Volume 3 – #2 – February 2000
February. Love month. Grammy month. We don’t expect to win a Grammy, but we do expect another cool medallion from Tiffany’s. All of the nominees get one. And we’ll also get some publicity just for being nominated, which is darn valuable to a band like Brave Combo. Competitions are funny, especially in the entertainment industry. To decide which is best is funny. To think that we have to have competitions to decide which is best is funny. Not ha-ha funny, peculiar funny. They’re really all just popularity contests (no surprise revelation here). And it’s certainly nice to be popular. Better than being unpopular. And I guess to have an award to prove that you are the most popular would be cool. Maybe we’ll win someday and I’ll let you know how it feels. But perhaps it’s more about politics and power than even popularity. When it gets down to Ricky Martin, Back Street Boys and Britney Spears and you finally realize that big time record company decisions are ultimately controlled by the buying habits of twelve-year-old girls, a lot of the specialness disappears. At some point it’s good to be honest with yourself, accept reality and do your own thing no matter how many award shows there are. We in Brave Comboland like to imagine that we do our own thing. We want to establish a groove so deep you can fall in and get lost. And we want to bathe you in beautiful melodies and musical textures. And we want to confuse you in a healthy way and fill your head with songs you can’t forget. We want to steamroll over culture, leaving a landscape of happy chaos, where listeners and participants challenge their own belief structures and open their ears to new realities. Lofty goals, indeed. I do wonder if this is all deviantly tied into my desire for control on a grand scale. Probably. If anyone out there becomes truly concerned about my motives or methods, let me know. But I can tell you that music is my motivator and polka is my guidepost. If my precious ego gets tangled up in all of this, and it certainly does, forgive me and laugh at me for being embarrassingly human at times. When I was a kid I was really into magic tricks. My brother and I would order stuff from the Vic Lawston Catalog and we would put on magic shows. You know, vanishing scarves and floating balls. I learned a lot about the power of illusion or the potential power. I like to think that Brave Combo, at least occasionally on some level, can make magic. But I also learned that an important part of the formula is submission to the process. And faith in something. Don’t worry about looking stupid. Almost everyone always looks kinda stupid anyway and most people are too caught up in their own problems to worry too much about how stupid you look. So, when I think about the Grammies, sometimes I just think that a bunch of heads thought about hauling their bodies somewhere and that’s where they ended up, all dressed up, with underwear under their tuxedos, marveling at the glamour of it all.
As I mentioned earlier, this is love month. The month for lovers that love to love. I love that song, “Love Is A Many-Splendored Thing.” Once on a high and windy hill. Two lovers kissed in the morning mist and the world stood still. Then your fingers touched my silent heart and taught it how to sing. Oh, true love’s a many-splendored thing. What is this all about? Is love familiarity? Wild passion? Safety and security? Cosmic connection? Addiction? Shallow infatuation? Special friendship? Fun and games? Empty ritual? Babies? I think we should try to figure this out. It’s as confusing as religion and sometimes just as debilitating. People love to sing about love, because everyone can relate and, really, I guess, anything goes, in the name of love. Think about this. You walk down to the floor of the Grand Canyon. It takes a long time. When you reach the bottom, you feel disoriented and light-headed. You turn really pale and pass out. No big deal. Several people in your group reach for their cell phones. And, though the signal is weak, someone contacts a ranger station and paramedics arrive, via helicopter, in minutes. They rehydrate you with IVs. Everyone is friendly and chipper when you come to. But you can’t go on, so they fly you out. You didn’t drink enough water. I saw this on television. I also saw an episode of Oprah about young teenagers (and preteens) having group sex. They say this is happening everywhere. It appears the kiddos have been influenced by stuff in the media. And it seems that alcohol is usually involved, effectively reducing inhibitions and putting everyone in the mood for sexy movies, music videos or Dad’s pornography. This is so predictable I’m not even going to elaborate.
THE PROCESS, our brand new album, will be released next month on Rounder. The human condition fascinates me and you can dance to it.
Don’t forget that a girl named Bonnie is playing violin with us now. She puts it up to her chin, raises her bow and gazes into space. Somehow music happens. Recently in Kansas City, for our encore at the Grand Emporium, Bonnie played bass, Danny played keyboard, Bubba played violin and sang, Alan played guitar, Jeff played trumpet and I rocked out on drums. The song was “So Rich.” The crowd didn’t seem to mind.
Goodnight, ladies and gentlemen. We’re Brave Combo from Denton, Texas.