This is only a test...

Made an excursion into HD web video and created a Vimeo page. Uploaded a copy of my short film, "Delhi", to dip my toe into those waters...

"Delhi" is a mini travelogue shot entirely in New Delhi, India in 2007. Using a collage of HD video & still images -- the result is a 5 minute encapsulated journey... a video travel journal/meditation on Delhi so to speak.

India Impressions #3

The third in a series of short films depicting everyday life in India. In this clip, a couple of friendly folks pose for video portraits in the chaotic streets of New Delhi.

India Impressions #2

The second in a series of short films depicting everyday life in India. In this clip, Laxmanraj Mukhia Adiwasi, a local ayurvedic healer, makes up some medicine that's good for the mind & body.

Final notes on Leh - Part 1

Journal excerpt:
Delhi, India - August 15, 2007 (morning)

Flew in from Leh today. Airport scenario was as follows...

Took a taxi at 5:30am (driver arrived at 5:20) from the Oriental Guest House in Changspa to the Leh airport. Driving into the Leh airport is like driving into the heart of an extremely secure military base - with more security than I've seen at any airport (including Heathrow).

As we drive into the airport proper, there is a strong military & police presence everywhere. I pay my smiling taxi driver 150 rupees and gather the luggage. While shuffling through the sliding doors, I am greeted by 4 police officers and a walk-through metal detector.

I set my luggage to the side, walk through, assume the usual “T” position and am then frisked (frisk #1). From there, preceded to wait in a queue where we were instructed to put our handbag & check-in luggage items onto a conveyor belt which fed into a large x-ray machine. Several army officers proceed to walk through the front door and they too are privy to the frisk - much to my surprise. A policeman signals us into a second entry where I show my ticket & passport and get frisked again (frisk #2).

I then gather my luggage and check in at the Jet Airways kiosk. Immediately recognize one of Dechen’s co-workers - the guy who was at the Jet Airways office in Leh when I purchased my ticket (5875 rupees). He smiles. I smile. We shake each other’s hands and he offers me some potato chips that he’s eating. I decline, loading my check-in items onto the scale. He hands me a boarding pass.

I join yet another queue along with several army officers. Something catches my eye while in the line. On the wall there is a list of those who are free from this thorough frisk-a-thon – one of the people on that list, besides the garden variety of Indian government officials, is the Dalai Lama. All hand baggage is put through a second x-ray contraption.

A police officer asks for my boarding pass and we all get frisked again (frisk #3)... This time the police officer runs a metal detector over all passengers. The metal detector looks like it’s vintage surplus early 50’s Soviet gear. As I attempt to gather my carry-on bag (which contains all of my electronic gear including a laptop, hard drives and various AV gear), I find an agent inspecting its contents. I let them know that it's my bag and smile, which they clearly seem to appreciate.

The airport lounge is packed with Indian army officers and dozens of French tourists. A police officer signals me to join another queue to board the airplane shuttle, but not before another search. This time we are frisked (frisk #4) by an airline employee who then runs (another) metal detector over each passenger before boarding the shuttle.

The shuttle doors continuously fly open all the way across the tarmac due in part to the zig-zag driving. I use my booted foot to keep the shuttle doors closed as much as possible with mixed results (to the delighted amusement of my fellow passengers). We finally get to the plane after a rather indirect & confusing route. I'm the first off the bus and am greeted by the same guy at the check-in counter. He smiles sincerely while shaking my hand enthusiastically as I climb the flight of stairs to the Boeing.

Walking into the cabin, I see the pretty stewardess who constantly referred to me by my name on the original flight to Leh. She bids me a "very good morning" and asks how I am - still remembering my name and pronouncing it correctly. Impressive. About the time I reach my seat & pop on the noise-canceling headphones, the Xanax kicks in. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, happy flight to Delhi...

Visual Supplementation

I've joined the masses and created a "You Tube" channel...



...enjoy!

