical compass with it's needle pointed at True North, he not only secured permission, but he gained a new friend, and blessed me with a new friend at the same time.

Please allow this to serve as an example: The Universe doesn't "payout" on a quid pro quo linear basis but it does payout eventually. If you launch your creations into all creation, that energy comes back to you, and usually in the form of solid, connected relationships... at least that is where I recognize the real value in that energy exchange.

Sometimes those gifts are immediate, and you can really see "cause and effect".

This one took almost twenty years. You have to have patience, and to truly "fly" through that system, "All you need is faith and trust... and a little bit of pixie dust!", as the immortal Peter Pan says.


That's a phrase of seduction to convince Wendy to jump out a window. It's Pan's snake oil, but it's a snake oil that absolutely produces results, and Pan absolutely knows it to be true.

A test flight in the bedroom was just the example that the Darling children needed to be convinced to take that leap of faith out the window and fly amongst the stars.

These "Daily Doses"? Think of them as test flights.


I'm not pushing anybody out any windows. But I do believe if I can prove the theory of faith through continuous example, that perhaps one day you'll jump out the window of your own accord, and soar freely amongst the stars.

If you don't like where you're at, you can change that. If you are unhappy, happiness can be achieved, thoughtfully... not just through random flailing.

I know this is my heart, because I have done it myself. I don't know if the things I've learned on this Earth will work for you, but I do know that they worked for me.

Yes, you WILL get your ass kicked by the limbic driven snake brained who don't realize the true value of trust. Those are just life lessons, and as your soul grows, you learn how to direct that faith trust a little more accurately, take responsibility for your own choices, and forgive a whole lot more easily in a much more timely fashion.


You learn how to make a quick read, see the red flags, and move on before any real damage occurs. That's a process, and a skill, that takes a lifetime to develop. At least it did with me.

So maybe this project is just my way of trying to save you some time... time I've wasted trying to learn it on my own, with no help.

So with that, Lets zoom through approximately 90 years of the gifts of sharing music in a relative nano-second.

LOUIS ARMSTRONG AND HIS HOT FIVE / "GUTBUCKET BLUES"

As with the end point, so is the beginning: The culmination of everything that transpired before it. Early Jazz was a mash up of African Culture, Western Tonalities, Western Instruments, The African-American Diaspora and experience of Slavery, Post Slavery Economics, and a whole host of other spices from points of the world that had New Orleans has its destination and drop off point. "The Eternal Gumbo".

All of this crystallized under the stewardship of "Pops" Louis Armstrong and preserved through the advent of recording technology.


I first became aware of the term "Gutbucket" from studying the history of music, and primarily blues, but obviously the term had been around awhile even before Louis got to it. "The Bucket of Blood " might be a term bandied about by Pirates, or perhaps is a reference to the clean up process after a brawl in a rough and tumble roadhouse, where the rawest form of blues were played... Gutbucket Blues. A backing soundtrack to fighting, fucking, shooting and throat slitting.

But by the turn of the Century, it became almost quaint, and part of the vernacular. Clubs named themselves "The Bucket of Blood". Our standard hangover cure "The Bloody Mary" was first christened "The Bucket Of Blood" by its inventor Fernand "Pete" Petiot, an American in Paris mixologist and bartender in 1921. The new cocktail "reminded him of a club in Chicago, "The Bucket Of Blood". Eventually with the aid of Tabasco Sauce produced in Iberia Parish, the concoction was dubbed the "Bloody Mary in 1934 by the re-patrioted Petiot at The King Cole Club in NYC. Legend has it that Georgie Jessel dumped one accidentally on a girl named Mary, hence its name.


The terms "Bucket of Blood" and "Gutbucket" have been around for quite some time, and when you drink a Bloody Mary, the DNA of those terms is right in there with the Tabasco and Worcestershire sauces, celery stalk, pepper, lemon, lime and horseradish.

A history that is hot, spicy, tartly bloody, and gets you high. Important concepts that led to the conceptualization and composition of the song "Gutbucket". It ALL had to be in there.

