In 2009, hip-hop duo Insane Clown Posse released "Miracles", a song about all the things in life that are "fuckin’ amazing and incredible", such as giraffes, magnets, and pyramids. The song presents a handful of metaphors about music, such as the following:
"And music is magic, pure and clean
You can feel it and hear it but it can't be seen"
However, the song also compares music with love, claiming that they both "fill the room from the floor to the ceiling". The same can be said of nerve gas, body odor, and termites, but I think Violent J and Shaggy 2 Dope may have come up with something worth analyzing here. I, for one, wholeheartedly agree that music is a lot like love.
----
On Monday night, I ventured to the Orpheum Theater in Boston for my very first Dream Theater concert. In fact, this was the first time I had ever purchased a ticket to a legitimate concert. I decided to splurge and get the tour package, which included a seat in the first 10 rows, a tee shirt, a poster, a set of "autographed" (ie, photocopied) guitar picks, and a mysterious "gift item". While standing in line to pick up my package, I realized that I hadn't printed out a confirmation slip or anything, and I entered a moment of sheer terror. "Am I going to get turned away? Am I really that irresponsible? Does anyone love me?" Luckily, the sign-in process only required a photo ID, so I got my package without any problems.
I started digging through my bag of trinkets, squealing with pure fanboy delight at each fun item. Tee shirt -- yeah! I love shirts! I wrote my college essay about wearing shirts (seriously), and now I have another shirt! Poster -- yeah! I don't like posters, but I'll probably give it away and feel really good about myself! Guitar picks -- yeah! I don't use guitar picks, but I can stare at them and try to hide my erection! Gift item -- err... where is it? I kept pawing through the tote bag trying to find the elusive gift item until I eventually realized that the tote bag was the gift item. I was quite impressed with the ingenuity of this marketing scheme.
While waiting in line (again) to get into the venue, I struck up a conversation with the family of DT lovers in front of me. They claimed that both John Petrucci and Jordan Rudess had tweeted about there being a special guest at tonight's performance. Speculation abounded -- could it be Derek Sherinian, former keyboardist? Perhaps Charlie Dominici, former vocalist? Or maybe some unrelated but equally awesome musician, such as Steve Vai? Such anticipation!
When I got to my seat, I saw that there was one dude sitting by himself directly to the left of me. We could have easily slipped into "avoid eye contact and fiddle around with your phone" mode, but I refused to let anything about this evening be awkward. I looked right at him and said, "I thought I was going to be the only person who came here by myself." He laughed, introduced himself as "Nutty" (apparently a nickname for some unpronounceable Hebrew word), and we chatted about everything that two prog nerds could ever care about: our favorite albums, guitar techniques, Jordan Rudess's bizarre keyboard tones, the yet-unknown special guest, and the opening band's propensity for spraying bodily fluids in all directions. By the time Dream Theater came on, we were rocking out together like we had known each other for years; harmonizing over the vocals, headbanging in perfect unison, doing the same stupid hand gestures and pantomimes to go along with the lyrics. We both spent the majority of the concert stomping our feet. All of them at the same time, actually, an activity that bears a striking resemblance to jumping up and down like a boss.
After a few songs, DT front man James LaBrie introduced the band's new drummer, Mike Mangini. A huge roar erupted from the audience that lasted a good 20 to 30 seconds, which is a long time to be roaring. Mufasa himself would have been impressed. To an outsider, it may have seemed odd that we would give such an ovation for a man who had only been with the band for a few months, but it didn't matter to any of us. Dream Theater is like a family, and we signed the adoption papers without even reading the fine print.
Later on, they set up some chairs onstage for an acoustic set, at which point LaBrie introduced the special guest: "Here he is, Eugene Friesen!" This time, the introduction was met with a sea of confused silence as an old man marched onstage with an electric cello. You could hear the same thought going through everyone's mind: "Who the heck is this guy?". Eventually, I delved deep into my memory banks and recalled that he had collaborated on "Vacant", a track from one of DT's earlier albums. I don't know if anyone else figured it out, but by the time he was done, he had also been adopted into the family, and received an appreciative round of applause in turn.
Sadly, the evening came to a close after 2 hours of delicious rock. As we all scurried out to the nearby subway station, I offered my poster to Nutty. He claimed that he didn't want it either, but some random dudebro wandered up and said "I'll take it!". I smiled and handed it over; I felt good about myself. Nutty and I parted ways, our final words being "Nice rocking out with you, bro!" and "Totes McGotes!", along with a hearty handshake.
----
Yesterday I woke up at 7:30 AM, determined to push myself farther and harder than ever before. I ate cereal, then played guitar from 8:00 to 12:00. I ate lunch, then played guitar from 1:00 to 3:00. I went to the gym, then played guitar from 4:00 to 6:00. I ate pasta, had a nice life chat over the phone with a friend from high school, and then sat down to play guitar once more. I knew that if I stayed focused for just two short hours, I would set a new personal record: 10 hours in one day. Often when I'm getting close to the end of my allotted practice time, my brain and fingers are so fried that all I can do is noodle around or drill patterns mindlessly. This time, something incredible happened: in the last 45 minutes of my 10-hour day, I tapped into a pocket of energy and creativity, jamming all around my room and coming up with dozens of new riffs. I even stumbled upon a new technique that I had never even thought of, for which I produced a tutorial video earlier today.
The unexpected burst of sheer musical joy showed me that music is a very curious commodity: the more of it you give freely, the more of it you'll have. Upon further reflection, I realized from my experiences at the concert how potent music is as a means of bringing people together. I can think of only one other substance that possesses both of these characteristics: love. Or, in the words of Insane Clown Posse, "Pure motherfucking magic, right? This shit'll blow your fucking mind." Well said, evil clowns. Well fucking said.
----
Week 16 total: 27.5 hours
Grand total: 399 hours
Required pace: 307.5 hours (+91.5)
No comments:
Post a Comment