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so its October
no need to work yourself up into a lather. Theres
a lot of stuff going on and Im a bit behind with the
update on my activities. Were going take a little journey in the
Way Back Machine, so stop complaining about my tardiness and enjoy the
First, let me say thank
you for all the emails you have sent to me asking questions, passing along
comments about the concerts, records, band members waist measurements
or other personal observations. Please be assured I do read ALL of them
but it is impossible for me to answer them all as I find I can only just
about barely keep up with my own personal email and other correspondence.
I wish I could answer every one but if I tried doing that there would
probably not be enough time for me to go out and play every night. Please
dont feel disheartened if you do not get a personal reply and dont
let that discourage you from writing to me in the future. I read it all
and write back to those that I can.
Washington Trip-Christmas, 2000
This is really very strange. I am sitting in my hotel room in Tel Aviv
overlooking the beach promenade below and the Mediterranean beyond. Inside
my room I have CNN purring quietly on the television with a foreign correspondent
updating me about the latest Israeli-Palestinian conflict in Jerusalem,
the Gaza Strip and the West Bank. This has resulted in some small explosives
being detonated, the inevitable human casualties and much rock throwing.
Jerusalem officials are on high alert while Yasser Arafat is in Washington
seeking support from the USA.
Warnings about the escalating violence and potential for further problems
in the area are surrealistically counter balanced by the unfolding scene
below me on the promenade. Outside my window are thousands of young and
not so young people dancing, hugging, walking, milling around or just
sitting watching the human spectacle, while festively decorated flatbed
trucks float by with outrageously dressed and colorfully painted, undressed
people dancing wildly atop them. A DJ on top of each truck loudly spins
hip-hop, trip-hop, trance, techno, jungle and drum and bass music. It
looks like a combination of Mardi Gras in New Orleans and a late 60s
Floating above the proceedings are individually piloted, multi-colored,
motorized hand gliders resembling something out of a James Bond movie,
flying up and down the beach throwing condoms and candy bars on little
parachutes to the crowd below. Just beyond that are swimmers, some private
yachts, a few small boats and one or two military vessels keeping a watch
on things, presumably so the revelers dont get out of hand. Ironically,
I do not see a single policeman on the street. On the other hand I dont
see a single person causing any trouble. After all, this is Tel Avivs
annual Love Parade. Welcome to Israel.
The day before as we were flying in from Barcelona I noticed, on approach
to Tel Aviv airport, that we appeared to be accompanied by two helicopters
flying close behind us on either side of the aircraft. Were we being routinely
and politely escorted as we neared the Holy Land or was this supposed
to be a discreet deterrent in the event of any unwanted aerial activity
nearby? Errant SCUD missiles perhaps? I couldnt help but wonder
as I watched from my hotel window that other aircraft apparently en route
to the same airport seemed to be mysteriously unaccompanied. Kind of spooky
and Im not sure I want to know the answer to that one.
The fish soup on the other hand is not quite so benign. It is a hard won
affair where you have to really sweet talk, coax and ultimately wrestle
with the whole fish, crab, shrimp, squid, mussel or clam to reveal its
inner beauty. Unfortunately in Ians case its inner beauty
turned out to be somewhat more sinister than expected, as the rather unwanted
after effects held him hostage for several unpleasant hours.
Oh, by the way, the gigs are going pretty good too.
Smithsonian Air and Space Museum- heres a little synopsis of some
I was astonished to discover
that the bottom diameter of the Hubbell Telescope is only marginally larger
than one of my big Paiste concert gongs, which is also made from considerably
sturdier looking metal than the outside of the Hubbell, which looks to
be primarily constructed out of Reynolds Wrap. Possibly designed in one
of those phases where NASA was facing nasty budget cuts. Could this have
anything to do with the constant maintenance that this fantastic telescope
seems to enjoy?
Apollo-Soyuz Project- this joint venture was linked together in space
with a 12 ft plastic inner tube like you would find in a childrens
playground. No wonder U.S.-Russian relations were shaky for so long with
this sort of connective tissue.
Skylab-went inside, got some great ideas about how to reorganize our kitchen.
Early cosmonaut engineers space suit-talk about cutting costs in
the wrong places-gray wool suit with huge holes, presumably from giant
space moths-would not have looked out of place in Plan 9 from Outer
Space. Which came first, I wonder? No silly pressurized space suits
for these rough tough Ruskies
Nooooo. Space suits were for babies
and Americans anyway. A nice gray woolen number was just the thing to
keep them toasty warm in that cold, nasty 0 gravity. Just be careful about
those giant space moths, boys. To complete the ensemble was a fairly sharp
looking, double edged 4 knife, hanging from one sleeve, always at
the ready, that bore an uncanny resemblance to a New York City stiletto,
circa 1960, presumably to fight off space aliens and other unwanted intruders.
