MACHETE DON'T TWEET

The dark days of January were recently brightened up by the arrival of The Jam Messengers to upstate NY. Church elder and Purple Geezus original bass man Rob K. and Brazilian one man band/ gigolo Marco Butcher kicked off their world tour in a dark suburban roadhouse in Kingston Thurs. night. I'm probably the only person in the state who hasn't been sick the past couple of weeks. I've accomplished this by maintaining my hermit ways. Every couple of days i go to Home depot and The Trading Post to stock up on art supplies and beer. Otherwise it's me and the cats. So I'm healthy. But I couldn't very well miss the JM gig so close to the shack. This better be worth a case of the flu.
    The last time these guys hit town they had pro-wrestling ref. Mike Edison and some coked up girl in tow. We all watched the sun come up from the deck. When the camels and ostriches materialized, across the road in the morning fog, their minds were predictably blown. This time it was 10 degrees outside and not much warmer in the shack. Those frilly rock and roll frocks and pointy toed cockroach killers are not exactly made for NY winters. I threw another log in the wood stove and watched the boys shiver.
   I never played music until I was over 30 and never played guitar until I was 50. Hooking up with lifetime musicians like S. Jullian Jarvis, Jerry Williams and R. K. gave me immediate street cred. and exposed me to a world that is as stupid and frustrating as the art world. But that's on the money (or lack there of) front. As far as the actual song writing and playing level- it's saved my ass for years. Marco is in his 30s but RK is only a year shy of me. You'd never know this when you see the JMs on stage. Yoga master Kennedy out does Iggy on the mic., alternating between head stands and full body flops. I'm in pretty good shape but he makes me look like a spud on stage. I am not worthy.
    After the gig we sat around backstage packing the hash pipe and slugging Jim Beam with a crowd 30 years our junior. Marco asked how I liked the gig? I told him I couldn't wait to get home and tweet about it. He looked at me sideways and latched onto the pipe. Age has its privilege. I can fuck with these youngsters 'til the cows come home. A fool and his money.... a stitch in time saves.........a poor workman blames his tools.....I'm sounding like my old man. We waved our way back to Glen Wild and were snug in bed by 3 am. The next day we recouped and by late afternoon we were 4 of my songs deep into a garage rock recording session in the living room. I may have wasted my youth doing art and  believing my 4th grade teacher when he told my parents "The boy has no musical talent. Sell that trumpet".  But I'm not about to waste my golden years. I don't skype. I don't tweet. I don't text. I don't have a cell phone. I may not be willing to play in public or have a label, but the Jam Messengers.....or as the T-shirts calls them THE JA MESSE NGERS are on tour and more than willing to show you how it's done. Lock up grampa. AARP lists them as a leading cause of early retirement. Well worth a case of the flu.