The Truth About Being True

This may be hard to believe, but when I was very young, I was a handful. Whenever my family would go over to my grandparents house and it was time to leave, I would take off running around their property. I would make everyone chase me. My mother says she always had to have something to keep me occupied (as opposed to my brother... she just sat him in front of the television and he would stay there) because if she didn't, I would get into anything I could. To her, I am sure, it was a tad frustrating. To me, I was just very very curious.

When I was about 3 years old, my mother went back to school, since my parents were already divorced, she had to do something to help pay the bills. She started making cakes. Wedding cakes. Birthday cakes. Cakes that looked like boobs (covered of course). Cakes that looked like a loaf of wonder bread. Cakes, cakes, cakes. She still has, and uses, her KitchenMaid mixer that was given to her by her co-workers about 40 years ago.

As you can imagine, because of my "curiosity", my mother had to have me occupied while she made her confections. So, she sat me down at the kitchen table with a pencil and paper. She told me she needed me to draw different things so that she could use them on cakes. I was so young, and so eager to be part of things that I didn't realize that she was just keeping me busy. She never used any of my drawings on her cakes... at first. She baked so much, I ended up drawing a lot. In fact, so much, that I got very good at it. And, she did in fact use some of the drawings in her work. She would trace the drawing with wax paper and cut it out, then trace it again on the icing top. Then fill in the details. This became common place in our house. But, I started drawing on my own, unconnected to her cake making.

A few years later in first grade, one of our daily assignments was to draw Winnie the Poo. Our teacher, places a page of him from a coloring book on the chalk board and told everyone to draw it. So, I proceeded to draw the image. With my "experience" in drawing, I used proportion and spacing. And, lo and behold, what I drew looked just like the image the teacher had placed on the board.

I handed it in. She got to mine and just praised and praised me. So much so, she brought me to the front of the class and held it up and said, "Class, this is what your drawing should look like!" I was six. I should have had a big grin on my face. Soaking in the attention from the teacher. Feeling good about my accomplishment. But I didn't. Instead, a feeling of dread came over me. How could she do this? I have been drawing for a long time. They probably hadn't. I thought, "maybe some of them aren't good at drawing, how does it make them feel?" I felt it was unfair for my teacher to have the class compare their drawing to mine. Not everyone could do what I can do. Just as I can't do what someone else may be able to do.

This feeling stayed with me for a very long time. All through school and well into adulthood (if you can call me an adult). My goal was to make other people feel special. To lift them up for the things they could do well. All the while, I was kind of hiding or down playing anything I might do to outshine others.

It became extremely important to help others dreams come true, even at the expense of my own. My loyalty to my friends supplanted loyalty to myself. I believe this was carried into many aspects of my life. I stopped drawing. I played music in high school, but stopped until my mid-twenties. And even when I started, I didn't let anyone hear anything I did for years.

I carried it into my marriage. I did everything I could to try to make my spouse happy. But, wound up miserable and a failure. You see, I forgot myself and what I wanted/needed at every turn. It got so bad, that I think "I" actually disappeared for awhile. Just stopped. I was so broken, that I just... stopped.

Stopped trying. Stopped moving. Stopped... LIVING. 

Now, some may say that living for others is the best thing you can do. That it's being selfless and only good can come of it. I used to think that. Now I don't. It is good to be kind. It is good to be compassionate. It is good to be loyal. It is good to be true, to others.

But, you CANNOT do that at the expense of who you are and what you want out of life. If you do, you burn out. You lock up. You stop. And, that, well, that isn't good for ANYONE.

To be kind, compassionate, loyal and true in any regard, you must be those things to yourself as well. You don't necessarily need to be those things FIRST. You just have to be those things to live. It doesn't mean you are selfish, it doesn't mean you are cruel.

But ask yourself, how can you really be kind, be compassionate, be loyal, and be true, if you don't show yourself what that means. How can you really encourage others to DREAM BIG, and follow their hearts, if you don't do those things for yourself?

If you are going to BE IT, LIVE IT. And don't forget to GIVE IT to yourself as well as others.

