Average

There’s nothing wrong with being average. Without average folks the wheels of Western Civilization would surely shudder to a halt. But somewhere along the way, we in America have been sold the notion that talent doesn’t matter; that intelligence doesn’t matter; that greatness doesn’t matter. That these attributes should in fact be regarded with suspicion, if not outright hostility. We have come to believe that we are all entitled to fame, and that to be just like everyone else is to be something quite special. And the army of pundits, writers, reality-show producers, politicians, and country music songwriters who have sold us this dubious bill of goods are, in many cases, talented people themselves. Do they really need the money that badly?

Hipster Self Parody

I'm not here to mock the hipster nation - it's been done, no need for me to say that which has already been said. Instead, I'll let the self-parody of one of their representatives speak for itself. Whoever penned this is so far up his own ass I fear he has no idea how funny he really is. From this week's New Yorker rock and pop reviews:

"The guitarist Sam Mickens, known for his work with Xiu Xiu, the Parenthetical Girls, and the Dead Science, recently released his solo debut, a collection of stripped-down experimental indie-folk called "Slay & Slake." Opening for him will be the bleak witch-house group White Ring, which should provide an odd counterpoint for Micken's theatrical, idiosyncratic songs."

Dorothy Parker is most assuredly spinning in her grave.

Bob Malone's Famous Eggnog Recipe (serves 1)

In small bowl, over sink, beat until light:

1 Egg yolk
Beat in slowly:
1 Tablespoon Sugar
1/4 Cup Cream
A dash of salt
Set mixture aside.
Fill one large (12oz) rocks-glass with:
Bourbon or Rye whiskey
Carefully lift small bowl, and pour egg yolk mixture into sink.
Drink whiskey.
Repeat.

Have a fine holiday season, and remember these words of wisdom from Mark Twain:

"Too much of anything is bad, but too much of good whiskey is just barely enough."

It Never Hurts To Ask

It all began with an email from a 14-year old kid in Switzerland named Richard Freigang, and it went something like this:

“My dad is turning forty this year, and his three favorite musicians are Jimi Hendrix, Janis Jopin, and Bob Malone. Since you are the only one of the three still alive, we are hoping you will come to Switzerland and play for his birthday party.”

Who could say no to such a proposal? I let it roll around in my head for a day or two and then responded in the affirmative. A day later I heard from Richard’s mom, who was astounded that I replied at all. No one in the family thought I would. I would have told them what the kid already suspected: it never hurts to ask.

Mom had some connections in the music biz and said she would get me a plane ticket and put together a tour for me in Germany and Switzerland. And so she did. Great gigs, too. I believe her inexperience allowed her to wade in, unjaded, and ask for stuff a more experienced agent would have thought too lofty to attain.

It never hurts to ask.

So last night I played the birthday party. It was a surprise-party, so after soundchecking the microphone and the 100-year old piano in the tiny living room, I was then sent into hiding in the cellar for the next four hours with nothing for company but my laptop, a white longhaired cat that I was deathly allergic to and a terrarium containing 12 baby turtles. I am a big fan of both cats and turtles, so we got along ok. By the time they liberated me from the cellar, the living room was stuffed beyond comprehension with friends and family of the honoree, and I was in desperate need of the toilet. This would have to wait, however.

Stefan (that’s the dad), cried tears of joy and shocked surprise during most of the first song. I don’t think I was ever happier with my career choice than at that moment. My job, when you strip away all the things I think it is, and other people think it is – both wrong, incidentally – is to make people happy. There is no better gig in the world.

During the three days since arriving at Zurich on an 11-hour flight from L.A., I have been hiding out in a snug little apartment procured for me by Barbara (that’s the mom) in Rapperswil, a charming little town on Lake Zurich, a half-hour by train from the city. There is no wifi here, no TV shows in English. For a short while, I became acutely aware of my addiction to the Internet and my TiVo box, but soon the soothing rhythms of the pre-digital life I once knew took over. There is a small selection of classical CDs here, and I have been getting intimate with J.S. Bach’s Christmas Oratorio…all three discs worth of it. I have just finished a wonderful book by Elisabeth Tova Bailey called “The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating.” The author, left immobile and bedridden my a mysterious illness, spent a year prone in a spare bedroom with no company save that of a tiny woodland snail, an accidental passenger in a pot of field violets brought in by a friend. She learned much about our place in the world from this creature. Sometimes we come out the other side better off when separated from all the chaos we think we need to thrive.

Everyday I hear the kids in the apartment above practicing cello and violin. The kid on cello is sounding quite good – sounds like he’s got a few years on the one scratching out tunes on the violin. In any case, it’s a pleasant enough cacophony. And they are not wasting away the hours playing Guitar Hero, they’re playing guitar…so to speak. Which they will thank their parents for later.

Tonight, I played a wonderful venue full of very enthusiastic people right here in Rapperswil. It was one of those nights that reminded me of how very lucky I am to be a musician. Tomorrow, I’m off to Berlin for the next leg of the tour.

Eddie Horst - You Will Be Missed

After a long battle with clinical depression, my friend Eddie Horst killed himself this week. He was well known as a great composer and arranger, and an energetic and inspiring spirit. He did orchestral arrangements for Bruce Springsteen, Pearl Jam, Train, REM, Natalie Cole, all kinds of famous people like that. But to me, he was a true mentor.