John Glenns 1962 space suit seemed like Luke Skywalkers.
Growing up I thought, as did many young boys in the 60s, that being
an astronaut would be a pretty fantastic job and in a way I still do,
however if you have any issues with claustrophobia you might want to reappraise
that as a viable career option.
Inexplicably, in one room that I wandered into, thinking I was going to
be seeing some documentary on space exploration, I instead saw a roomful
of people watching a hockey game. I did not stay long enough to see what
connection this had with the space program, if indeed it had any at all.
It was entirely possible I wandered into a wormhole which had instantly
transported me to a parallel dimension or possibly a Boston sports bar
and delivered me back again with all my molecular structure fully intact.
Here is a listing of some of the astronauts personal space accessories:
-Old Spice aftershave-who the hell are they having to smell so nice for
in outer space anyway? Hmm
-The urine transfer tube looked remarkably like what is commonly known
in truck stops across America as The Truckers Friend used
by those long haul drivers. Wonder where NASA got that idea?
-Money belts-now there is a truly useless item in space.
-Nail trimmers! Where in the hell do those clippings go? You dont
want one of those floating around in your hard disk drive. Ahh,
Houston, we have a problem.
Command module for Apollo
II -makes those new Japanese hotel rooms that resemble coffins with televisions
seem like a room at The Four Seasons.
Remarkably, there was an entire exhibit dedicated to the exploration for
extraterrestrial life, which I thought was quite forward thinking of our
government. Considering how much time, money and resources that have been
and will continue to be squandered in an effort to completely discredit
anyone, regardless of rank or credibility who claims to have seen a UFO,
it was a noble, empty gesture. But very entertaining!
All in all a truly fascinating museum with loads I didnt get to
see this time due to the fact that I had to meet Heather to go gaze at
antique Asian vases. But for anyone interested in the history of Aviation
and the evolving history of our space program this is a must see. Get
there early and plan to spend the whole day there. Next time I will. Emperor
Ming and all his stuff will just have to wait.
Vietnam Vets Memorial- This was by far the most intense exhibit we saw
- 58,000 useless deaths. An unhinging experience, especially for Heather,
who as a singer, did two tours of Vietnam and was the first woman to go
to remote combat outposts to entertain the troops with the USO.
The Lincoln Memorial-Beautiful,
and I will NEVER EVER let anyone give me a hard time about run on sentences
again. Abe Lincoln, unparalleled run on sentence meister supreme and wonderful
they were too, Abe!
The White House tour- Once
every 38 years, like clockwork, I like to take this tour. Heather insisted
we take it before Bill left office and George Jr. took over, so in the
interest of continued domestic tranquility, I acquiesced. It wasnt
so much the two and a half hours we had to wait in below freezing temperatures
that bothered me (although that was pretty irritating,) as much as having
to endure with polite indifference the seemingly endless inane prattle
that the two women in front of me mistook for conversation. I cannot believe
anyone could find the discussion of the merits of various Posture Pedic
sofa beds so endlessly fascinating as these two donuts did, and for the
better part of two hours no less.
The New Year
Once inside and defrosted I had to admit it was pretty impressive. This
was the once a year candlelight tour which happens for 3 evenings only
over the Christmas holidays. 90 decorators working for 3 days straight,
if thats the right term. Imagine the cat fights breaking out there!
Still, fairly breathtaking, and the decorations too. We behaved like complete
tourists and then hobbled back to our hotel.
2001 began with a series of interesting and varied musical assignments.
NAMM came and went with an enjoyable series of appearances with keyboardist
Vince DiCola and Chicago lead vocalist and bassist Jason Sheff
for the Alesis folks. Once again I found myself probing the depths of
the new Midi machinery that Alesis came out with and praying to the Patron
Saint of Midi to bless me with divine inspiration or at the very least,
intervention. Sandwiched in between was a real highlight and a breath
of acoustic relief for me. I found myself playing real acoustic drums
behind the unlikely aggregation of lead singers Jason Sheff and Bill Champlin
(Chicago), Alex Ligertwood (Santana), and Bobby Kimball (Toto) playing
songs from each of their groups. They were kind enough to lend their vocals
to a couple of pieces from the Thread record, which they performed
beautifully. Vince performed on keyboards of course and rounding out the
group was Lance Morrison on bass and Doug Bossi on guitar from Don Henleys
band and Whitesnake respectively.