I fail.. a lot. I make mistakes... a lot. And, I have wasted and enormous of amount of time learning this. A lot of time I could of spent chasing my dreams and living my life. And though I will continue to fail and make mistakes. I can now look at myself and know that I am giving it my best shot with the talent I have and the time I have left.

Being loyal and true is a wonderful thing. But, if you forget or deny the things YOU want out of life, it really doesn't mean much. Be good enough to yourself to be loyal. Be good enough to yourself to be kind. Be good enough to yourself to go after and build the life you want. It's only yours to live, and there is no time for regret.

Thanks for reading.

Music is Life,

Albert

The Art of Trust?

I may jump from topic to topic... Larry King style.

When I was younger, you know in my growing years, the time we all start learning how the world works, my mom had a montra (she would cringe if she knew I called it that)... "Sometimes you have to do what you don't want to do." Man, I hated hearing that. I can't tell you how many times I have heard it. Each time worse than the last. But, dammit, she was right.

Think about it, as free as we seem to be, we sure do a lot of things that we don't want to do. They are necessary to helping our lives run as smoothly as possible. Now, granted, I try to do as little of these things as possible. Sometimes it leads to trouble. Sometimes it leads to life long memories. Either way, these things, whatever they are for you, will always be there.

I don't really like crowd funding campaigns. I hate seeing stars trot out their ideas and hope you will pay for them to do be funded, meanwhile making millions per film. I use my own money to do what I want, and I don't have any. Why do I need to give a millionaire money to make his pet project.

Then, I watched this video...

Now, I don't agree with everything she says. And I think at some point you need to carry your own water (besides the fact that her husband is very successful author Neil Gaiman). And it's easy when you raised over 1 million dollars. But the part that got me was her idea of letting people pay for music instead of making them.

It's a fine line, but the crux of it is trust. One thing I do know is a lot people want to help, they just need to be asked. And asking is hard. As she points out, it make you feel like you are somehow deficient, ashamed. So, somewhere in there must be some middle ground.

Yesterday, the band that I am in launched a fund raiser. And, to be honest, right up until I pushed the button to make it live I had a pit in my stomach, thinking maybe we shouldn't do it. And in some ways I still feel that way. We set out to make a raise a small amount of money to just make it a little easier to do what we were already going to do. We set a soft goal of $500. We want to raise more, but we also wanted people to feel apart of it. Learning to trust.

It's been going for a day, and we have raised $250. And, with one exception, I didn't expect the people that gave to give. It's not that I didn't think they would, it's that when thinking who would, they didn't enter my mind. And, that makes me smile. And, it makes me a little ashamed. Who am I to even try to figure out who someone is or predict and outcome. No one, that's who.

So, now I will just step back, let people know, and trust. I bet I will be surprised what happens.

Here is a pic and below that the link for our crowd funding thing.

Kelsey Cook, Me and Dave Tanner - The Depth and the Whisper

More Music. More Miles. More Memories

For those of you reading, I will let you know how it all turns out. 

Music is Life, 

Albert 

You'd Rather Complain When Your Job is to INSPIRE.

As an artist (and I use that term loosely) of the music type, I don't really think anyone owes me anything. People don't have to like our music. Local radio stations don't have to play our songs. Local clubs don't have to book our shows. I don't expect anyone to do anything for me or the band I am in.

Let's make a few things clear... do I want people to like our music? Yes. Do I want local radio stations to play our music? It would be nice. Do I want local clubs to book the band? Of course. But, none of those things MUST exist for me to do what I do. None of those things must exist to validate the music we write. The dirty truth is once the song is written and out into the world, out of my soul, or out of my heart or mind it's job is done. The rest... the rest is for show. It's all "pomp and circumstance". A rare "pomp and circumstance" that I happen to like.

So this happened today (take a listen):

http://media.965thebuzz.com/a/75770929/local-bands.htm?q=alice+sweet+alice

My response? WHO CARES. Lazlo is doing a job. He's expressing an opinion. But the local music scene takes offense to it. They should laugh it off and keep working. You want the station to like your music and play your songs? That's misguided.

