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| Lately
I've been bloviating on the topic of Life Changes. Going back two years
now, the LOB's been good for lotsa high-falutin' fizz-o-li-sofickal stuff.
Long-term goals and desires, evolving, Saturn Returns, chasing things,
escaping things, blah blah blah. Well, I just turned 30. I'm not sure I'm any wiser, but I do know what all this restlessness meant—a move. For the first time in seven years, I'm moving. No, not to Wisdom, Montana, but for some hard-core urbanites it might seem close enough. The place is called Canyon Country. About 25 miles north of northern LA. It's an apartment on a mountaintop. Not a hilltop, mind you—a mountain peak. How did I get there? The story is long and dramatic, with enough twists and turns to fill an Elmore Leonard novel…but I can't tell it! I'm serious. One of the unfortunate things about getting o-l-d-e-r is that some of the most important things that occur in life are no longer suitable fodder for public consumption. I can say that the oh-so-top-secret drama did contribute to a severe lack of content both here and in my more political pursuits. And I'm here to make up for it as quickly as I can, as I'm currently en route to Albany, NY for the start of the MK/BFD Dancing Tour '01, and I fully intend to have this finished before I land in the Empire State. Onward, in quick blasts: NEW BELLER SOLO ALBUM I figured that might get your attention. It's a lie, of course. I did, however, write a piece on the Taylor AB-4 acoustic/electric bass. This is a first, ladies and gentlemen. It's called "No." I performed it on the wildly successful and ever-mellow Taylor acoustic tour MK & I did back in March. I think it's…well, the kids seem to like it, so what do I know? Either way, Taylor has signed me on as a clinician to perform along with Mike, and they're the coolest gear company this side of SWR. I know some of you hardcores out there have the old '96 Better World Galleria video bootleg, but what we're doing now shames that by comparison. How's that for a lack of humility? SOUTH BY SOUTHWEST Weird, wonderful gig: MK, myself, Evan Francis (sax) and King Crimson's Pat Mastelotto on drums. Loud, raw, high-energy, aggressive, and just right for an industry show in Texas. Hidden treat: the band that followed, a Scandinavian trip-hop vintage/electronica outfit that had the room grooving. Afterwards I picked up one of their CD's, entitled Welcome, Tourist—We Take Your Dollar. Fave track: "Tourist, You Better Get Some Sleep." A NEW DRUMMER…AGAIN Stop me if you've heard this one before—we've got a new drummer for the tour. Jason Harrison Smith brought the band to places it had never been, and brought out the best in my playing in particular on more than one occasion. His studio work on Dancing is remarkable, and his broad, authentic knowledge and mastery of various styles (just listen to "Taster", "Selfish Otter" and "The Mystery Music") is all the more impressive considering he grew up in Wyoming (seriously!). He gave a lot to us, and I'm grateful for it. But now we have Nick D'Virgilio, of Spock's Beard/Kevin Gilbert/Stanley Snail/Tears For Fears fame. I've worked with him very closely in rehearsal and tried very hard not to slide into Scott Thunes-like asshole-ishness as we completed a backbreaking amount of work in a very short amount of time. He's a pro's pro and sounds fantastic, especially considering his schedule (he's moving as well). And his voice…oh my Lord. I also recently recorded some tracks for his upcoming solo effort, along with MK and Rick Musallam. It's an incestuous circle, I tell you. HAMMER OF THE BASS GODS I've owed you this story for over a year now. John Paul Jones came to SWR for a private, Saturday afternoon factory tour, and I was invited. He's an incredibly amiable fellow, 100% English in every way you can imagine, and a bit shorter than you think. We eventually ended up in the SWR soundroom where some foreign spirit invaded my body, compelled me to pick up a bass, and made me blurt out, "I just have to play this for you." And I whipped out a solo version of the verse from "What Is And What Should Never Be." It was "correct", but after I finished, JPJ smiled, extended his hand and said, "That was fantastic. Now let me show you how it's supposed