J and I are celebrating the arrival of several trays of Wheat Grass. No, you don't smoke it, you mash it up and drink it. Even the books on the health benefits use easily translated euphemisms for the taste of this stuff. We are both optimistic that it could do us good though. I will report back.

Soul Beaver rehearsed last night. I've been so Stick obsessed recently that I hadn't checked the bass gig bag before leaving home and so, instead of my fretted bass that I normally use I was greeted by a fretless, with no strap. For this reason I got to spend the whole night sitting down and playing. I don't think non-musicians appreciate how tired your feet get after a gig (or several hours rehearsal for that matter) so, despite not being able to bop about it was a pleasantly relaxing way to play. This may have contributed to the more relaxed vibe of the evening.

In the brief space between getting home from the day job and rehearsing I found 'Comma' by Warr Guitar man Bill Burke on iTunes. I listened to that on my drive out, and the iPod's random selection on the way back. iPods are never really random though. I suspect they have a chip in them which attempts to reach out telepathically to its owner and supply appropriately inspiring or sympathetic music. Mine manages this more often than not, only very rarely throwing up some late period Coltrane when I'm trying to be slow and thoughtful. For times like that, the off switch is always your friend.

Grass juice then. Good or bad, you'll know soon.


fjl said…
Yes it must be like standing up in a museum, you must get an irrepressible urge to start hopping, or pogoing, to take the weight off your feet.
This explains the early eighties.
Will said…
It might also explain the 'shoe-gazing' indie rockers of the nineties. Perhaps they gazed downwards with such miserable expressions because what they really wanted was a nice fluffly cuchion to sit on. Aching feet - the route of angst.

Popular Posts