Category: Dustbin

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Unwinding

I do a very idiosyncratic meditation practice of sorts that has evolved over many years — a little song and dance I call “unwinding.” Basically, I just lie on the floor, on my back, and do nothing. I inhibit any and all voluntary movements as I wait for anything that feels involuntary, any movement that feels as if it’s happening of its own accord. For the first several minutes I may only get a few twitches, but eventually, if I tune in enough, a whole series of movements will begin to emerge, and I follow them wherever they go, as long as the sense that it’s all “just happening” is driving the action. After a while, I might be bouncing all over the room, or end up on top of the refrigerator (this has actually happened!).

The sense I get during these movement meditations is that I’m literally unwinding various patterns of tension and inhibition, like the way a twisted rubber band will follow its way back to its slack form in precisely the reverse pattern with which it became twisted. At the end of this unwinding I feel incredibly clear and free, and I’m often showered with insights for hours.

Of course, it’s not always a super-intense experience, as the whole thing is about dropping into what’s actually going on in my body, not about trying to make something cool happen (although admittedly I’ve fallen into that trap many times). For whatever reason, I only do this practice every once in awhile, when I feel particularly compelled, which is usually when I’m particularly wound up. (Inconveniently, this has tended to be at like, three in the morning.) It’s only recently that I’ve explored this on a regular basis. That’s because it’s only recently that I’ve had the time to regularly indulge in such extended periods of purposeless. In so many ways, this “no job” period has been far more glorious than I imagined it would be. I know it won’t, can’t, and probably shouldn’t last forever, but I definitely can see myself getting in the habit of taking these extended “me retreats” more often in the future, should I continue to be so fortunate.

On the surface it might seem a bit self-indulgent to spend so much time navel-gazing, so to speak, but in my experience the benefits of such sustained inner focus usually extend far beyond my little Bob-o-sphere. Disconnection from my deepest intentions leads to disconnected experiences, disconnected actions, disconnected habits, disconnected relationships. Any investment I make in reconnection leads to, well… reconnection. It’s as simple as that. In short, the quality of my experiences–i.e. of my life–has always depended, in large measure anyway, on the quality of attention I’m able to bring to any given situation. Taking the time to truly unwind (as opposed to getting pleasantly distracted from being wound up) has consistently led to increased clarity of attention, refinement of sensitivity, deepening of self-awareness and, ultimately, a greater capacity for open-hearted communion with my fellow humans.

Or I’m just being self-indulgent. Who the fuck knows…

Anyhoo, I’m not sure how I got on that tack when really I just wanted to drop by the ol’ blog to post my recent cover of Roy Orbison’s “Crying”, which has until now been confined to Facebook and Twitter. “The Big O” was one of the first musical voices I heard growing up, as both my parents were huge fans. This song got lodged somewhere deep in my marrow before I knew a thing about heartbreak. When I recorded this the other day I wasn’t thinking about any of the numerous girls who crushed my corazon over the years, but rather of this town in which I’ve felt very much at home for eight years of my life, and to which I must now bid adieu. Sweet, sweet Carrboro, you will be missed…

Crying by Isaac Dust

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Don’t cry out loud

I’m surrounded by things in boxes. If it’s not in a box now, then it’ll be in a box soon, or else in a trash bag, or in the trunk of my car, or on the shelves of the PTA Thrift Store. Yesterday I went through a box which contained such things as my elementary school diploma, the hospital identification band placed on my wrist the day I was born, and a receipt for the first box of condoms I purchased as a teenager. There were love letters to and from my first girlfriend. A photo of me passed out in a hotel bed in Cancún. A seatback I stole for a souvenir that time I saw The Who in concert in 1989. Larry Bird’s autograph. Blue Baby–my first doll, stained with drool and urine and god knows what else. The Most Valuable Player Award for soccer that I won in 1981. Letters from Grandma.

Some things should stay in boxes, put away but within reach. Other things should never have been saved in the first place, or else should have been let go of a long, long time ago.

According to my diploma, handmade for me by R. Seidner, I graduated from “speech” on February 9, 1977. Up until then I refered to myself formally as “Wobewt” instead of Robert. But big boys mustn’t talk like a baby, so I did what I had to do. Furthermore, according to Mrs. McCann’s 1976 kindergarten progress report, “Bobby plays and works well with others, follows directions, observes rules, accepts suggestions readily, and participates willingly in art and music activities.”

Well done, Bobby. Well done.