Here's a story that may, at first, seem unrelated. I have a friend that works in a local record store. This store is VERY friendly to local musicians. They stock their records and sell them and basically keep nothing when they sell them. They also play a lot of local music over the store stereo system. On a regular basis, people would come up to the counter and ask who the band was that was playing because they liked it. My friend would be respond, "Oh, that's a local aritst called__________." In his own words, about 90% of the people who asked about the band became disinterested when they found out it was local. Why? because the fact that it was from around here, was a turn off for whatever reason. Instead of exciting someone that they could actually get to know and interact with an artist they like enough to inquire about because they heard the music, they turned away.

This is not Lazlo or 96.5 the Buzz's fault. People just aren't interested. I don't know why, because maybe Kansas City in general just isn't exciting enough for them. Playing songs on a radio station just isn't going to change that. Because it didn't change it at a record store. Local = boring, Yeah, I know, it's not fair. It just is.

Work harder to find your niche. My band The Depth and the Whisper have noticed that the farther away we play from our home in KC, the better the fan reaction. We've some pretty decent success and for the most part are treated better and more fairly thus far in New York than we do here. I don't know why. We play the same music. We are the same people. Just a different environment.

a little ditty not about Jack and Diane

I never wanted to be in a local band. That label seemed limiting to me. I am very happy, and very lucky to play with the people I do. We get to go and meet people. See sights. Make music. Make moments. Make memories. And really, that's what it's all about. Living. Being bold. And loving every minute of it. 

I applaud Lazlo for being honest and saying what he really thinks. It's his job. It let's you know what you are up against. No single radio station can really help you. And truthfully, if the person in charge of the local music on that station doesn't like it, she won't play it. And she shouldn't. She's allowed to like her job, isn't she? She isn't there for you or me or anyone else. Let her take the bands she likes under her wing and get them nowhere. It's up to you to go somewhere. It's up to you to do the work. Not them. 

Work harder. Write better songs. Get out of town and make your own luck. If you roll in the mud, you're just another pig. 

Be better. Be higher. Be bolder. Move on.

Music is life, 

Albert 

A Quiet Man, and a Love of the Game...

My grandfather was an interesting man. He passed when I was 18, so I really never got to relate to him on a "man to man" level. As a child, I spent many a night at my grandparents house. He would sit in his chair, watch the news and smoke his pipe. Rarely did he speak inside the house.

They lived on a few acres of land close to the intersection of I-70 and I-435 by Royals Stadium (Kauffman). He kept horses in a make shift barn. If I was lucky I would get to ride them. If I was unlucky, they bit me. They had a wood burning stove. So, every once in awhile I would have to help chop wood. I hated it. I still hate it. I would rather buy it from 7-11 then chop it myself.

One of these times, while chopping wood, I missed hitting the piece of wood with the ax head. I hit the handle on the wood just below the head. I was terrified that I would get in trouble. Not that he ever yelled at me. I was just used to getting in trouble for things like that with my step-father, and my perception was that my grandfather and step-father were close, and I would receive a similar outcome from him (later I realized my perception was wrong. They were nothing alike). So, I called for my grandfather, preparing for doom. He strolled over to me in his dark blue down filled coat and his work hat, pipe hanging from his mouth and asked me what was the matter. I told him I had broke the ax. I cringed a little waiting for his response. He looked at me. He looked at the ax. He looked back at me, this time right square in the eye, tiny little smile in his eyes and said, "You show me someone that never broke nothin' in his life, I'll show you someone who never worked in his life. There's another ax in the shed. Go get it." He turned around and walked off. I stood there stunned. Then I went and got the ax.