Joolay

Journal excerpts:
Jammu & Kashmir - August 13, 2007
"Joolay!" Ponsok's father Pasang proudly proclaims every morning when I see him. This is a typical greeting in Ladakhi (a variation on the Tibetan language - same written text, different speaking). He's an amiable guy and we have been having these amazing conversations over tea after dinner. He built the place that I am staying at by hand with the help of his brother Yeshe in 1982. Yeshe now appears to spend his days with his prayer wheel spinning from dawn to dusk with an occasional nap in between.

Usual breakfast early today – fresh fruit, muesli and yoghurt with honey, a glass of Kashmiri apple juice and tea. I saw His Holiness The Dalai Lama, Tenzin Gyatso, and his caravan of security drive from his retreat near the Shey gompa, to the lecture he’s giving in the Norbu Valley early this am. Leh was drenched in prayer flags - the locals were ecstatic and His Holiness smiled & waved as his car slowly proceeded towards the highway. He looked great. The road to Norbu Valley is completely blocked off (several miles along a squiggly wiggly military highway which goes over the world’s highest pass - 18,600 feet). Once his lectures begin, there will be no entry to the entire valley and the highway will be closed. All of the monks from Thiksey Monastery were deeply excited for the chance to be in his presence and attend these teachings.

Been hiking the Himalaya plateau with some mates - Karl (Australia), Erik (Sweden) and David (Britain). David got extremely ill due to altitude sickness, so we had to take him to the hospital. His breathing was irregular, so they put him on oxygen. I gave him a plethora of aspirin to consume to thin his blood which seemed to help (as well as convince him that he wasn't having a coronary, which caused him to start panicking). Apart from the oxygen supplement, the medics couldn't find any reason why he shouldn't be adapting to the altitude since he has been here for nearly 2 weeks.

Erik seems to think that David's symptoms are psychosomatic. I think it's a combination of that & lethargy. Lethargy in this climate is a death nail - you stay still & the altitude will get you. Remaining active increases oxygen flow to the blood and dramatically increases the speed of one's adaptation to the environment. I speak with Ponsok and arrange for David to catch a Jet Airways flight back to Delhi the following morning.

Jammu & Kashmir - August 14, 2007
We all helped David pack last night & I saw him off to the airport at 5am this morning. Erik left at 6am and went on to Manali by road. Karl & I continue to hike the mountains around the Indus River - he's as game as I am, so we hike well past sunset. As we stop to admire the shifting colors in the Indus Valley as the sun sets, the sound of the mosque echoes everywhere. Surreal it is and makes me wish that I was recording this soundscape. No Pro Tools digital plug-in can replicate this complex echo and reverb that stirs the valley.

We hear packs of wild dogs everywhere but cannot see them since it's completely dark now. I howl back at them, which draws them closer. They follow us rather timidly, but that doesn't curtail my attempts at trying to communicate. I continue my dog speak. Learned years ago that wild dogs are part of the Himalayan experience - nearly all nomads have them & if you are going to trek, you are likely to encounter this, so best be friendly & intrepid.

My time in Jammu & Kashmir is rapidly coming to a close. I need to catch a flight to Delhi tomorrow & another flight to Mumbai a few days after that & yet another flight Chengdu, China a few days after that. Yes, it's as exhausting as it sounds...

Censored N' Blocked

2 months in mainland China will find you unblogged & unFlickr'd (the latter has a work-around). Although I managed to find a plug-in to make Flickr work, blogs were still completely unaccessible, which regretfully forced me to pull up the stakes on the blogging activity. Pity, because I had a thing or two to share... Being back in the land of the free (and the incredible ever-shrinking dollar bill), the thrill of blogging is once again a reality.

Rikhi Ram

For almost 18 years now, I have been frequenting an amazing musical instrument store in Delhi called "Rikhi Ram". What was astounding to me is that Sanjay, Rikhi's great-grandson, still remembers me. First thing he says when I walk into the shop is, "Ravi-ji (Pandit Ravi Shankar) hasn't been here in one and a half years... he's not traveling to India now."