Thirty-five years later and I’m still a good boy. So well behaved. Most of the time. At the very least I’m still participating willingly in art and music activities:

Don’t cry out loud
I didn’t want to cause an incident
I could’ve let it go in two minutes
I just needed time and privacy
With nobody staring down at me
I guess she couldn’t tell how much it meant
A tiny little thing I’d soon forget
But feelings never bend to blind logic
And you never know what words might stick

She said: “Don’t cry out loud.”

I’m thinking maybe I should probably go
If there’s nothing else I need to know
I’m thinking that we both could use some sleep
We can only take it in so deep
I’ll just step into the other room
Gather up my things and head out soon
I just need to let a few things go
Before I lock the door and hit the road

You said: “Don’t cry out loud.”

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Breakthrough (Take two)

I tried a little something different with this tune, i.e. laying down some bass, electric guitar and drum tracks first, then doing the acoustic guitar and vocals live over those pre-existing tracks. The synching of the video and audio is slightly off, but what can you do…

I actually recorded a version of this song a few years ago. As I blogged at the time, I had just flown to New Jersey from Mexico to have knee surgery, and I didn’t have access to a guitar. So I wrote and recorded this tune using a keyboard and the GarageBand software on my laptop. This is one of those tunes that just came to me fully formed from out of the blue. I took the photo above moments after that first recording, holding my crutches out in front of me like the prison bars they had become. Having been through four knee injuries and three surgeries, I’m hoping those fuckers don’t come out of the closet again any time soon. Anyway, as with all my creative projects, this song continues to morph as the years unfold. Perhaps next time I’ll just whistle over a beat box…

Breakthrough
I woke to the birds and the best of intentions.
I tried every way I knew to express them.
I get on the train and it’s taking me somewhere
Away from myself…
Away from this cell.

But I can’t get away from you.
I lock all the doors but you still break through.

Where did the time go? How did I get home?
When did I get old? Show me the slideshow.
Somebody told me: “It’s all as it should be.”
So I’ll keep on hiding, just so you can find me.

But I can’t get away from you.
I lock every door but you still break through.

Here’s the “album version” (i.e. mixed and trimmed), with an intro from the ghost of Alan Watts:

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11 Things

Reverb 10 Prompt (from Sam Davidson): What are 11 things your life doesn’t need in 2011? How will you go about eliminating them? How will getting rid of these 11 things change your life?

Okay party people, I won’t try to fake you out with this one. I needed a break from staring at shiny rectangles, and a song descended from the Great Unknown, demanding to be birthed into some form of existence. There are only so many hours in the day, so I’m gonna have to half-ass my response to the prompt. To make up for it, I will perform the song for you (via the trusty iMac I got for my 40th birthday!). As an added bonus, at the end of the song I tagged on a cover of Bad Bone by The Frames, just for the heck of it (which is why it’s such a long video clip). Anyhoo, 11 things I can do without…

1) Triscuits: Especially the Cracked Pepper and Olive Oil kind. I just ate a box for dinner.
2) Self-imposed isolation: Gotta mingle with other humans more often.
3) Playing on the computer after 9pm: Last night I tweeted in my sleep.
4) Watching television: I don’t watch much now, but admittedly I watch crap online all the time, which is pretty much the same thing.
5) The belief that I don’t need any insurance whatsoever: While I very rarely get sick (like, once every few years), I am an old man now, so I probably need one of those rubber-glove-up-the-wazoo exams at some point.
6) The belief that I’m an old man: Seriously, I need to drop that one immediately. I know damn well that I look and feel great for my age, and when I think about it for even a minute I realize with certainty that I’m better in every way now than at any other point in my life. Except maybe when it comes to sports.
7) My resistance to hard work: I prefer to go with the flow, but sometimes you have to bust ass.
8) My crippling fear of rejection: Dude. You’re f-ing 40 years old already! Get over yourself!
9) My avoidance of friendships with women: I’m afraid of what will happen if sexual attraction rears its head (so to speak), which with me is almost unavoidable. Is it possible for such a friendship to be charged and intense, but not lead to anything that could jeopardize my good standing with my wife? I wouldn’t know, because I maintain my distance to such an extreme than any sort of close friendship with another woman is impossible.
10) My belief that people, for the most part, are ignorant, cowardly a-holes who refuse self-awareness at every turn in favor of distraction and empty pursuits: I’ve been working on this one a lot lately. Everyone’s doing the best they can with the cards they’ve been dealt and I am no better than anyone. When I choose to see people as basically good-natured, everybody is much happier.
11) My tendency to wait for good things to happen instead of putting myself on the line to make them happen.