The best memories I have of Buford Parsons were the ones that happened at night in the summer time. My grandparents had separate bedrooms. And, I swear in my heart, my grandfather was grateful for it. But, in the summer, in the evening was Royals baseball on the radio. He had two twin beds in his room. One he slept in and another. Every evening in the summer I stayed there, after all the chores were done, and dinner was done, we would go into his room and turn on the radio. I laid in one bed, he in the other. The radio sat in the open window. The cool summer nights breeze would come through swirled with the sounds of Fred White (RIP) and Denny Mathews describing the baseball antics of George Brett, Amos Otis and Frank White. We would just listen. And if the Royals were home, and something great happened, you could faintly hear the crowd in the distance.

When I was young I loved baseball. I lived and breathed it. I knew the all the Royals stats to the day. I read baseball history books like I was eating cake. And, you know what, until this very moment, I don't think I realized why this love appeared in my heart. It was because of my grandfather. He didn't talk much.

But, I sure learned a lot.

Thanks grampa.

Music is life,

Albert

Road Trip

Who doesn't like a road trip? In a previous blog, I mentioned I had lived in several states. So, I have seen a lot of highway in this country. A LOT. So much in fact that it inspired the song below that will serve as a sound track for this blog, push play and keep reading. If you like the song, download it (and if you feel like thowing a few bucks our way... thank you).

Highway (it will take you to another page... evidently, I am not smart enough to figure out how to embed the player here.)

On Thursday, May 2nd I received a text message from a good friend asking if I could do him a really big favor (In the interest of privacy, I won't disclose the friend or the favor). After checking out my schedule and realizing the importance of what was at stake, how could I refuse. After all, driving long distances is something I have done many times in my life. And if I could do that to help someone who needed it, even better.

Preparing for the trip I began to realize that I will have actually driven from New York to Los Angeles (the first leg from NYC to home took two days in March). It's something I had never done. In fact, it was something that had never crossed my mind to do. That's a long way. Over 2800 miles. A lot of highway. I lot of white and yellow lines. A lot of reading license plates. A lot of gas. A lot of Diet Coke. And, a lot of places to make pit stops because of the amount of Diet Coke.

The drive started at 5:30am on May 5th.

We went straight west down I-70. Through Kansas and Colorado and into Utah. 16 hours 1100 miles.

Black Dragon Canyon, right off of I-70 in Utah

We stopped in Richfield, Utah. A small town nestled in the Utah mountains about 40 miles from the western end of  I-70).

When I woke up on Monday, I decided to take a walk and watch the sun rise over the Utah mountains. As the light started to appear in the eastern sky, I contemplated where I was and where I had been. You start to realize what an amazing an beautiful country we live in. From lush green to desert brown. All beautiful in it's own way. Like people. Everyone has beauty, but sometimes we have to look a little harder to see it.

My mind started to drift to my own life. Who I am and where I am going. The things I want and the things I don't. The people I want in it, that inspire me like the sunrise. Maybe it was time to shed some skin and grow. Maybe it was time to, once again, reevaluate things. The truth is, I have been doing that for quite some time, so, this was more like a reinforcement.

It was time to hit the road and drive some more.

Sun rising over the Utah Rock

We hit I-15 in no time. Now we were heading southwest toward our destination. Since we got 16 hours out of the way the day before, we only had 8 or so to cover this day. Piece. Of. Cake. 

Utah seemed like such a lonely place. Hardly anything there. Just rocks and sand and highway. The speed limit signs say 75 or 80 but I think they really say, "Hey... thanks for being here. Drive safely, and we won't bother you." Because if you are going 80, it feels like 40.

I-15 South, Utah

This trip took us Denver, and Las Vegas on the way to Los Angeles... excuse me... Huntington Beach. Evidently, they are not really the same thing. Maybe two different worlds? 

We made it to the coast in the middle of the afternoon. I saw the sunrise in the mountains and the suset on the beach. This was a good day. 

Sunset off the Huntington Beach Pier

I got to spend a few days in California. I went to the beach every morning. Listened to the waves crash against the sand of the beach. Watch a gaggle of baby Sandpipers try to find food. Watched patient surfers wait for waves. Saw a baby sea lion come up on beach then dive back into the surf. And I thought back to the morning watching the sun rise in the mountains.

