Passion.

Emotion.

It’s what makes music so intoxicating…

And I’m convinced that when we are in the throes of being intoxicated with music and emotion, that’s when we open the door to the world of spirit and endless possibilities. (Many who experience Nirvana do so through music—there was even a band by that name.)

I’ve been to more than a few live concerts where the performers seemed merely to be going through the motions, as if they couldn’t wait to finish the job and get off the stage. That made me feel cheated because they weren’t giving it their all, especially since I’d spent my hard-earned dollars to see the show.

This goes for writing as well.

Over the course of working on DANCE OF THE ELECTRIC HUMMINGBIRD, I struggled with how much to reveal in my book. How did I maintain my privacy and still get my message across? I’m just an average person—this book is my soul—did I really want to let the whole world into my soul?

To say this is frightening would be a gross understatement.

The song “Pages,” by 3 Doors Down, explains it perfectly. What a great song.

My solution was simply to be vague about the things that were too personal or painful to talk about.

But my editor said, “Uh uh, sorry, you have to spill.”

Oh man, okay. Reluctantly, I added a little detail.

To this, she said, “Nope—take us there with you—give us all of it!”

I didn’t want to. Speaking out is an enormous responsibility. Once my words are out there, there’ll be no changing them—they’ll be public property forever.

As I fought my internal demons, I came across an article that dealt with this very thing. An author who wrote about her relationship with her daughter, also struggled with how much to say in her book—would she be betraying her daughter by telling the truth? After a lot of deliberation, she decided to be honest. The publication of her book was met with mixed reviews. Some criticized her for exposing her daughter’s personal information, but many more went to great lengths to thank her, saying that her story helped them improve their relationships with their own daughters.

It made sense to me that this was what I should do too, because the purpose of my book is also to help others improve their lives—but even reading about that woman didn’t completely convince me.

I trusted my editor’s professional opinion though, and worked diligently at dredging up horribly emotional and personal subjects like the deaths of my parents whom I adored, and the physical and sexual abuse I endured at the hands of a young man I married when I was no more than a kid myself. It was like pulling pure bile from my liver and splashing it on the page because I had to relive every detail all over again and analyze each one.

There’s also a candid sex scene in my book, and many instances where I question religion, the existence of God, supernatural phenomena, aliens, angels and the power of the mind and spirit. I know that some will criticize me—I may even lose a few friends over what I’ve said—but I just might gain a few too. In any case, I didn’t want to offend anyone.

Then I heard the song “Hooker with a Penis,” by Tool (warning—explicit content on this website). The song is about a fan who tells his idol that he thinks he’s selling out. But the idol says that he sold his soul long ago—just to make his music…

That truth sunk into me like rain into parched earth. Tool was right—it is about selling one’s soul. And my book is all about finding and living one’s truth. How could I sufficiently convey that message if I was too afraid to speak my truth—and yes, sell my soul in the process?

Because if artists don’t sell their souls, no one will be able to relate. It’s a tremendous price to pay—look at what happened to Michael Jackson, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and Jim Morrison to name a few—but it’s also an area where there can be no compromise. The audience knows instantly when the artist is withholding something.

Soul is the difference between “outstanding” and “mediocre.” And in this instance, if one wants to make an impact, there’s no room for mediocre, because in the end, the audience will either feel inspired or cheated.

Depends on how much guts the artist has.

Ah… Jonny…

Last night was the third time I’d seen Jonny Lang in concert. The first was when he was just beginning his career—a teenage boy with a guitar. I couldn’t figure out how such a big sound and big voice could come out of someone so young.

I still can’t. Jonny has as much soul as that of a man in his 60’s.

Some are just born with talent, I guess.

Jonny took the stage Tuesday, July 20, 2010, at the Gothic Theatre in Englewood, CO. It’s a small venue that holds about 1,000. Built in the 1920’s, it's rather tattered, with brick walls and old paint, but it has character—the perfect place to play the blues.

Lang ripped through his repertoire, combining some slow and some faster songs and always, ALWAYS putting his heart and soul into each piece. It’s almost as if he’s in his own world up there onstage, getting so heavily into the sound that he’s not even aware of anyone else in the room. I don’t mean this in a bad way, because in order for others to be able to relate, an artist has to expose his or her soul with raw honesty. That’s when great art shows us parts of ourselves.

In this department, Jonny never disappoints.

His performance took me out of myself to the point where I leaned over and said to the man next to me, “You know it’s good when the music makes everything feel right with your soul.”

To a packed house, Lang played “Breakin’ Me,” “Turn Around,” “Red Light,” “Rack ‘Em Up,” and “I Am” to name a few. But my favorite was “Lie to Me,” which he started out acoustically, then switched to electric guitar and really kicked it in the ass. With his face writhing between agony and euphoria and sweat flinging off him, Jonny and his band tore the place up.

This is what the blues is all about.

Jonny Lang is what the blues is all about.

I’ve been to hundreds of concerts in my day, everything from Yanni to David Bowie and I have never seen anything like Tool.

They performed at Redrocks Amphitheater in Morrison, CO last night. They’re doing another show there tonight.