Sanjay is a master instrument builder, which many consider to be the "Martin" guitar version of the sitar, tambura and sarod. I learn of Rikhi Ram's passing this past spring at age 78 and recall how gracious he always was. We talk of hanging out with Ravi, Sukanya, Anoushka, George, Olivia and Dhani backstage at the Barbican in London in July of '98. Sanjay and I were both there along with the late (and wonderful) book publisher Brian Roylance.

I ended up playing many of the stringed instruments in the shop while we traded gossip on various Indian musicians. While I pluck away, he builds the bridge on a sitar. He asks about Zakir & Ali Akbhar Khan and we discuss Alla Rakha. There is a big picture of Nikhil Banerjhee on the wall which spurns me into gushing about what unique emotional sensibilities he had as a musician. Sanjay smiles and nods in agreement, "He was one of a kind."

We spent the rest of the time trying to plan out a half-scale guitar/sarod hybrid. And as I switch to the funky half scale guitar, I begin bastardizing Felix Mendelssohn (I've been on a classical kick lately)... I switch to trying to play Bach's Brandenburg Concerto #3.

Rikhi Ram's shop is a legacy amongst all the great Indian classical musicians. I'm prompted to recall the great story that Rikhi Ram-ji told me many years ago when The Beatles came into the very shop which I am sitting. They had just returned from their disastrous appearance in the Philippines in 1966 and were routed through India on the way back for 2 days. Two black Cadillac limos pull up and out step the Fabs themselves.

The window was lined with curious seekers who are not quite sure who these guys were. There's the famous set of photos on the wall documenting this momentous occasion and Sanjay insists that I photograph the pictures to share with friends back home. It felt damn great to be surrounded by such a warm and familiar place in Delhi's sea of chaos, let alone having a chance to spend a few hours entertaining the master craftsman with my infernal tootling while he builds master works of art. Extreme silliness indeed...

Happy 60th Anniversary India!

Yesterday was the 60th anniversary of India's independence from Britain. I spent much of the day (as well as the evening before) hanging out with some friends in Delhi. Pankaj and his family were preparing for a huge pool side party complete with drinks (mainly Kingfisher beer & Indian whiskey) as well as an enormous spread of Indian food delicacies that were superior. Thoroughly enjoyed hanging out with the extended family and being continuously asked whether I was a diplomat (because of my use/pronunciation of the Hindi language). Most of the day, the skyline was filled with thousands of kites, which provided a keen backdrop to this ancient metropolis. Nonetheless, it was quite a hoot to participate in the festivities.

You come here often?

I've often said that traveling to exotic places like India and meeting fellow travelers out of their normal daily environments can be extremely revealing. The other morning I woke at 5am to attend a Buddhist pujah (prayer ceremony) at one of Ladakh's most amazing gompas (temples) called Thiksey Monastery.

I hire a driver to take me there as it's far out in the Indus Valley. The juxtaposition of the Indus River, the Great Himalaya snow-capped range and the wandering pilgrims on the pencil thin military highway is an amazing thing to watch the sun rise to. We drive up a steep and very long drive to Thiksey, which stands like the Potala in Lhasa - a presence to be reckoned with.

I walk through the gorgeous front gates only to see a Western-looking person arguing with the elder monk (he's got to be in his 80's). Person "x" clearly has their knickers in a twist and begins to scream at the monk. Hunkering closer, my curiosity gets the best of me - why would this person scream at a man like this? The monk & I soon lock eyes.

The monk says to person "x", "You cannot enter the monastery dressed like that". He's right, every idiot knows out of respect that you don't dress like you are about to lay on a tanning bed when entering a place of holy splendor. Any Hindi or Muslim place of worship would turn you away quicker than a shooting star if you showed up dressed like this. No doubt.