LITTLE GEORGIE & THE SHUFFLING HUNGARIANS / MAY,1994

"Gutbucket" was written as an exposition to a part of a narrative, but I won't get into that now.... I have to stretch this over 365 days, peeps!

But mechanically, both musically and lyrically, it had to be a in song form of a "Bloody Mary". Steeped in history, of the phrase "Gutbucket", and the music that the phrase represented.

So in terms of music, I threw the entire history of piano rock in it, including a kitchen sink or two. Based on Fat's Domino's first single "The Fat Man" (consider by some to be the first legitimate rock and roll recording, due to Earl Palmer's drumming),
but there were gospel and spiritual voicings, call and response field hollers, raw pile driver rhythms, boogie woogie cadences, sophisticated "Gershwin" like changes in the pre-chorus, a slick and powerful horn section... you name it. All the shoulders I stood on as a piano player and American musician had to be represented, and it was deliberately intentional.


Mark and Paul were an absolutely critical component to this process, because they knew all this stuff as well or better than me. They had the ability to pull it off as a rhythm section, being alternately sophisticated and raw, with a powerful intellectual knowledge of music combined with being fearlessly boneheaded in deployment of the knowledge. Loose and tight as a gnat's ass all at the same time."Gutbucket" had to be a real time performance evaluation of the countless hours the three of us spent refining that language together.

Lyrically, on the surface the song is a drunken ode to the joys of piannnaplunkin' and indescriminant screwing, but with me there has to be more meat on the bone between the surface lines.

GUTBUCKET (George Rossi/Hunihive Music, BMI)

It’s got to be thumpin’
Rockin’ piano pumpin’
Make my big toe. . . shoot up through my boot

I need them bone-head licks
Pound me down right to my bricks
Don’t have to be clever. . .ya don’t have to be cute

Like a drunk in a liquor store
I’ll soak it up like a sponge
Stick my ladle in. . .your bathtub gin

Gutbucket... Gutbucket blues
Oh, yeah.... you really got a a hold on me
Gutbucket... Gutbucket blues
Oh yeah,.... ya really got a hold on me

I get intoxicated. . .my 88’s get radiated
I’m a real gone daddy when I’m puttin’ out that sound
You can throw them sticks an'stones
I’m still gonna feed my gutbucket Jones
I’ts the only thing that has never let me down

Like a drunk in a liquor store
I’ll soak you up like a sponge
Stick my ladle in. . . your fish drippins

Gutbucket. . . Gutbucket blues
Oh, yeh. . . .you really got a a hold on me
Gutbucket. . . gutbucket blues
Oh yeah, ya really got a hold on me
Ya really got a hold on me
Ya really got a hold on me

The critical lines in the song are:

"You can throw them sticks an' stones
I’m still gonna feed my gutbucket Jones
I’ts the only thing that has never let me down"

When things are more accountable than people, and you gravitate toward that anthropormorphized "accountability" in an addictive co-dependent fashion, you're in trouble. This was auto-biography, and this was part of the narrative thread that was woven through the entire recording.

The performance on this video is interesting, because the band had just gotten out of the studio, and really hadn't logged much time as the expanded version of The Shuffling Hungarians. For me, its like looking at a sauce pot with all the ingredients assembled within, but it hadn't cooked down yet, and reduced to its eventual concentrated power and full flavor.

This is a perfect snapshot of the band transitioning from a concept to a reality. It has flaws and imperfections, but it is embued with the spirit that would be focused tighter and then further amplified. Compare this to the live version of "Gutbucket" in the music player, and you'll hear where we started, and where we ended up.



THE BIZZARROS/ LONDON, UK / JUNE, 2011

And that leads us to the beloved The Bizzarros. This is their maiden performance of "Gutbucket". Its a bit shaky, but it still has all the elements in a mutated form... the singer has an almost punk delivery, which is again, just an extension of music history eighteen years after it was written, and makes total sense to me.

The changes are different, as is the structure. They put their own unique Brit spin on it in front of a drunken crowd at the Round Midnight Bar, Islington, London last Friday night, and got the ball into the net with the right spirit attached.

Listen to the feedback from the crowd... they were made happy if only momentarily. Sometimes, that's all you need to affect change in the world. They got their first taste of what its like to be a denizen of Hungaria, and they got exposed to "The Tribe" Zeitgeist.

