Sunday, January 29, 2006
Vote for Golfwidow
Stop everything and go to Golfwidow's Ministry of Silly Walks. Then please vote for her in the Bloggie Awards. Do it by January 31. I don't see anybody else in our immediate circle of blogging friends up there. She's in the category of Best Kept Secrets way down at the bottom. Golfwidow is a good and supportive friend to all her regular blog pals and a very funny writer. If you've never read her, you'll be happy I sent you there. And please let her know that I did. Go on now!
posted by Bud @ 6:35 AM
Sunday, January 22, 2006
The Shore is Open for ListenersThanks for all your kind and helpful comments on the last song I posted, Inside the Night. If you haven't heard it yet or seen the lyrics, slide down to the last post. Seems like people want it on the next CD. Most likely that will happen. I need a better arrangement first. I'm still buried in music and that's the way it's likely to be for quite some time. All of my songs are going under redevelopment as I learn to deal with my new guitar and all the sounds it can make.
Working on all this teaching material on music theory has given me a sharper sense of what I might try to punch up my tunes. I have believed for a long time that the best way to learn something better is to teach it to somebody else. I have my Chord Progression Tool in a test market and I'm awaiting more feedback but early returns have been spectacular. I'm delighted that other songwriters have a way now to come up with new tunes. Another tool I'm working on strictly for guitar and bass is getting good results with my students who are up to that point. I'm working on producing a prototype that isn't too bulky. It'll be especially helpful for lead players but also great for rhythm players who want to punch up their style by tossing in passing riffs. I don't have a name for it yet. Maybe something with the word Sliderule in it.
This next song is at least a year old. Another Kathy Feeney/Bud Buckley collaboration. She tells me the words and images came to her while she was using Aqua Fresh. This song is called Open Shore and it has nothing to do with oral hygiene. Again, it employs a cheesy drum loop that I use as a click track to stay on the beat. It'll have real drums and bass and a second guitar and background vocals. This is one take, bloggers. I didn't fix anything. Even the parts that are screaming, "fix me!" Click Here: 04%20Open%20Shore%20bounce%201MP3.mp3
Copyright 2005 Kathy Feeney and Bud Buckley
You carve through rock and wood to reach my open shore
You're released on my beach. Windy brushstrokes tease your hair
Dancing sand smooths the sorrow, in my room without a door
The storm can reach you but you're safer, stronger there
My Open shore; home of constant beating pounding
Until you're smooth with wear, assured and astounding
My Open Shore; accepting and embracing pain
Accustomed to lightning, wind and rain,
My Open Shore, My Open Shore, My Open Shore
You can find it all here, assemble yourself
From all the different pieces that could be you
Everyone could cherish you and you everyone else
For the priceless possibilities in this seashore stew
Here, beyond evaluations, daily tests and the races
The sun peeks below dark clouds to coax a smile
It stops at all the stations, never rests, always chases
Amidst this constant complexity, You find comfort here awhile
New Day, new emotion on the everchanging sea
The beauty here is emphasized by the ugliness you've seen
With inner light and self respect you'll reach discovery
Your every move paints a picture, creates all you'll need
Chorus and out
posted by Bud @ 3:54 PM
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Rough Cut Inside the NightI've been threatening to put up some rough cuts. Had a bad dream last night that they really suck. So let's please keep in mind that these are like an artist's notebook. Not intended for publication. Nothing has been done to them to enhance them or even fix the errors. I think I may have gotten a little echo on this one. Strictly experimental.
This one is cowritten by my young friend and former student, Kathy Feeney. She does a more scrupulous job than I do of not talking about where her lyrics come from. I don't press her. I will say that most of these words came out of her as she was approaching her first semester of college last August. She approves of my musical approach. I love the concept of collaborating as it takes me in directions I would not have discovered otherwise. This song is called Inside the Night. Remarkably, it expresses many of the same sentiments I attempted in a song exactly a year earlier but never finished. I've know Kathy since she was 6 years old. I'm used to her finishing my sentences and being the only one in class, at times, who knew what I was talking about. That's a long story for another day. Musically I tried to give prosody to the idea of finding order in the unknown. So I used some out-of-the-box chord changes to go with that. Hope you find something to like here. Just click:
INSIDE THE NIGHT copyright 2006 Kathy Feeney/Bud Buckley
House lights reveal abscesses that lurk
Chase her into the dark, the shelter of murk
Light splashes her heels, guides toward inspiration
Ironically found in dark desperation
All I want is a little direction (into the night)
Don't want to adjust to a lack of affection (inside the night)
Want to be me and stay sane
Be happy to dance in the rain (inside the night)
Reckless yet timid she follows the dark dream
Needing madness to stop, needing to scream
Through the black comfort, stars dwarf her fears
Before she reaches abyss, her purpose appears
Can't run away from your heart
Turn for home, to forgive is an art
Returning with darkness at home in her eyes
Wincing in light, preparing goodbyes
Slowly opens the door to reenter
Accepting the chaos thatŐs been her center
Chorus and out
posted by Bud @ 6:48 AM
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Street YogaSarasota is one of my all time favorite small cities. It's the cultural center of South West Florida. I know, I know, save the jokes. It probably sounds like when I used to refer to my college as the Harvard of Appalachia. That was a tongue-in-cheek exaggeration. Sarasota is the real deal. Like the rest of Florida, it struggles mightily with development over common ecological sense. But at this point in time, I like this little burg a lot. Most the people here are not from here. Maybe that's why I like it.
