Josh Garrels
My music career started early.
When I was 11, my family was living in Houston and I got together with the guys in photo and formed my first band. Ok, my only band. We had a name but I don’t remember what it was. The guys, however, I think about all the time.
From left to right:
Ricky Penton, guitar player, I think, in addition to maracas. His nickname was Pinto Beans.
Randy Crabb, singer, bongo player. I think those were my bongos that I got on a trip to Mexico. I liked his older sister, Cheryl.
Lance Berg. He’s holding a drumstick and a snare drum, so yeah, he’s the drummer.
In center front is Scott Bert, singer. Older brother of Lance. The Bergs were talented. Scott wrote our first original song, Made a Mistake. More on that in a minute.
In the second photo, the kid holding the Polaroid Swinger camera was me. The picture was taken on my birthday and the camera was probably a gift. I’m guessing my older sister, Adele, took the picture.
I was a guitar player.
The kid in the doorway with the cat-eye glasses is my younger sister, Sarah. She’s always been on the cutting edge of fashion. Not sure if she was a fan.
We played two songs, Little Red Riding Hood (which is the same chord progression as House of the Rising Sun, so if you know one, you know the other) and Wipeout. And then there was Made a Mistake, which consisted of counting by five until Scott purposely made a mistake in the sequence. Then the hook, made a mistake, made a mistake, made a mistake. About as bad a song as one could write.
And yet, this was the peak of my musical career. That tells you all you need to know about my level of talent. I still play Little Red Riding Hood and Wipeout occassionally, and since then and I’ve learned a few more chords. But I’m just a pretender, a hack wannabe living in the glow of those glory days in Houston. We played one gig, the big going away party for our family just before we moved back to West Virginia. It was a short set.
And I never saw the guys again. That’s the way it is in the entertainment biz. Fame is fleeting. Everything is fleeting.
Carpe diem.
This just popped up on my Pandora station and now I can’t get enough of it. Morgane and Chris Stapleton with their take on a classic. No fancy video, just music. If you have headphones, plug ’em in.
Why
do you do
what you do?
.
You see the fall leaves
a season has passed
you pen the good words
and hope it will last.
A memory is shared
it once was so clear
your poetry speaks
to those who will hear.
.
You comprehend shadows
you understand light
you capture the feelings
of what’s lost in our sight.
Your pictures are poignant
of people unknown
they look faraway
they look so alone.
.
You see a petal
with colors of fire
you paint what you feel
it sings like a choir.
Your brush touches paper
like a gentle caress
the colors transform
become a child’s dress.
.
You hear the heart cry
of love gone away
you make it a song
to ease your dismay.
Or light fills your life
and burns off the haze
you sing of the beauty
your song is a praise.
.
Why
do you do
what you do?
It’s not for the fame,
or to hear accolades
such things are so fleeting
they’re just a charade.
You do it for you
and maybe to share
to give what we need
and to show that you care.
copyright 2016, joseph e bird
Perfect evening for eating on the front porch at Lola’s. Michael Lipton, longtime member of the Mountain Stage band, was there to provide cool guitar musical stylings for my birthday. Scrap the for my birthday part. He would have been there anyway. Still, it all came together for a nice night.
Now I’m off to watch for satellites from zero gravity.
Night all.
I love songs that tell stories. This one will take you back.
Brenda and Eddie were still going steady in the summer of ’75.
Time, it swallows everything.
From the mighty to the meager thing.
It’s as dark as it is comforting,
to play along.
— from the song What’s Been Going On, by Amos Lee
photographs by joseph e bird, copyright 2016
I jumped in my car the other day to head to a meeting and the radio was tuned to NPR, where local classical composer, Matt Jackfert, was hosting his classical music show. I caught the last few minutes of the third movement of Henryk Gorecki’s Symphony No. 3, also known as the Symphony of Sorrowful Songs. The music, while aptly named, is captivating. And when you know the story behind it, it’s even more moving.
Here’s Gorecki’s story: Henryk Gorecki’s life.
Here’s the third movement:
Nothing else to say.
Joseph E Bird 