To see Tool at Redrocks was a spectacular treat because the venue itself is outdoors, with the lights of Denver in the background, twinkling like millions of stars above the stage—yes above the stage. Then there were millions of real twinkling stars above that—as the full moon rose like a giant orange disc, while lightning flashed from the stage and from the sky off to the south as if it were part of the show. Tool’s lasers then zapped like thin green and red electric fingers over the crowd, bouncing off the rocks behind us.

I thought I was wearing those funky 3-D glasses and didn’t know it.

Tool’s music is heavy, dark and mind-provoking. It’s full of wonderful, holographic, hard-rocking angst and honest, gritty lyrics. I love music like this—music that makes me uncomfortable enough to question who I am.

The show opened with “Third Eye” and the song stepped out flashing, intense and macabre. It was a fitting entrance, as if to say, “Open up your mind,” since in many spiritual traditions, the third eye is believed to be the window to the soul.

I was first struck by the fact that none of the musicians upstaged the others. The bass player, Justin Chancellor, and guitar player, Adam Jones were out front, on opposite sides. Drummer Danny Carey was on a riser between and behind them, and the lead singer, Maynard James Keenan, to the left of the drummer. He never had a spotlight on him and you never really saw him unless he was outlined against the big screen behind him.

I’m not used to this. I’m used to seeing the lead singer stealing the show—basking in the limelight. Not in Tool. This alone made me uncomfortable, made me respect them because instead of focusing on how the singer looked, I was forced to watch the video behind the band—mechanical humanoids, huge eyes popping out in unexpected places, alien-looking beings floating and spinning, and colors pulsing, dripping and throbbing at me while I felt the pounding tension of the music. It was like an acid trip without the drugs.

Most of the audience was stoned—or tripping. I don’t know how anyone could watch a show like this while tripping. I think it would literally blow your mind so bad that you’d end up permanently insane. Besides, you didn’t need drugs to trip out on this show. I’ve also been to several concerts recently where I seem to have been lucky enough to have some dude behind me throwing up. Tool was no exception. I was glad I wore my shoes instead of the flip-flops I had originally planned on wearing.

Then there was another guy pissing into a plastic water bottle next to the guy who puked all over himself. And on the way out of the parking lot, there were more people stumbling, screaming and falling off the road than I’ve ever seen. As we drove out of the venue, a guy alongside our car said to his friend, “Dude, I’m tripping bad.” His friend replied, “Let it happen, man.”

Tool would be proud.

As far as the music, besides “Parabola,” “Schism” and “Vicarious,” another of my favorites was “Forty-Six & 2.” I loved the music and the video and I loved the lyrics—about confronting your shadows. Isn’t that one of the hardest things in life?

Maynard rarely spoke to the audience, except for a brief moment after about the first three songs, when he said, “I have a public service announcement—marijuana is illegal.”

The audience raised their smoldering joints and screamed back, “F--k you!”

I have no doubt that this band is hindered only by the parameters of modern technology—a live show must be presented in a certain way in order for it to be most effective—but if they could figure out a way to move beyond those parameters, they would. And I’m sure they will one of these days.

The concert—and I hesitate to use this word; it seems too cliché for Tool—ended with “Aenima,” and pretty much all I can say is, “Wow.” It’s about facing the stupid crap we think is important in life.

Tool was unquestioningly the weirdest concert I’ve ever been to—even topping David Bowie as Ziggy Stardust in the ‘70s. But Bowie’s show was strictly entertainment; Tool was an experience in and out of my mind like a beating heart, or how my body feels after running or after sex—when it’s heaving and sweating.

I am wounded.

The biggest test of whether a concert experience has been meaningful, is whether or not one would fork over one’s hard-earned dollars to see the band again.

In this case, all I can say is, “Oh—hell yeah!” Wish I was going tonight too.

I assume this is the same concert I saw at the movie theater (sans the bonus footage) last December.

If so, I don’t remember the film being this dynamic at the theater because where Chickenfoot really must be experienced to be appreciated, is live. Or maybe it was the fact that when I watched this at home, the huge sound contained in my small living room almost blew out my windows. And I don’t mean because I had the volume cranked up.

When Joe Satriani, Sammy Hagar, Chad Smith and Michael Anthony break in with “Avenida Revolution,” it always surprises me because it’s such a dramatic entrance. It slams you hard. Now. And it hurts so fine. This time was no exception.

I already wrote about my impression of the movie on the big screen in Movie Review: Chickenfoot Live so I won’t repeat that here. Please see that post if you’re interested.

The bonus material in this DVD is the behind-the-scenes stuff that was missing from the version I saw at the theater. It shows Chad doing man-on-the-street interviews with would-be Chickenfoot “fans.” Holding the mic, which is outfitted with the Chickenfoot logo, Chad asks, “Do you recognize any of these guys?”

“No,” comes the answer from more than one interviewee. Funny stuff.

Then there’s Chad’s photo shoot where he’s dressed up like Will Ferrell in “Elf.” Smith points out that because of the costume, there’s a noticeable elf bulge in his pants, which he concludes isn’t a bad thing, then sits down on the floor and proceeds to literally tear up a snare drum. More funny stuff.