Case in point. Sunday morning was a City Arts Festival. We didn't stay to see most of it because We were busy being an object d'art. My yoga teacher, Nancy Zampella, was invited by the festival to put on a Yoga as Art exhibit. As her students, we were the art. We spread our mats out on the corner of First and Lime Streets. If you're correctly guessing there is an Orange Street and a Lemon and Pineapple, you got the feel for this. It was a big open plaza, not a Walgreens. A noncommercial downtown corner says a lot for the intention of the city planners. We were in front of an enormous scallop shell sculpture that is also a fountain. Pedestrian traffic walked around us. Or stopped and gaped at us. You have to expect a lot of gaping when you are art, ya know? If Venus or David could talk!
Nancy always encourages us to absorb the various sounds around us like waves at the beach. In our usual yoga practice at the YMCA that would include people talking and laughing in the hallway, swim team practice out the other side. Doors creaking and thumping. Yoga on the street demands that you absorb all kinds of footsteps and conversations and vehicles. If you can hold a balance pose in total concentration while an impatient SUVer beeps and curses at a confused octogenarian in a Lincoln, you have reached a damn fine level of concentration. The visual stimulation can also lead to letting your tree pose become a blow down. I, for one, am delighted that tight jeans are back in force.
Somehow I went into total relaxation and meditation flat on my back on the street. Proof that I am an enlightened one. I am called BUDISATTVA.
Afterward we rolled our mats and ate lunch in Whole Foods about 100 feet away. I was so blissed out I didn't realize I was eating vegetarian chili. Whole Foods must be commended for recently converting all their offices to wind power. I could almost forgive their strident antiunion attitude for this. It seems incongruous to me that a corporation can at the same time care for health and the environment while getting all Walmart with their employees. They also have a waterless urinal in the men's room. Sorry, but that does not comfort me one bit. I'm thrilled beyond description that Walmart is getting it's ass kicked over employee abuse in several states. I hope Whole Foods takes note, because I like their store and I'd hate to have to boycott it like I do Walmart.
I think I may put up some sounds later this week. I had a very intense two weeks and it doesn't show any signs of letting up. Happy Monday, everybody!
posted by Bud @ 10:12 PM
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Songwriting ADDI think I have some kind of attention deficit disorder. Too many songs catch my attention. Too many artists as well. My play list for cover tunes alone is pushing a few hundred songs. I keep them in a three inch binder. I can't possibly memorize them all. I can probably play a few dozen without looking at the fake book. Sometimes I can't remember my own damn songs. And then another song catches my ear and I go and get the music for it and learn to play it and stick it in my book. I do this before I've completely learned the last one I stumbled on or that somebody suggested. When I taught kids like that, I did everything I could not to over stimulate their environment.
So I stumbled into Bella Luna Cafe one night last month when I wasn't playing there. A terrific young singer songwriter named Carie Pigeon was performing. We became friendly. I got her a gig in another coffeehouse I'm playing in. She came to see me play last Saturday at Bella Luna. We agreed to swap lessons. She wants me to fill in some guitar/music theory for her. I'm gonna learn harmonica from her. I can't resist trying to learn something new. Keeps the neurons firing, ya know. Except I keep loading up my days and they spill into my nights, leaving less time for sleep. You think that on planets with slower daily rotations, the beings there are more productive?
My blogger pal Anna Mason out in Colorado is a very talented singer songriter/pianist who is raving about my Chord Progression Tool. I'm working on that to get it in copyright shape. Still another project I'm in the middle of.
But despite these newest distractions, I'm having a terrific year. I'm on a course to double my business or have a stroke. Whichever comes first. Pat Robinson will find out if I have a stroke and spill it that it's all because I brought it on myself for having impure thoughts as an adolescent. He'll make it sound like I'm still an adolescent.
I have a couple of new songs on a work tape I'll put up soon. They are both co-written by Kathy Feeney and I sent them to her for her Birthday. So I don't want to put them up until she's heard them. She hasn't heard the music yet. By the time you get to hear them I will have hyperactively changed them, adding riffs and modifying melodies. I really need my pal Helen Avakian to smack me down and commit to a final version of everything I've written. The problem of time and space prevents this. She's 1500 miles away and gigging and teaching guitar full time and trying to get her next CD project together. We play a lot of phone tag. I have to find a local mentor that is available on my schedule. Somebody closer to my style who is very knowledgeable about arranging. I'm trying to imagine a classified ad that would describe that person.