It like going back in time to all those Wednesday's at The Dinosaur BBQ. Back to the root of all things.


But what a gift! Not only for me and The Hungarians past present and future, but for The Hungarians birth place, The Salt City. Y'all are represented in foggy London Town, peeps. It took a while, but let's see where The Bizzarros go with this. It could be interesting.

Test Flights. Test Flights, Auditions, and to those who know, Dog Contests.

We're here on Earth to learn, and to grow our respective souls as we walk the path.

I've learned a lot from all of this, hopefully will continue to learn.

Thank You, everybody, for chipping in and taking part of this little 18 year event in the making. We all did this together. Don't forget that, because I certainly won't.

"You may shoot for the stars and end up in a back alley behind Pluto, beaten and bloodied, but at least I dare to dream, and that’s better than being Earthbound, mired in the muck of mediocrity.

I judge my forward progress and success by the crushingly epic nature of my failures.

The more epic the crash, the more I’m convinced I must be doing something right"

AS ALWAYS: PLEASE FEEL FREE TO COMMENT, SUBSCRIBE, AND SHARE THIS BLOG ADDRESS VIA COPY AND PASTE IN AN EMAIL, THROUGH THE TWITTER OR FACEBOOK "SHARE" BUTTONS,WORD OF MOUTH, FILTHY WHISPERED GOSSIP, FALSE NARRATIVE, TIN CAN AND STRING CONFIGURATIONS, PONY EXPRESS, OR CARRIER PIGEON. WITHOUT FEEDBACK OR ACTIVE "SHARING", WHAT YOU JUST READ.... DOESN'T EXIST!


THANK YOU KINDLY,

COLONEL BEAUREGARD "IRON THIGHS" JEFFERSON, A.K.A. "THE MANAGEMENT"

To Clark Music, With Love

Very rarely is video released out of the vaults of HUNGARIA INC., but this is a special occasion. In fact, this is the ONLY one ever officially released out of the vault, and here's why:

With a heavy heart, I recently became aware that Clark Music on Erie Blvd. in Syracuse, NY, is closing it retail store.

Clark Music is very special to me, so a little back story to this video is in order.

I finally got serious about how to wrangle a piano relatively late in life, and due to the budget constraints of making the life decision to exist as a professional musician, I never was in one place long enough, or had the finances to own a "real" piano. Most of the practicing I've done in my life has been on crappy digital pianos through headphones, driving whatever room-mate, future Ex-Mother-In-Law, or significant other nuts with the toneless clomping of cheap plastic keys for hours on end.

So the the final litmus test of whatever concept I was trying to master was to test drive it on a real piano, a wholly different animal than an electronic keyboard. Real steel, wood, and bone is where the truth of mastery resides. Anything else is phony baloney.

So when I got something worked up to the point where that physical beta test could be run, and run in front of discerning ears, I would hop in the car to Clark Music for a test drive, usually after a work out at Sundown Gym... fully sweat soaked and stankified.

Mr. Murphy's staff were always very accommodating in spite of my fresh state of stankification. The knew I couldn't actually buy a piano, and yet they put up with me trying to wrassle a $75,000 Steinway into "Little Georgie" submission on a regular basis. Plus it was a great hang, with George, Mike, Frank, Rod, and the rest of the staff at Clark.... they were, and still are, such good friends. Their graciousness was boundless. When I got wiped out by Hurricane Katrina and relocated back in the 'Cuse ("Because I got no other place to GO!!!!", he wailed in his best Richard Gere to Louis Gossett Junior voice), it was the Murphy family that loaned me a piano to play on free of charge, until I could get back on my feet again, and ffind my way back to The Crescent City.

We shared a lot of laughs through the years; some tears too.

When it came time to record The Hungarians first disc, we needed a real piano. Mr. Murphy and company came through, delivering a 9 foot Steinway Concert Grand to Acqrok Studios in Utica, NY... through a blinding blizzard in February, up two flights of stairs, when we holed up at Bob Acquaviva's jernt for the recording of basic tracks. The piano was a beast, and frankly, way too much piano for me to totally control, but I did the best I could.