It's all connected. It's all there to inspire us to be who we were meant to be. Natural or divine, it doesn't matter. It's there to help us be who we want so we can be and do the same for others. Be bold. There isn't any reason that you shouldn't go after the things you want. Be bold. Happiness. Be bold. Live the life you have while you have it. Be bold. Squeeze all the juice you can out of it. Be bold. Suck out the marrow. Be bold. Love other people, always. Be bold. Help others whenever you can. Be Bold. The sky, the mountain, the ocean's the limit. It's all up to you. Be bold.

Take the chance. BE BOLD.

Music is Life,

Albert
The Depth and the Whisper
TDATW on Facebook

A proper introduction...

Since I got last nights mess out of the way, I thought I would tell you a little about myself. Just the big bits as to stay somewhat mysterious. Because, you know, the ladies like that sort of thing. Right? RIGHT?

I was born at Research Hospital in Kansas City, MO... awhile ago. I grew up in Kansas City. In fact, I never moved as a kid. My mother has lived in the same house for a very long time. I went to Winnetonka High School.

I have lived in 5 different states so far. Missouri, Texas, Oregon, Arizona and Kansas. But, I don't think I'm done. My favorite was Texas. Followed by Arizona. Oregon sucks, pretty much like Kansas.

I used to look like this:

Now I look like this:

My favorite thing to do is this:

Which kind of sounds like this:

Not really. More like this:

Two things about that video. 1.) An acoustic guitar is an ineffective paddle. 2.) I lost my wallet in that lake. But, hey, great tie, huh?

I am in a band called The Depth and the Whisper. (<----- that's a link to our website. Check it out, you might like it).

That's about it for now. Feel free to send me questions if there is anything you would like to know. Or, if you just have anything to say.

And remember:

Music is life,

Albert
The Depth and the Whisper
The Depth and the Whisper on Facebook

Let's Be Honest

I suppose the most proper way to start one of these "blogs" is to introduce myself and say nice fluffy things. Well, I don't think I can do that. Maybe tomorrow. But, certainly, not to day. There is plenty of time for that. And though it's probably beating a dead or dying horse at this point, I feel have to say something about things I have seen this week regarding the coming out of Jason Collins and the comparison of christians saying that people applaud him while telling them to keep that to themselves. And then trying to say that his coming out shouldn't be a big deal. Poppycock. Forgive me, this first one may get long.

A little background on me. I was raised in a Baptist home that faithfully went to Baptist church. It wasn't the most conservative of Baptist churches. But it was very fundamental. Most of my family is religious. (I love them very much. Very much. They are good people.) So, this being the case you are taught that homosexuality is wrong. It's ungodly. It's a sin. I didn't hate gays, necessarily.  I was just afraid of them, and what I was told they represented.

When I was in college, I worked the overnights at a gas station. I saw so many different types of people... SO many different types of people. One in particular used to come in after he got off work to buy cigarettes. I don't remember his name. But, he would stay and we would talk and hang out and one night he told me he was gay. I didn't judge him. I just talked to him. He wasn't scary at all. He wasn't even. He was just a man. Trying to make a living. Trying to get by. Just like me. Hmmm. 

A little fear falling off always feels good. 

About that time, I started getting into what would become one of my favorite bands. One of the three members was Dug Pinnick. The band was sometimes billed as a christian band. Except they were different. They were more like guys who happened to be christians that played music too. Never preachy or that aweful fake stuff you hear on the radio. Real and honest. Dug became my hero. When he sang, his whole body sang. When he played, his whole body played. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard (then seen... I have seen this band 11 times in no less than 4 states.The clip below is a live recording from Woodstock in 1994, the break down part at about the six minute mark is particular appropriate for this blog... do yourself a favor and at least fast forward to that. ).

One time when I was in line to get into a club they were playing in Portland, OR, I overheard some people talking about how he came out and said he was gay. I was faced with a dilemma... my hero and favorite musician was gay... what do I do? Do I turn my back on the music I loved and condemn it, or did it really matter? I concluded it didn't matter and I still loved him and the music he made. 