to be played." I handed him the bass and he did just that, using multiple finger-slides and even some hammer-ons to create the slinky-ness and bounce present on the original recording. My eyes must have been as wide as pizza trays as he went on to grab a pick and crank out "The Immigrant Song" (complete with ascending scales in the B section), "Ramble On", "Whole Lotta Love", "Black Dog" and some others I just can't remember. I have a picture of us somewhere, but it's buried in a box and I'm on a plane so it'll have to wait 'til next time. I am lucky. YOGI Have you heard about this very odd guy I recorded a CD with? A guitarist up in Seattle named Yogi? A CD called "Any Raw Flesh?" Try www.wonky.net and read about it for yourself. Or check out some past threads in the Keneally newsgroup—they seem to like it there. Good music, good guy, good mix for bass (loud). I even wrote an "LOB-style" blow-by-blow history of my project involvement for his website. The piece is called "Blood, Blackmail and The Rock." If that doesn't get you over there, I don't know what will. BRYAN BELLER REPORTS…ON JOE TRAVERS? That's right. Thanks to Pat Mastelotto, I got a contact at Modern Drummer who OK'd me to write a short profile on Mr. The Reason I'm In Los Angeles (or was, as it were). It won't run for quite some time, as I haven't even written it yet, but I like to talk about Joe whenever I can. He has an AMAZING new website at www.joetravers.com. MIKE KENEALLY'S CIRCUS OF METRIC MODULATIONS Speaking of drummers, I recently played one of those wide open, full-on improv "Circus of Values" gigs with Keneally and drum phenom Virgil Donati. 90 minutes of hold-on-to-your-seat, anything goes music. Not my natural inclination, but I've felt more comfortable doing things like that lately, especially with my new Mo' Bass amp and its wild effects on full display [insert picture of my smiling face next to SWR corporate logo here]. The key, though, was Virgil. I don't know if you've ever heard this guy, but imagine the technical accuracy of Mike Mangini, the off-the-rails phrasing of Vinnie Coluiata, the beat-displacement of Dave Weckl, and the rock sensibility of Tommy Aldridge, and that's pretty much Virgil Donati—all of it, all at once, all the time. Talk about being taken along for a ride—I haven't slammed my pulse-foot that hard on a stage since Toss Panos flung me around in the Disc 2 Half Alive version of "Uglytown." He was relentless. Look for a possible future COV with Keneally and the Berklee College Of Music Class of '93 (a little clue there on who might show up). DEAD ON TIME I didn't plan it this way, but the weeks leading up to this tour went psychotic on me. We had eight rehearsals to get Nick D'Virgilio into shape. I had a wedding in Vegas on 4/28. I was best man for my younger brother's wedding, which meant planning the bachelor party of sixteen people at Jazz Fest in New Orleans on May 3-6. The moving thing happened at the last minute, as the specific apartment I wanted became available on 4/25 for a 5/26 move-in date. Yes, during the tour. Suddenly I had twelve days in which to work seven full SWR days, do six rehearsals, drive to Vegas and back, fly to New Orleans and back, pack for the tour, dismantle my apartment and pack for The Move, which will occur on the day I return from the tour. Somehow, after a lot of late nights, it all got done. It felt like my life, as it approached the Three Zero Hour, began accelerating exponentially. Like a quickening. After three straight days of partying in the Big Easy (producing yet more material I can't even touch in this format), I was due to be picked up at 5:30 AM for an 8:00 AM flight home to LA. I cannot tell you how bad a shape I was in on that shuttle ride; words fail the pain and nausea. I did have the foresight to book a first class seat for the flight, and within seconds of takeoff I was fetally curled and out. I woke up at touchdown, feeling remarkably refreshed, to the strains of a stewardess speaking from rote: "It's Sunday, May 6, and the time is 9:55 AM…welcome to Los Angeles." This, friends and readers, was the exact birth minute of a boy born square on his due date some thirty years ago. Here's to a new lead digit. Descending into Albany, Bryan Beller
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