The vibe becomes a little too much to bear. Person "x" continues to scream (strange overtone for a place about to have a peaceful pujah) - borderline pulling their hair out when the monk beams a huge soulful smile. The monk firmly says, "Surely you wouldn't enter your church at home dressed like that". I instinctively laugh, the monk laughs, and person "x"'s screaming rant immediately stops and then stomps off.

The elder monk and I proceed to talk about the history of Thiksey. He's awesome, courteous, helpful and smart... we easily understand each other with generous smiles and happy vibes. He's a good egg. Sheesh, there's always one cook trying to spoil the broth, isn't there?

The desert in the sky

Jammu & Kashmir is an amalgam of 3 contrasting regions: Buddhist Ladakh, Muslim Kashmir & Hindu Jammu. Since it lies in India's most troubled region, the military presence is very strong here. Permits are required to go virtually everywhere due to the pressures with neighboring Pakistan, Tibet and China.

Nature is not very generous here. My lungs have been working overtime for days. Ladakh, besides being one of India's most culturally diverse areas, is also a very precious ecosystem with altitudes of nearly 20,000 feet. In short, it is literally a desert in the sky.

As the red blood cells increase and the signs of altitude decrease, I am feeling quite cosy in this remote Himalayan region. My secret recipe for altitude is - at least 3 liters of water per day, multi-vitamins, Omega-3, light high carbohydrate meals, 320mg's of aspirin every 8 hours for the first 48 hours. Fortunately, I've always had great luck with altitude and feel like I could run sprint up Mount Tamalpais at this point.

As I have been hitting the lesser known roads here, I am finding a stark combination of absolute wonder and incredibly harsh climates (I've seen more than a few bite the dust from the altitude). It's one of those places that you can get sun stroke & frost bite in the same sentence. Still, the people are amazing and worth every hassle that this desert in the sky throws my way.

Taste the heat

Made it to Delhi after a very comfortable 14 hour non-stop flight direct from O'Hare. I was greeted by my driver, Satyam, who proved to me that one can, in fact, go 50MPH in rush hour traffic (can't wait to try these newly aquired skills upon my return). I imagined that this was as close as I was going to get to driving with Kerouac's protagonist Dean Moriarty in "On The Road". If he was anything like this - I am very impressed & can appreciate the lore surrounding "Cowboy Neal". What's more, he understands my Hindi, as do the locals in Delhi who clearly appreciate my neophyte understanding of the language.

One of the prices one pays for hitting the Indian & Tibetan Himalaya when the passes are clear is that the heat swelters in the cities below 100 meters. I am officially walking around in a sauna and take respite in my cosy room with AC cranked & satellite TV. Did I mention that it's very hot? OK, this is nothing new - when I officially begin my long journey to the great Indian Himalaya on Monday, I'm sure that the heat will seem like a distant memory. Quite frankly, it's no worse than LA in August!

Himalaya on the brain

As I prepare for yet another trip to Asia, it's a great reminder of the deep connection that I have with that part of the world. Looking particularly forward to heading back to the Himalaya and spending quality time in Ladakh & Kashmir. The Himalaya has always provided inspiration & it's no wonder why it continues to draw me back.

While sorting through old pictures, I stumbled upon some snaps taken on my first trip to the subcontinent almost (gulp) 20 years ago...

Sketchbook (Exhibit A)

Backwards looking forward

Been meditating a lot on music lately - it could be because I've been making a point of playing regularly, working with a band and writing songs again. Back in the mid-90’s, I was working with a bass player named John. His house in Mill Valley had piles of artwork he'd done everywhere - hundreds of stunning pieces equipt with vibrant colors. I would frequently sort through his vast array of work that included anything from NYC skylines to extraterrestrial/people hybrids and other visual impressions from the road.

John's work was expressive, inspiring and awesome - to me he represented the complete artist. The other day I stumbled upon this sketch I did of him when we were working on a record together back in 1995-96 (he died in May of 1996). I slammed this out while we were on a break from recording my first album. It captures the basic vibe of who he was - cigarette dangling & always cool demeanor. His rock & roll star friends all nicknamed him "Mule"...

