The Machine’s Pump Volume 18 – #6 – June 2015

CH-CH-CH-CH-CHANGES. Wow, what’s going on? The Confederate flag is being taken down and put into a drawer. The Supreme Court has given the green light to Obamacare. Gay people can become legally bound to each other anywhere in the USA. The Pope acknowledged climate change and said we have to fix it. Bee-killing pesticides are under attack. Cops are being forced to clean up their acts, nationwide. Circuses are letting the elephants go. And a lot of businesses, including Walmart, are starting to see farm that animals are intelligent and actually have feelings. I guess 2015 is shaping up to be quite a year. Enough is being said about all of these topics elsewhere, so I’ll not add more words to the fray, but, needless to say, I’m blown away and delighted. It’s nice to be on a winning team, or two, for a change, especially in a state like Texas.

We’ve played a radio show in West Virginia several times, called MOUNTAIN STAGE. It’s hosted by Larry Groce, who had a novelty hit record decades ago, called, “Junk Food Junkie.” Our first time to play the show we discovered, upon checking into our hotel, that Lynard Skynard was staying there, as well. Eventually, we all met and they invited us to their concert at the convention center. Just before the show started a gigantic Stars and Bars unfurled on the stage as Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries” blared from the PA; pretty obvious stuff, which sucked, because the band was really good. They were musical innovators and ground-breakers and I wanted to like them, even if they were known, primarily, as a “redneck” band. Well, I just heard that they retired all of that “hate” stuff some time ago, distancing themselves from the association.

Things are changing so quickly we could have a human on the moon before we know it.

Well, I guess it happened. I made it to an age where AARP discounts don’t embarrass me anymore, yet never figured out how to grow up; to become an adult. And even if I live decades longer, I know I’ll never get there, not in the same way people like my father did. It was just natural to him. He always knew the right stuff to do, like around the house, or with the car or with other adults. He could build things with the right tools, in an efficient manner. Jeez, he actually knew where all of his tools were. I remember my parents constantly maintaining their belongings. Our house was spotless and our cars never suffered a missed oil change. But it was more than the tangible. My parents believed in things I never would, like our reason for being here (alive on this planet) and what we’re supposed to be doing about it. So much didn’t make sense to me about growing up. I saw most of my friends hopping on board the maturity train, or so it seemed. Even today, people 25 to 30 years younger than I am can order wine unselfconsciously or smoke a cigar convincingly or play golf or re-grout tile or whatever. I don’t know how I managed to create something which turned into a successful career. So much will never make sense to me. These days, they call my parents and their contemporaries and peers, The Great Generation. We were, of course, The Baby Boomers, a direct product of the magnificent ones, but still, once removed from “greatness,” although many of us benefited from our parents’ conquests and acquisitions. Still, plenty of spoiled, privileged boomers became adults anyway, learning how to sit and talk sports or politics or investments over drinks or to appear nonchalant in a strip bar or to say grown-up things to other grown-ups, like the guys who volunteer to coach little league teams. You know, country club talk between lawyers and doctors. Somewhere I definitely missed a boat. I didn’t connect or plug into many, much less become interested in myriad “normal” activities. I only wanted to think (daydream?) about music and drawing and looking for what wasn’t there. Don’t get me wrong, I was a go-getter from the get-go. Even my pre-college creative (music and art) output was prolific (oodles and oodles of mediocre songs and derivative psychedelic posters). And, although my father could build a perfect little table in the blink of an eye, I drew a much better horse at ten years old than he could at forty. It seems, my talents, whatever they were, allowed me to just sorta “mess around,” rather than do what I was supposed to do. And, keep in mind, the late 1960s and early 1970s were all about turning on and dropping out. Troubled times and pop media encouraged us all to put our passions first and “change the world.” There you have it. Okay, enough about my struggles. Time to take a picture of Eddy, one of our cats; perhaps a close-up of his face. This is how he sounds.

Speaking of sounds, Brave Combo is not making much right now. Shhhhhh. We’re on vacation from live performance for a couple of months; one of the few breaks in the history of the band. But, don’t fret. We’re working on new songs and new ways to deliver those songs to your ears and, perhaps, eyes. There are a couple of shows in Texas between now and September, so if you are really desperate and can’t make it to our big Westfest Big Band Polka Blow-Out, we’ll see you in Coppell, San Marcos or Kingsville. Check our itinerary often. Pop-up dates happen all the time!

BRAVE COMBO AND TINY TIM. We recorded an album with Tiny Tim once at Inside Track Studios in Denton. Here’s a photo of us (Mitch, Jeffrey, Bubba, Carl) with Mr. Tim, Big Bucks Burnett, the album’s co-producer (kneeling), and the engineer, Jim Vincent. This is around 1991 or 92, I would think.

HILARIOUS JOKE
Band leader, talking to club owner: What time does the sound person show up?
Club owner: What sound person?
Band leader: The person who will run the PA for us.
Club owner: What PA?

That’s it. Turn off the lights and lock the door. Go to sleep. Don’t think anymore.