Volume 7 – #4 – April 2004

Hey, Wake up! 2004 is almost half over and Brave Combo is running behind. How about you? However, since I’m always accused of being optimistic to a fault, I must be, so I’m not worried. We’ll all achieve our goals or give up and move on to something more important.

I read a screenplay recently that examined the “magnetic pull of polka.” It’s real, you know. Polka tugs in a unique way. Do you know what I mean? If so, you should talk about the experience in lofty terms. It’s like a religion based on joy. Hold your head up and be unwavering. But don’t make it polka versus something else. It’s not us against anybody. Be confident, but don’t nurture pride. React to your non-ego side. Focus on the strange, positive effect of polka. Polka is carefree and non-judgmental. It seems there has always been a conflict between the essence of polka and the egos of its major proponents. Why doesn’t everyone just take that last step into polka bliss? Open your mind, look at your heart and break down the barriers within the polka world first. Embrace or at least happily tolerate all polka forms. It’s fun to be understanding. A national organization called The Polka Alliance has recently been established and is gaining momentum. It appears to promote equality and mutual respect among all polka styles. This would be a good first order of business. After that happens, polka can move on to other frontiers, such as equality to and mutual respect from the outside world. Anything can happen. There’s a growing curiosity about the intoxicating effect of polka music (even without beer).

Speaking of the underground getting the attention of the mainstream, here’s a thought. No doubt about it, Howard Stern’s show attempts and succeeds at being a disgusting and disturbing reflection of our darker side. He proves that we’re capable of being crude and encourages us to wallow in it. His entertainment angle is intentionally demeaning to women and men and has probably contributed to the decay of social order. In a weird way, though, Howard Stern and his peers are a powerful symbol of democracy. They represent what unbridled freedom can produce. The fringe element is an essential part of the whole freedom picture. In fact, I celebrate the deviant behavior of the underground and I’ll defend someone’s right to swim against the stream. But the key word here is “underground” and it might be healthier for society in general if certain things stayed off the mainstream’s radar. This is how I see it. Howard Stern reminds me of the smart-ass nasty kid, who, through his desire to be uncontrollable, forced the teacher to punish all of us. “Howard, if you make that bathroom sound one more time the whole class has to stay after school and work complicated math problems.” So, of course, Howard gets too much attention. Other shock jocks get too much attention. Britney and Christina get too much attention. They infiltrate the mainstream and an already trigger-happy government notices the class clowns, over-reacts and gets suspicious of everybody. No one would have cared, and it probably would have been pretty cool if Janet and Justin had malfunctioned in a more discreet location. The buzz would be, “Wow, did you hear about Justin Timberlake having sex with Janet Jackson on stage? I’m gonna go buy her new record.” You should always be smart and look at the big picture. Brave Combo used to occasionally end the show by marching out of the venue and parading a crowd into another bar or convenience store or laundromat. One time we did this in Kobe, Japan. We went out the front door of Fish Dance Concert Hall and into a small restaurant next door. It was a mistake. We scared the manager of the restaurant to death and received a mild scolding from the promoter. In the context of Japan, this was inappropriate. The manager of that restaurant had no desire to be momentarily liberated from his predictable situation. And our decision to involve someone outside our ilk was arrogant and ill conceived. But what I’m getting to is this. I don’t like having to choose between the lesser of two evils. Idiot sensationalists really bug me, but an anxious government really scares me. The idea that you’ll be silenced if you’re too subversive doesn’t sound too far fetched anymore. This is a great time to use good sense. Be covert, not overt.

Speaking of animals, I get really frustrated trying to reason with my dog, Freckles. She’s a pointer style mutt that Jane and I found at a deserted roadside park in East Texas about twelve years ago. She’s really smart and loves me more than any animal ever has; so much, in fact, no other animal can get near me. Also, she has a rare periodontal disease that makes her even less tolerant of the others. And, because of this disease, she can’t eat hard food, which complicates feeding time. In many ways, Freckles is the most obedient of the bunch. When it’s time for her to go out she never balks as the others do. But she’s so jealous and wants to be number one all the time and you can’t reason with her. She doesn’t understand that our house has a revolving door when it comes to animals. And, although Freckles is a solid member of the immediate family, animal overlap is inevitable. When she shows what teeth are left (periodontal disease) and growls at Dudley or Augie, I scold her and look her in the face and tell her “no,” and she seems to get it. I know she gets it. But she can’t help snapping and “protecting” me. She’s a party-pooping groove killer unless she’s the only dog at the party. I wish I could explain to her that it’s okay that she’s not the only dog; that there’s enough room for everybody. But she’ll never get it. She looks at me so deeply, with an obvious ache of longing. I just want her to be satisfied and happy. She has a great life. Maybe if she started going to geriatric yoga class or church or bingo her attitude would improve. But she hates, hates, hates to leave our house and yard. She starts to froth and her eyes glaze over and she’s likely to throw up if we put her in the car and drive her half a mile to the vet for her yearly shots. Maybe her attention span is so short that she doesn’t even know that she’s undeservedly unhappy. I think about this kind of stuff too much.

Well the performing/recording momentum is building and maybe spinning out of control. We have so much music to express it’s ridiculous. But I guess we’ll plow ahead through the garden rows of life. We’ll try to look at airports as amazing, exciting gathering places for adventurous travelers, anticipating the mystery of tomorrow. And we’ll try to see every truck stop as an oasis on the super highway of fun, where a plethora of pleasure awaits. We’ll see our funky dressing rooms as spiritual sanctuary and our deli tray and bagels will be an unbelievable feast. The hotel/motel room at the end of the night will be heaven on earth, providing hours of complete privacy before the next day begins. And the stage, wherever we are, will always be pinnacle of all things. It’s our opportunity to explode and live to tell about it; to self-destruct in a good way. We all live in a pretty exotic place; an exotic, frantic, crowded, scary, cold, outrageously confusing place. Coping can be tricky. Thank God, Mel Gibson made that bloody Jesus movie to help us all cope. I’d like to see a movie where Jesus and Buddha and Mohammed and Krishna all go together to Dollywood in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee and try to convince the theme park food vendors to sell nothing but tofu. At the end of the movie, the four heroes would do a little hillbilly dance and walk out of the park, sad that they had failed miserably, but happy that they learned the little hillbilly dance. As the credits roll, Dolly Parton would be seen chasing after them, crying, and caressing a live chicken. Check our itinerary. Come to our shows. Buy our merchandise. Enjoy life.