I will work on all of these things by keeping up with my core spiritual practices: Creative expression, authentic relationships, mindfulness meditation, somatics (body-centered stuff), self-reflection and critical inquiry. And singing songs:

Don’t lose your head
Don’t
Don’t focus on the pain
You’ll only make it worse
You’ll drive yourself insane
If I don’t get there first
You’re standing on the edge
Without a parachute
I’ll see you on the ground
Enjoy the ride
[Don’t lose your head]
So
How many have I loved
How many never knew
I kept it to myself
Then gave it all to you
And now that you are gone
There’s nothing left to lose
So I’m back here on the edge
Here goes nothing
[Don’t lose your head]

Bad Bone [Glen Hansard]
There’s a bad bone inside me
All my trouble started there
All the cracks are adding up to be
A little more than you can bear
When I met you, you were bitter still
From a scar you’re never gonna show
And I was cursed with a jealousy
It’s killed every love I’ve ever known
And oh, what’s the point in staying still
When there’s so many places we can go
When the anger that you feel
Turns to poison in you soul
And the cracks you only feel
Start to show
You were waiting on the balcony
And I was sleeping in your bed
You said I pleased you only partially
But I knew my hunger would be fed
And oh, what’s the point in holding out
For a love that only will destroy
When the anger that you feel
Turns to poison in your soul
And the cracks you only feel
Start to show
And oh, all my thoughts of getting clear
And of getting out before my time
Have died with you upon the vine

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Drive all night

I’m still in my Glen Hansard phase, spending way too much time watching/listening to every bit of him I can find on YouTube. A few weeks ago I saw this video of Hansard, Markéta Irglová, and Colm Mac Con Iomaire sitting around a tree in Milano, Italy playing a cover of Bruce Springsteen’s “Drive all night”. I was never a big Springsteen fan and I’d never heard the song before, but I was just blown away. I immediately downloaded the original version from Bruce’s album “The River”, and was not disappointed. I hadn’t realized the song “Hungry Heart” was also on that record. That song was in heavy rotation at the Frear Park ice rink in Troy, New York back in the early 1980’s, and it’s impossible for me to hear it without vividly recalling the sound of skates scraping the ice, and the sensation of cool air streaming across my face as I whizzed around, zig-zagging between slower skaters, trying to impress some doll-faced girl wrapped up in a pink scarf with matching mittens. There was also hot chocolate in the vending machine and absolutely no chance I’d want to stop skating when it was time to go. It would be nearly thirty years before I’d hear any more of that Springteen album, but it was certainly worth the wait.

Since I can’t get the song out of my head and can’t stop playing it whenever I pick up my guitar, I saw no harm in hitting the RECORD-button last night. Although I haven’t yet received permission from The Boss to post this online, I’m sure he won’t lose sleep over it…

Drive all night
When I lost you honey sometimes I think I lost my guts too
And I wish God would send me a word
send me something I’m afraid to lose
Lying in the heat of the night like prisoners all our lives
I get shivers down my spine and all I wanna do is hold you tight

CHORUS
I swear I’ll drive all night just to buy you some shoes
And to taste your tender charms
And I just wanna sleep tonight again in your arms

Tonight there’s fallen angels and they’re waiting for us down in the street
Tonight there’s calling strangers,
hear them crying in defeat.
Let them go, let them go, let them go,
do their dances of the dead (let’em go right ahead)
You just dry your eyes girl, and c’mon c’mon
c’mon let’s go to bed, baby, baby, baby

CHORUS

There’s machines and there’s fire waiting on the edge of town
They’re out there for hire but baby they can’t hurt us now
Cause you’ve got, you’ve got, you’ve got,
you’ve got my love, you’ve got my love
Through the wind, through the rain, the snow, the wind, the rain
You’ve got, you’ve got my, my love
heart and soul

Copyright © Bruce Springsteen (ASCAP)

[The photo above is a tree that I walk past every day on my way to and from work. Anyone familiar with Franklin Street has probably seen it. Reminds me of Edvard Munch’s “The Scream”.]

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Weary hearts

A song that descended from the Great Unknown on January 2, 2008, while I was living in Mexico. I finally got around to singing it:

Go Beth, go catch your breath
Just slow things down a little bit
One day you’re gonna be okay
Just watch your worries float away
Like whispers on a breeze
Messages on stormy seas
Like memories of a dream
Nothing’s ever what it seems
Rest your weary heart

Wake up, my little sleepy head
You don’t wanna spend all day in bed
Get dressed, take a walk with me
We’ll watch the leaves fall from the trees
Like young hearts into love
A shooting star from high above
A tree onto the ground
And we’ll be there to hear the sound
And rest our weary hearts

[Narration: 1) Henry Miller, reading “Third or Fourth Day of Spring” from his book “Black Spring”; 2) Myself, talking to myself in “el cuarto”, Mexico, 2008.]