So what we have here on this video is yours truly, fresh out of the shower, warming up for an in-store appearance of The Shuffling Hungarians at Clark Music, in support of the release of our first recording. Its a Sunday, so I probably haven't slept off a liquid infusion of a quart of Crown Royal, screaming my lungs out for three and a half hours straight in front of our faithful drunken monkey crowd, all whilst inhaling a couple of packs of flaming Marlboros at Styleen's Rhythm Palace the night before.

I'm probably just trying to regain some semblance of semi-consciousness: desperately trying to acquaint myself with the instrument enough not to be fumble thumbing my way through the upcoming performance and awaiting the arrival the rest of the guys and gals in the band to show up as the Clark staff sets up the folding chairs.

We were all dragging ourselves out of bed to hawk the record, and in some small way, giving thanks to the years of service to the CNY community of the arts that Clark Music represents. The "dream" and ultimate realization of the concept of the Hungarians would not have been possible if not for the support of many, including the Murphy family and the Clark Music Staff.

This is me, stripped of the regular hoopla, candidly caught and clueless of the fact that there's a camera rolling... naked and unafraid. There isn't a circus, or a "character" to hide behind. And to the best of my knowledge, probably how the staff at Clark remember me; All George, and no "Little Georgie".

This is what annoys neighbors in the present day as I go through my daily practice regimen: random passers-by, and the occasional yowling pack of cats that get to hear the music wafting through my open window on any given day as they stroll and troll around the corner of Helen and Farmer. Two and a half years of daily unscheduled, unpaid and unpublicized "performances". My current steady gig.

One of my fantasies was always that one day, I would be able to walk into Clark, plunk down $100,000 in cash, pay full retail, and walk out of there with a mack daddy Steinway under my arm. A very real way of truly giving thanks and paying them back for all of their generousity, love, and support.

But they are now closing sadly, and I'm about as far away from that financial pipe dream as humanly possible without being actually dead.

But pipe dreams are what fuel us all, at least to some degree. With that in mind, here's a rare little glimpse into the past, brought to you by the wonderful human beings that made Clark Music such an integral part of my dreams, and of the community at large for 152 years of dedicated service... along with the coffee, donuts, and fresh flowers that the Murphy family provided to the walking Hungarian wounded early on a Sunday sometime way back when.

So here's the faint echo of a little travellin' music, that hopefully still resonates with all my love to the Clark Music Family.

Pondering Upon A T-Shirt

About a week ago, a friend of mine sent me a link to an EBAY auction. Someone was selling a Shuffling Hungarians T-shirt, with an opening bid of $4.99.

My first reaction to this wasn't a good one: The shirt had become "memorabilia", and now it seemingly signified that I had officially attained "has-been" status, as I sit cloistered in my freezing apartment, living on cat food, writing songs that no one will hear, and stories that will never be read.

But ultimately, you have to take these things with a grain of salt. I'm a "hide in plain sight" kind of guy, and figured it was better to joke about it in public, and through social networking sites, rather than ignore it was actually happening. No one ever dies of shame, especially if you own it outwardly.

So following the auction with friends and old fans on Facebook throughout the week has been fun. We shared some laughs, we told some jokes, and we connected in ways that are real and authentic. I don't have to "stand behind the curtain" anymore, as far as The Hungarians project is concerned, anyway. Hell, I don't even OWN one of the shirts (which was the basis for much of the joking).

In my current "Exile on Helen Street", a big part of the day is spent interfacing on social networks. An archival site has been recently created that serves as a vehicle for CNY musicians, past and present, to trade history, photos, and the stories behind those histories.

Participation in that group has allowed me the opportunity to give thanks to all of the people and local musicians who inspired me; I learned much from them, and clearly I always knew, no matter what I did or continue to do in the future, that I stood on the shoulders of those that blazed trails for me, and also stood shoulder to shoulder as I tried to machete ourselves through the weeds to blaze some new ones of our own.

But this experience in gratitude also has had me contemplating this question:"Is someone standing on my shoulders, now that I'm officially a "has-been" and out of the game?"