After he came out, he did several interviews. Some with christian publications that had once praised the band. He spoke about how "friends" that he had grown to count on, "friends" who called themselves christians, no longer returned his phone calls. It was time when he needed them most. They weren't there. In fact, one so called christian friend actually told him that he prayed to God that Dug would never find love. A christian, commanded to love, telling another that he hoped, nay prayed he would never find love. This was the moment that really changed me. My heart broke for him. He had searched his whole life for love and acceptance and the ones that were supposed to be loving and forgiving weren't either one. How could this be? Christians who claimed to love, couldn't see past a sin... but condemned a man who was just searching for some peace. Some hope. Some love. Some support. It wasn't there. Yes, I know, all christians aren't like that. But many are. If a man cheats on his wife, it is certainly frowned upon, but somehow the attitude is, "Well, at least our brother isn't gay. We just need to forgive him and help him find reconciliation." But, if you say you are gay in most it's, "ABOMINATION!!!" That's so fucked up. It boggles my mind. There is no love in that. NONE. Below is a link to a story I read that demonstrates this point.

NFL Player told to ask God's forgiveness because he congratulated Jason Collins... and if he didn't he wouldn't get the $8500 speaking fee he was going to get to talk about bullying.

A few years later I found myself with more than a few gay friends (or should I say just: Friends). One day in particular, one of my friends asked me to take him to the airport so he could catch a flight to spend the holidays with his family. I happily obliged. On the way he told me about several people he was "talking to" and/or dating. He seemed happy about the prospects. And, I realized that I was happy for him. 

One of the people I play with in my band is LGBT. Except for she doesn't really limit herself. She just loves. And I love her. She is family and I will protect her with my full wrath if must (and believe me, you don't want to see that). If I hadn't had the above experiences, I wouldn't have the pleasure and privilege of making and playing music with this wonderful human being. She has taught me much. She says the same of me. She's my friend. She is valued beyond measure. 

It's been a journey for me. A good one. 

Which brings me back the Jason Collins/Gay vs. Tim Tebow/Christian debate. Why is it that Jason Collins coming out as the first active gay professional american athlete to come out in one of the four big sports important and Tim Tebow being a Christian isn't really a big deal? Here's why... since when in this great country of ours has a person REALLY been persecuted for being a Christian? Oh, the mainstream media marginalizes your beliefs you say? People make fun of you you say? Awwww... poor babies. Guess what? Last time I looked, there were no coliseums with lions awaiting your arrival. Last time I looked you were free to believe and express yourself and your religion in any way you wanted. Last time I looked, no one was keeping you from going and worshiping God. You're free. Free to live. Free to pray. Free to assemble. Free to love anyone you want. You have no restrictions. And neither does Tim Tebow, except that he isn't good enough to play in the NFL. (Below is a link to a story that I read that demonstrates

Jason Collins wasn't (and really still isn't) free. He had to pretend to be someone just to be accepted. He had to pretend so he wouldn't be ridiculed and shunned by his peers. He can't marry who he wants. He is brave because in the face of the Macho world that is professional sports, he said "I can't be who I am not any longer. It may ruin my career, but I will not be ashamed anymore." There is beauty in that. There is strength in that. And, you know what? There is beauty and there is strength in Tim Tebow being who he is. The only difference, is he was completely and LEGALLY free to be that person. Jason Collins was not. 

At this moment in our country, people are still beaten and sometimes killed because they are gay. Kids commit suicide because they are afraid and confused and don't think anyone will love them because they are gay. What I don't understand is how anyone that believes in Christ and calls themselves a christian can possibly think that's ok? And if they don't, then why do they think the person must change before they can really get love from them and from God. This makes no sense to me. What are you afraid of? 

The biggest thing is people say, "who cares, it doesn't matter!" You're right it shouldn't. And one day, God willing, it won't. 

If you got this far, thanks for reading. 

Music is life, 

Albert

www.thedepthandthewhisper.com

www.facebook.com/thedepthandthewhisper