These are the things that are keeping me from blogging regularly these days. I need medication.
posted by Bud @ 7:39 AM
Friday, January 06, 2006
When Francis DancesIt's a slow week, isn't it? I get a sense of intellectual pokiness permeating all of us. But Rachael of Ramblings figured out my name from the anagram instantly. This doesn't surprise me. Rachael is brilliant. If you've never read her, you're in for a treat. She is a terrific writer, very funny, brutally honest and unapologetically lives on the edge. When her blog doesn't appear for few days, I worry about her a lot.
Most people want to know how my given name which is Francis, became Bud. My Dad wanted me to be a junior so he named me Frank on my birth certificate. He had legally changed his own name years before to Frank C. Buckley. That's a whole other long and mysterious story. My Mom said, "Okay, fine, but I don't want two Franks in the house." She had trouble enough calling out for my siblings and was known to substitute any one of several names including those of the pets. This condition has not changed as she approaches her nineties. So they needed a nickname for Frank Junior. Mom didn't want Frank Senior to come running when she needed me to own up to some boyish transgression she discovered. Like drawing on the wall in crayon or leaving muddy footprints on the counter that served as my stepladder to the cookies. I was born on Easter. Had I been a girl, I was gonna be called Bunny. How much does that suck? Bud was close to Bunny, I guess, and it also symbolized Spring. So that's how I became Bud.
The Francis part involves my life's nemesis, the Holy Roman Catholic Church. My father's mom hated catholics, so to spite her, my Mom insisted that her children would be baptized Catholic AND go to Catholic school. Visiting grandma was like a UN meeting with Cold War opponents. So when my parents showed up in church to baptize me, they were informed that there was no Saint Frank. They'd have to name me something else. So Francis it was. And the nuns refused to call me anything else when I got to school. I always hated that name. It didn't help that there was a popular movie series staring Francis the Talking Mule. Although it might have been Frances, the female version. Most people don't know the difference in spelling. I also had to endure people breaking into the dopey song from an earlier era, When Frances Dances With Me (Yesiree). See why it's simpler to just be Bud? The middle part of my name involves an even bigger joke and I'm too emotionally scarred by the whole thing to put it into print. Don't even ask.
Here's a picture of me riding a dolphin at Discovery Cove in mid December. I reported to you that the pictures cost way too much money. My darling daughter, Bree, sneakily bought this and sent it to me along with a few others. I used to swim with dolphins in the Atlantic early in the morning a few years ago when we still had the condo at Amelia Island. But I never touched one. This was quite a thrill. To feel the power of their tails is truly awesome.
Have a splendid weekend, everybody. I still have to play three more gigs. If I'm awake at all Monday, I'll post.
posted by Bud @ 6:04 AM
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Anagram ThisStruggling with blog ideas and lack of time. I looked at the wordsmith.org anagram server. Bud Buckley doesn't turn up many interesting anagrams. "Clubby Duke" being a popular one with every anagram engine I've ever looked at. "Bulbed yuck" is one of many I'd avoid using. Along with "cubed bulky" and "buckled buy." "Club Bud Key," however at least alludes to some kind of exclusivity.
Most people ask what my real name is and it is a long convoluted story which I don't actually care to put in print. I'll tell you the anagram for it, though. If you can guess it, I'll tell you the whole ridiculous story of my name. But not my middle name. That's going too far.
So what do you make of this:
A bicyclers funk- D-man knows all too well about this malady
A bricks fluency--the way I feel when I can't come up with a suitable lyric
Cab clerks unify --good union slogan
Scab clerk unify --If the scabs wold unionize, then there's no problem.
Cab clunks fiery--Action film idea
Black NYC Furies--a NY Post Headline from the Ruppert Murdock school of "fair and balanced"
Runback icey self--I was a running back and once scored a TD running through icey water. Wimps wouldn't tackle me.
Cuban sick flyer--Is this why they always come to Miami in leaky boats, bathtubs and old floating Buicks?
Crab fickle SUNY--I was once a clinical professor at State University of NY. I wasn't crabby until payday
Crab slice funky--which sums up my aversion to seafood in general
There are a number of phrases using the F word, as you can imagine. Having been subjected to that through my adolescent years and as a teacher of adolescents, I don't find that particularly funny. There were lots of references to NYC, my hometown at one time and a not too distant berg through my entire adult life. There were lots of CUNY phrases. New Yorkers know that stands for City University of New York. There were also many SUNYs but I listed only one.
So here are the rules:
- You may submit one guess as to what my given name is
- But I'll delete your guess if you don't include a few anagrams of your own name.
- Feel free to use your real dippy name instead of a nickname, too.
This isn't rocket science so there's no prize but I will plug your blog if you are first.
This is a five gig week. I'll post again when I come up for air. I'll also post a Bud Rides a Dolphin pic.
I saw the first rough cut of my video. It'll be a very useful promotional item for me. I'll post it when it's finished.
Now be gutsy, best guy--those are anagrams for "get busy."
posted by Bud @ 5:57 AM