I hope so. So here's a pointer for all you young whippersnappers out there from your Old Uncle Georgie:

This shirt sold for $20 back in 1995. Its a ratty assed, used shirt that just sold on Ebay for $51 plus shipping and handling. How many articles of clothing in your closet actually APPRECIATE in value over time? I'm pretty proud of what this represents.

Is it the shirt, or the memories attached to it? A little of both. But lets look at the simple mechanics of the merch itself.

This was a ten screen shirt, with sleeve and back printing, and a "fade" effect in the logo and flames, manually executed, to ensure that each shirt was unique. The cost to produce it was astronomical. By the time you added in ancillary costs like paying the Merch Girl (Thank You Vetala, Hibo, Monketta, and Jenn Sinclair) at every gig,a visa mastercard lease and the ability to swipe cards on site, taxes and comps.... let's just say we were lucky to break even on shirt merch.

The shirt was designed by Eliot Mattice, and signed. A massively integral part of our team, just as important as anyone on the bandstand. The shirt is a physical manifestation of just what it takes to build a team, and take on the responsibility of guiding it.

The shirt, the records, the show...all of them were just an extension of the overall philosophy that was woven into anything that Shuffling Hungarians Inc. did: "Go Big, or Go Home". That zeitgeist was the gravitational force that drew other like minded individuals into "The Hungarian Orbit". I may have been its original progenitor, the core of the sun if you will, but that was only a singular aspect of the Hungarian Solar System, and its THE SYSTEM that had the impact.

Over the top? Yes. But for me it was always about giving the fans the best value and biggest bang they could possibly get for their hard earned entertainment buck. It was never about money. It was about music, and it was about the art, first, and then designing the systems of delivering it with the attached philosophy of "at any cost". The message was the medium, and the medium was the message. A perfect storm.

So when people wore that shirt, when they still do; they are recognized as members of a secret club, and members of a team. I may have been performing a human high wire act with my own existence, but if you don't do that, you'll never attract team members be it in the areas of business, band members, support, or fans that think the same way... and that's what made that band, and that team, and that life experience, special. Everybody was in it to raise the bar, and to boldly go where no local band had gone before. That was our point and frame of reference, and everybody went all-in to do it.

Was it sustainable? History proves, at least at present, no...it wasn't. Its better to burn out than to fade away, and although tentatively at first, I finally decided to pull the plug on it to make sure people remembered it at full strength.

But it was a hell of a ride, for those brave enough to take it, for band, working co-horts, and fans alike.

Art, if done right, should appreciate in value over time. This little shirt auction validates all the efforts of everybody involved in that project. That's what we wanted to make, and we did it the best we could, with no reservations and no regrets.

So keeds, those of you that are just starting out in the game, remember. If you aren't ready to pay that kind of freight, and take on those types of risks,then maybe you might want to reaccess just why you're doing what your doing.

Musicians like to bitch about current situations and the overall business climate in their hometowns. That NEVER changes.

But in my humble experience, there is one thing about The Salt City, that differentiates itself from the rest of the pack: The people who live here, and support live music.

Sure, they go out to see shows, and they are accepting of all levels of expression.

But if you dare to fail: If you dare to fall flat on your face, fully committed, the peeps of Syracuse will automatically recognize and rise up to support you. They know the difference between aiming for the middle of mediocrity, and aiming for far distant, and seemingly unattainable targets. They will suss out the half-assed approach eventually, and rise up to support the impossible dream, everytime.

Hopefully, as a link in the CNY chain of music history, that's the gift that The Shuffling Hungarians Experience gave you. Everybody that was resposible for developing that set of shoulders, the "System" of which I speak, did so at great risk, and at a great personal cost. They know. I certainly do, because I'm still feeling the consequences for those types of decisions.

It was an emotional investment for the band, its support network, but most importantly, to the fans that plunked down their money at the door on a regular basis.

And that's why a ratty assed used shirt can sell on EBAY for $30 above its original purchase price of $20 back in 1996.

Memories, Dreams, and Art all increase in value when they are produced from an "All In" mindset.

Those are your "Shoulders". Stand on them, and then deliver.