Following quickly on the heels of that was a surreal pair of concerts
for a Los Angeles Fundraiser benefiting inner city youth. This time I
was backing up a truly bizarre configuration of individuals ranging from
the singing and dancing doctors of E.R.(Yikes!), Jason Alexander
of Seinfeld notoriety, Karla DiVito, Meatloafs great
female vocalist, to Eddie Van Halen. This was loosely termed a musical
revue, as there was a propensity of other notable theater
type sorts who came and did a turn. Jon Bauser, lead singer of Sha Na
Na and his son get a special mention for a very unique version of Bridge
over Troubled Waters that might have given Paul Simon reason to
reconsider the wisdom of penning this in the first place. Still it raised
a lot of money for a very good cause and who can argue with that. Eddies
turn was by far the most unusual, exciting and loud part of the evening.
I always say there is nothing like a nice segue from Send in the
Clowns to Hot for Teacher to get peoples attention.
But amazingly people dug it and even stayed to the end of the song! It
was an absolutely fantastic band to play with and we played everything
from Stephen Sondheims intricate arrangements, which might be equivalent
to if Frank Zappa wrote for musical theater to big band swing arrangements,
bizarre stop/go theater pieces, rap and even some rock for the young people.
Finally all that time playing in Broadway pit orchestras pays off! A good
time was had by all and its not everyone who can say they were nearly
run over in a parking lot at 2 am by a speeding Eddie Van Halen in a pickup
Before leaving for Europe with the band I did some interesting session
work, first for a Japanese instrumental group called T-Square who were
like an eastern cross between Steely Dan and Larry Carlton-very challenging,
interesting music. Following that Vince DiCola asked me to go in the studio
with him to record the racing theme for the Formula One races to be played
before each event. Wonderful arrangement of an exciting, high energy track
with Bobby Kimballs vocal on top. Squeezed in one last, highly enjoyable
session with Valerie Landsburg, a very talented composer and vocalist
for her new CD before leaving for Nashville with Tull to film a show at
the Wild Horse Saloon for the TNN Network.
Europe and America-Summer 2001
We had a fantastic European tour taking in sights and places, old and
new in Western and Eastern Europe. This time we had the colorful and charismatic
Young Dubliners with us, introducing them to a new Euro audience who seemed
to take to them as instantly as they took to the local beer. I had the
dubious distinction of being the official Young Dubs tour photographer
by default, as all their cameras seemed to break as soon as they got to
Europe. Must be the voltage. Never mind, that gave me a good excuse to
break in my new digital camera and turn into a really intrusive nuisance
to one and all. In the process I got some really good shots and some truly
awful ones which you can probably find displayed on the Dubs and our website.
Still, its a lot of fun and I snapped with impunity although quite
often the local security would try to turf me out when I snuck in front
of the crash barrier to snap the Dubs, live in action, from the front
of the stage. Despite showing them my All Access Pass and trying to convince
them that I was actually a member of J.T., which they thought was complete
baloney, I found I had much better luck when I told them I was the official
Young Dubs tour photographer, sent out on the road by the record company
and employed by the band. They found this much more plausible until the
moment when some over-refreshed bozo in the front row would recognize
me and start hassling me to take his picture, share his beer, his wife,
his bratwurst or just start breathing heavily on me until I gave HIM some
attention. Rarely was this ever a her and the few times that
it was tended to be the female version of suspect #1. One thing I have
noticed is that some European women appear to have an aversion to shaving
under their arms. Whats this all about? Anyway, there is a possible
second career waiting for me as a rock photographer-Oh, I can hardly wait!
Things seemed to be going along nicely on our scenic tour of spatzle houses,
pasta palaces and curry depots until I started feeling like I was developing
a sensitive Martin Barre like gut. Now if there is one thing that anyone
who knows me can attest to, it is this; I have a cast iron gut and very
little ever troubles me food-wise, anywhere in the world. There has got
to be something seriously off before my stomach reacts. Perhaps this is
a result of years and years of very spicy food, killing off all normal
sensitivity to the average bacteria. But something was starting to go
really very wrong. I got food poisoning once, not in India, Bolivia, Brazil,
Mexico, Malaysia, South Africa, Turkey or Eastern Europe but in Anaheim,
California at a Pizza Hut! Well, this was about the worst pain I had ever
felt and this felt eerily similar, except this pain would mysteriously
come and go with no particular pattern apart from the increasing frequency.