In 1985, I was a newly-minted freshman at Berklee College of Music in Boston - 18 years old, just off the boat from New Jersey. One of the first people I met was Eddie. He was fourteen years older than I was and had gone back to school to learn arranging. To a kid like me he was a gargantuan presence. He'd been a professional musician for over a decade, and was already moving on from the things I hoped to do one day. I used to go over to his little apartment in the Back Bay and bring records I liked, or play songs I was working on. He would explain to me what was good and what was crap, always with respect. He saw something in me as a musician that few people saw then, and I was lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time. One day at the little apartment, he took out his copy of "Randy Newman Live at the Bitter End" and said: "I've met very few people who could truly appreciate this, but I think you are one of those few. " It was a life-changing experience.

After college, ten years passed before I saw Eddie again. By then I had started touring and playing my songs, and I would show up in Atlanta from time to time to do a show. We would see each other occasionally, and exchange an email or a phone call once in a while. I was in L.A., he was in Atlanta, and we didn't see that much of each other. But I always felt that so much of what I had become was due to the attention Eddie showed me when I was young and green.

In 2008, when I was working on my latest album, I asked Eddie if he'd be interested in doing a string arrangement for one of the songs. "I don't have a lot of money," I said. He said not to worry about it. The arrangement he sent over a week later was a thing of beauty, like all the work he did. The tune was called "St. Christopher" and it was the tale of a man facing hopelessness and loneliness with only that fabled patron saint of travelers to help him through. Eddie always told me how much he loved that song. Now I think I know why.

May you rest in peace, Eddie Horst. And wherever you are, I hope Saint Christopher is riding shotgun tonight.

New York, New York

I've been in New York all week. It's Fashion Week, which means lots of models walking around right before the winter coats come out of the closet. Nice. Tuesday, I got an invite to the Bambu Apparel party, where I found myself surrounded by models while getting a tutorial on how to tie a bowtie. Like most things of this ilk, It's a long story...

The tour started in Philly, and I took the Chinatown bus from there to get to NYC. Eleven bucks! Given a choice between crapping my pants and using the bathroom in that bus, I would have had to think long and hard about it, but otherwise it wasn't too bad. Dropped me off walking distance from my friend's loft in Soho. "We are not," said the sign on the bus, "responsible for any belonging." Yet I felt as if I belonged anyway.

This weekend, on Friday 9/17, we do our second Midnight in Manhattan show at Iridium Jazz Club at B'way and 51st. And on Saturday 9/18 at 7:30, we do our New England CD Release show at Johnny D's Uptown in in Somerville, MA. First 20 people in the door get a free video single. And on Sunday, 9/19, an intimate solo show at Space Mountain House Concerts in Coopersburg, PA. RSVP Mike Space at mike@spacefamily.netfor details and directions.

And as always, butts in seats mean we can keep coming back to play your town again...so get your butt in a seat. I promise to make it worth your while.

Meanwhile, back in CA, a last minute gig has been added on 9/25, at the Castaic Days Festival up in Lake Castaic, CA. If you're up that way...

Quotes From The Road

I've been on the road these last few days, touring the Midwest with Christa Hillhouse, Jonny Blu, and Adam Gust. As the days go by, and the claustrophobia of the truck, the stage, and the hotel makes everyone increasingly punchy, funny things get said. Here are some highlights, along with a couple of clips of us live from the tour...it's not all just comedy, you know - we're actually playing some music out here, too!

BOB: "Tobacco itself is not addictive, cigarettes are addictive because..."

CHRISTA: "Cigarettes are addictive because I need something to smoke instead of crack!"

BOB: "Adam, all you gotta worry about is making sure your groove is making me comfortable. If I look like my ass is so clenched up that I won't be able to shit for a week, then you're probably not grooving."
CHRISTA: "Yeah, you're either a saddle or a buttplug!"

ADAM: That drumhead looks like my face in high school!"

ME: "I appreciate that he thinks I'm great and all, but the guy was so drunk I was kinda wishing he'd hated my act so he would be gone by now."

CHRISTA: "You hoochie mammas leave my boys alone! My boys are good boys! My boys are clean boys!"

ME: "If there is a God, I don't think it's anything like the God any organized religion has come up with."
JONNY BLU: "Yeah, theirs is more like Santa Claus, only really fucking ripped."

ME: Look, a Hooters! They actually have really good wings."
CHRISTA: "Yeah, but I find the premise disturbing."
ME: "Intellectually, I agree with you..."
CHRISTA: "...but your dick thinks they have really good wings."

CHRISTA: "I found a good parking spot, up against a bush, so our shit won't get stolen."
ME: "I think it's a good policy to be up against a bush whenever possible."

ME: I've decided I'm going to start drinking again when I turn seventy."
CHRISTA: "That's the stupidest fucking idea I've ever heard!"

CHRISTA: "The best thing about drugs is they make you not care...the worst thing about drugs is they make you not care."

ME: "This traffic sucks ass."
CHRISTA: "And not in a good way."

Live at Zoo Bar, Lincoln, NE - 6/25/10