Pick Migration

I have this problem with pick migration. I have about 9 picks that I have acquired over the years. A few i have even bought. Guitar teachers, music stores, friends all have contributed to my collection. The thing is that one by one they will start to disappear. Slowly they will dwindle down to one or two picks, not including the red one which I never use. Then I say to myself “I’m gonna have to buy some picks.” Once I make that decision they begin to reappear. I will find them in random places such as; in between the couch cushions, gingerly placed on a mantle or on top of the cloths-dryer.  In less than a week the entire original group will reunite.

Kosi’s Hypothisis is that they say “Damn, he gonna replace us if we don’t all get back in there.” I find that compelling. I like to believe in Animism. I also like to believe there might be some synergistic principle of physics at work.

I was explaining this to Stacey. Stacey lives in an ashram in Virginia called Yogaville. “Basically it’s a cult” she says. Probably true but mitigated by the fact that it’s charismatic founder is dead. Stacey came and played with us at Paris Blues last Sunday. She had played in and out of country bands and kirtans for decades now. The first time I ever played in front of a crowd of strangers was at a salon she hosted in her Brooklyn apartment. She also was the one to get me to sing at an open mic for the first time at Common Ground in the East Village.

The Sunday before last we had a wonderfully appreciative audience. The weather was fair and good crowd showed up. Old friends and new I like to call them. I think some radio personality used that as his sign off. The joint was full and the clapping was loud. People laughed. The band was hot. We even had some people on the verge of dancing.

On the Solstice we played at the new community garden on my block. The Lakshmi Community Garden. You can guess who the founder might be. The cedar platform we performed on is nestled in the middle of the lot right where the two buildings end. The acoustics were stellar. Music drifted up and down the block but was never loud. We played an incredible hour and a half straight without a break. We didn’t even play every song we knew. I called it The Mega-set.

Last night I was on the stoop with some friends and Larry, a blind musician was hanging with us. He lavished praise on my band. I figure you must be doing something right, when a blind man likes your music.

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