<a href="http://isaacdust.bandcamp.com/track/weary-hearts">Weary hearts by Isaac Dust</a>

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Red Chord

A sleepy version of a song by Glen Hansard of The Swell Season and The Frames. I just discovered Hansard a couple of weeks ago and since then I can’t stop listening to the guy’s music. I’m just blown away by the soulfulness and sincerity of the man, and I’m inspired to play and create like I haven’t been in years. Thanks Glen! (I tried to keep this version of the song mellow, so as not to piss the neighbors off too much, but I doubt I’m even capable of belting out those “Yeahs” like Hansard does. Perhaps some day…)

RED CHORD (on The Frames’ album “Fitzcarraldo”)
And I’m pulling on the red chord
That pulls you back to me Lord
It helps me out
When you’re away

When I was in the army
And they called you back to save me
And I was resting soft
In the arms of my war

And I’m pulling on the red chord
That pulls you back to me Lord
And I’m pulling on the red chord
So you’re not so far away

And I was at the uni..
The university of
Blind love and black poetry
And it was there I found you
And you were happy like an angel
But for everything you learned
There is something you must let go of

And I’m pulling on the red chord
That pulls you back to me Lord
And I’m pulling on the red chord
That pulls you back to me Lord

Pulls you back to me Lord
Yeah, pulls you back to me Lord
Pulls you back to me Lord
Yeah, pulls you back to me Lord

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Broken shoulder blues

I went out to have a beer with Eric on Friday night and we spent some time reminiscing about our years together in My Dear Ella and Minor Stars. I was jogging home the two blocks from the Orange County Social Club to my apartment when an amazing, unprecedented event happened—my feet slid out from under me on the wet cement and I crashed down like a ton of bricks onto the sidewalk. I ended up with a separated shoulder, which was not the way I had planned to start my holiday weekend. I spent Saturday on the couch with my ice-pack and laptop, and the only productive thing I accomplished was to copy some DVD footage of the 2004 Bright Orange Tailspin CD release show at the Local 506 in Chapel Hill. I was struck by how much younger I looked only six years ago, and also by what a jackass I made of myself when the camera captured me in all my intoxicated glory.

These are the things that swirled through my head yesterday as I played around in the studio (I was pleasantly surprised I could play the instruments with only minor discomfort). I’ve also been thinking a lot about creativity, and how much I enjoy exploring a particular moment in time through music or writing. And my shoulder hurts like bloody hell, and it’s impossible to sleep for more than an hour at a time. Here’s what I recorded last night before fading out:

<a href="http://isaacdust.bandcamp.com/track/broken-shoulder-blues">Broken shoulder blues by Isaac Dust</a>

I was only 34 years old
when I thought I played my final show
But who was I to think I’d know when it was all over
I went away for 4 long years
and thought I conquered all my fears
But man you saw me shed those tears when it was all over
I got back up and hit the scene
to find out what it really means
The sleep ain’t always worth the dream when it’s all over
So many times the same old thing
I think I’m out but then I’m in
I thought I’d lost but I just might win

We watched it go under the bridge
There ain’t no sense denying it
And who’ll be left to give a shit when it’s all over
and said and done but I was never one to jump right in
but I might not see your face again
We can say goodbye or just say when

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Sunday Dustbin: Trouble weighs a ton (Dan Auerbach)

Dan Auerbach of The Black Keys is one of my favorite musicians at the moment. His gritty voice and killer blues guitar just ooze soul, and his recordings have a raw, spontaneous vibe that is all too rare in today’s rock music. Today I was tooling around in my studio trying to remember how to get a decent live sound for acoustic demos, and I ran through “Trouble weighs a ton” — the opening track off Auerbach’s solo album, Keep It Hid — as my sound-check tune. I clicked open iMovie for shits and giggles, and here’s the clip:

Trouble weighs a ton(mp3)

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Sunday Dustbin (Easter edition): Alive to the end

It had been way too long since my last musical creation, so I pushed through the resistance and pushed out a cheerful little number about death and dying. On Easter Weekend no less! This one really frustrated me as I struggled in vain to bring my vision of the song to life. The rust really showed as my vocals were flat and the overall arrangement lacked the spontaneous flair I usually shoot for. What can you do. Maybe it’ll grow on me with time, or maybe I’ll record another version some day. Without further ado:

Alive to the end(mp3)