Hey, Jealousy

Someone I met through my little LiveJournal spy camera got to see Bill Champlin, Steve Lukather, and a whole host of other musicians including Dennis Matkosky, Michael Sembello, Jason Scheff and Bobby Caldwell in a show in Nashville -- probably the closest those cats will ever come to me. Apparently, a large chunk of the songs they played were songs I have plus a tune from the upcoming Chicago XXX.

This drives home the fact that while the town I live in has, in the strictest terms, a thriving music scene (for Southeast Ohio), this town has no soul whatsoever. Basically, the music is easily pigeonholed...

• People who feel they should've been called to play on the O Brother, Where Art Thou soundtrack
  
• People who want to be Fur Peace Ranch refugees (at least these people have a sense of really good music - who couldn't when you're basking in the skills of Jorma Kaukonen and G.E. Smith)
  
• People who play at frat parties

The last infusion of soul in this town was B.B. King and his daughter Shirley late last year.

Truth is, I respect people from all these groups who actually have some skills. What I hate hate HATE are the people who pick up their chords from the latest Mel Bay Teaches You How to Fake Your Way Through a Genre guitar book, and then proceed to go out and expect me to treat them like a serious musician.

Of course, all this bile comes from my college days playing jazz when all these little venues would feel forced to choose between booking jazz gigs and folk gigs. They always booked the folk gigs. Ok I have to stop before I go any further -- happy place... happy place...