There’s a segment where Sammy visits Bob Weir (of The Dead) and they share a bottle of tequila while chatting about marijuana, among other things. Not sure if they’re stoned in this part of the documentary or not, but they sure are laughing a lot. At one point, Bob picks up a guitar and strums an impromptu melody. Sammy can’t help but jump in, ad-libbing vocals. Now if there’s one thing I’d like to put on my bucket list, it would be being in the room with Sammy and his friends while they’re just jamming like that. I can even feel the vibes through the TV screen.

Mikey is interviewed by Adam Corolla. This was my least favorite portion of the bonus footage, only because I didn’t like how Adam told Mikey he was the weakest link in Chickenfoot. Come on, Adam, Mikey deserves better than that!

Then there’s the “Joe Cam,” where Satriani films odd moments such as Chad’s nightly “flesh wound assessment,” and pans the audience from his onstage perspective. I think I recognized a few faces. And Satch being interviewed by Christopher Guest a.k.a. Nigel Tufnel from Spinal Tap, is amusing.

I also liked the tidbits from various concerts that were scattered throughout. They captured the vivacity—the sheer and commanding over-the-top force that is Chickenfoot in concert.

While I thought some of the interview segments seemed to run on a bit too long, overall, the bonus footage rounds out the DVD nicely, even Chad’s mooning the audience and his demolition of his drum kit at the end. Chad, you maniac! You ROCK!

Great concert video and fun extras.

Chickenfoot is due to record their second album soon and an inside source tells me it’s going to be amazing.

Can’t wait.

We be shakin’ the walls, baby!

It was like an explosion roaring up from the center of the earth and flooding the hearts of everyone in the room. The drum journey was led by professional drummer Gayan Gregory Long and attended by Harley people, rock ‘n’ rollers, writers, homemakers, accountants—those from all walks of life. Wonderful!

Gayan and I became friends several years ago, when he taught the music portion of a grief workshop I attended after my parents died. The experience was magical to me and it showed me the role music played in my mystical transformation through Sammy Hagar’s concert in 2003. Since then, it has been my goal to help others find this magic for themselves.

Which is why I wrote my book. And also why Gayan and I wanted to present this workshop. There will be many more to come.

I wanted to give people an experience they might not normally have, invite them to step outside of their comfort zones, because you never know where your truths might be hiding. I had hoped that people might lose themselves and rediscover themselves through music like I did. I wanted to show them how sound can open our hearts and teach us new things about ourselves; because you see, I have learned that the avenues to self-awareness are as varied as the stars. So how do we know what’s right for us and what isn’t, if we don’t take the time to look in other directions? You just might discover a new star that no one has ever seen before. Even better, you just might discover that YOU are that new star.

I watched the faces of the participants as they entered the room and sat down behind their drums. Some looked intimidated; most looked bewildered. But the more they drummed, the more I saw their faces change as their spirits began to integrate some of the drum’s lessons into their hearts.

Then I witnessed smiles emerging, confidence building and warmth spreading throughout the group. Yes!  

The experience was also personal. As I drummed, I felt myself becoming entranced in the beat—so authoritative, so strong, so real. When I quit worrying about whether I was supposed to be using my left hand or my right, or whether there were two bass slaps and one tone or two tone slaps and one bass, my body somehow knew exactly what to do. Apparently this is something I still need to work on—quit trying to be perfect and just be. The more I allowed the rhythm and the sound to take me, the more I recognized that I should be proud of my imperfections, because by struggling to be something I’m not (perfect) I’m not being true to Who I really Am.

I also realized that I’m already perfect in my imperfection, and I should celebrate that fact. I did—through the drum. It was like sending a prayer of gratitude through the vibration, up to heaven.

Gayan taught us simple beats and assigned everyone a job, to sing, shake bells or keep the rhythm. All of us somehow all melted into one hypnotic pulse. And when I became conscious of how good we actually sounded, my soul soared even higher.

During Gayan’s solo, I felt the vibration from his playing on the head of my drum in front of me. Isn’t this so like life? As human beings, we interact with one another and send vibrations between us. Only this time I could actually feel them with my hands, like tangible proof of feelings, as if to say, “Here I am, take me or not,” offered to anyone who needed to claim it without the duality of acceptance or non-acceptance.

Gayan talked about the sensation of holding the drum between our legs. I was surprised that he addressed this because the first time I held a drum in this manner, I thought something was wrong with me since it felt sort of sexual. I wrote about this in DANCE OF THE ELECTRIC HUMMINGBIRD. But it’s also symbolic. By holding the drum so close to our bodies, we acknowledge the fact that we are bringing it into a very personal space within us. Maybe that’s why it was so magical—its rhythm entered me in a way I’d never known before—just as it had done in the past.

These lessons continue to grow within me and the more I allow myself to go with the flow, the more I learn about life and myself. So I have to ask, “Am I playing music or is music playing me?”

If you fall far enough under its spell, you won’t be able to answer this question.