There's something in the water

In the late 1990's, I was living in London and doing a fair amount of writing, gigging and recording. A friend of mine, Richard Schiessl, had a recording studio in Greenwich - it was an amazing space that sat right on the edge of the Thames River (about 500 feet from the Cutty Sark). When the studio wasn't booked, I would grab the Tube from Camden, hop on the Docklands Light Railway and then take underground foot tunnel to Greenwich.

Backstory...
I wrote the basic structure of the song a few hours before my girlfriend at the time, Sharon, was going to take me for real Mexican food in London. She loved the whole Mersey Beat sound (she was from Northern England), was a great Thin Lizzy fan and dug live music of all kinds (she once took me to see a brilliant King Sunny Adé show in a London shopping mall). I was also living down the block from Noel Gallagher, who had a townhouse called "Supernova Heights".

I frequently saw him walking around Hamstead Heath and would occasionally chat with him. He would say "They don't make 'em like that anymore, man" a lot when referring to old guitars or records from the 60's & 70's. The song sat for 4 years before I picked it up again - changed some lyrics around and then decided that it was worthy of recording. The vibe of that period is very much alive in the final track and it's a joy that it came together so well.

Nerdspeak...
In 2002, when I finished the song and recorded it, my goal was to use the vintage George Martin production style. This meant that I would incorporate his style of arranging, balance of instruments and of course the overall sound. For this recording, we used the same microphones (U47/U48), microphone pre-amp (Telekunken V76), ADT (artificial double tracking) on the vocals, guitar (Rickenbacker 360V12), piano (Steinway), amps (Vox), compressors (Fairchild) and a Neve mixing desk. John Cutler recorded this one - Mike is on bass, Vince is on drums and I am on guitars & piano. It's cheeky I will admit, but the song does grow on you after a while...

Listen to "The Rocker".

(eyeneer music publishing ©2007)

The perserverance of a hack

It's captivating to see the creative expressions of my friends - be it visual arts, writing, music, random mixed-media cornucopia or a combination of all of the above. Whatever the expression of choice may be, it's something that invariably brings me closer to the essential core of who that person is.

While I consider my skills as a visual artist to be that of a complete hack, it seems to beckon continually at the moment. Perhaps I have gotten more disciplined and am able to focus my energies accordingly. Often times it comes down to surrendering to the moment and getting down to business without any expectations.

For the last several months, I have been cranking out pieces with India ink & pastel and experimenting with various paper mediums (Cartiera Magnani 140lb. neutral pH paper takes the cake). Bottom line, I have no idea what the hell I am doing after years of subjecting myself to this sort of creative quagmire - it's more about the unknown journey. The one thing that remains, I'm very perserverant and consistently deliver when the muse says, "Get busy, kid!".

Five things you don't know about me

Zoe tagged me on this one, so here goes…

1. I’m an avid ukulele player. The uke is one of the best instruments there is and it makes all kinds of music sound great...

2. Learned Spanish simultaneously along with English as a tot. I love languages and because of my background as a musician, I pick up tones very easily. Been studying Chinese and Hindi over the last few years…

3. At 13, traveled throughout Europe with friends John and Dan. We were chaperoned by a history teacher who spent the entire adventure getting severely tanked and trying to pick up birds. While skiing in the Swiss Alps during that trip, we ended up helping with an avalanche rescue (while the teacher got sloshed in the chalet the entire time - "Ein Pint Bier bitte!")…

4. I dislike pork and ham with a passion and prefer French wines to California wines...

5. One of my idols growing up was former baseball player Pete Rose. After an All Star Game, my older brothers took me to the hotel to get his autograph. As I held up my game program for him to sign with wide eyes, he frowned and chortled, “Get out of my way frumpy little kid!” From that day forward, Hank Aaron took his place…