Ian had convinced himself and much of the audience, as he was starting
to integrate this malaise into his onstage patter, that there was some
kind of Alien Love Child, or the ALC as he liked to refer to it, to which
I was about to give birth. By the end of the European tour I was starting
to think he might be right. I was getting seriously ill and only narrowly
made it home to the USA between attacks. Fortunately, it never happened
onstage because if it had, it would have been a definite show ender for
I limped home and immediately went to the doctors, followed by several
hospital visits for various tests before it was determined that I had
a fairly sizeable kidney stone. Im glad it was not something more
sinister but this news was bad enough. I have enjoyed pretty good health
most of my adult life and this is the first serious health problem I have
had in a very long time. As we only had about 10 days between the European
and American legs I had no choice but to opt for immediate surgery. This
was not what I had in mind but there was very little choice. Without going
into all the unpleasant little details, I underwent the surgery with the
understanding that there was no guarantee that they could get the stone
although they felt that this procedure offered the best opportunity.
I hated my first encounter with anesthetics the first time at age 9, when
I had a tonsillectomy and this new encounter offered me no good reason
to revise that opinion. Anesthetics are scary and unpredictable. Afterwards,
in the recovery room, I was informed that the surgery was a failure and
that they were unable to get the stone and I now had no choice but to
go out on the road with it still a part of me. This filled me with absolute
dread, as I knew how unpredictable it could be. I dont think of
myself as particularly squeamish but I can safely say I have never felt
discomfort quite like this. However, once that morphine drip kicked in
I frankly didnt really care. I suddenly understood how junkies get
started and strung out. You just simply trade it all in for that one primal
need and when that is taken care of nothing else matters. Of course, all
good things come to an end and I got unceremoniously booted out of the
hospital and back to reality.
Trying to find the good, or at least the acceptable in all of this has
strengthened my resolve to change some things in my day to day life. This
damned stone means there are certain foods that I really like that I just
have to cut out or severely curtail. A stricter diet and regime of exercise
is necessary, although I dont really mind that as long as I dont
have to go to a gym and do it with a group of lunatic gym rats gyrating
to annoying disco music. Due to this delightful little episode I managed
to shed 14 pounds, which was not a bad thing, although not quite the way
I envisioned doing it and considerably more expensive to boot.
I managed to get through, at times a bit delicately, both legs of the
American tour without further incident and I must say the band was great
about the whole thing and very understanding. I was very, very worried
initially about whether or not I was going to be able to cope with playing
at all, particularly when I first came out of the hospital and only had
a few days before the opening concert. At that point I just couldnt
imagine having to go back on tour with that kind of postoperative discomfort.
However, once I got to Cleveland for the first U.S. date and got through
the gig without serious incident, I felt enormously relieved and saw that
with care and pacing, I could manage the shows. The thought of having
to cancel was far too distressing because of the inevitable domino effect
it would have on band, crew, promoters and people who had bought tickets
and so I spoke to a few friends, who are very good drummers, who agreed
to step in if necessary. That would have been a highly pressurized situation
for them, to say the least, as well as the band to have to deal with on
such short notice, and so I am very grateful to them for standing by me
in the event of an unfortunate downturn. I am going to be going in soon
for another procedure to try to break this thing up and rid myself once
and for all of it. I hope before too long this will only be a distant,
if unpleasant memory that remains just that. On to better days.
From a Stretch Limo to a Tijuana Taxi
Oh, the changing fortunes of traveling musicians. One minute Donald Trumps
white stretch limo is shuttling you silently into New York City in garish
and slightly embarrassing style with a full refrigerator of drinks and
hors doeuvres and the next moment youre in a tin can of a
taxi, held together with bungee cords, wire ties and superglue, hurtling
through the streets of Tijuana in one gut wrenching swerve after another.
Im not sure if sitting in the business class section of the Sea
Cat ferry from Tallin to Helsinki getting tossed from side to side by
the rough waters of the Baltic Sea are any better however. Its just
a more European version. The sea hostesses were considerately handing
out sick bags to any needy passengers while kindly informing them that
it was going to get a bit worse. Typical European understatement.
This is a bit like the doctor informing you that this is going to
hurt us a little bit. But Im getting ahead of myself. The
long, slightly perilous and at times even comical journey from Los Angeles
to Oslo was an adventure worthy of an S.J. Perelman travelogue. I am not
being dismissive of or minimizing the incredibly sad events that necessitated
such a journey as it certainly was not one I would have freely elected
to undertake in less stressful times. But we had a tour that we were committed
My drum tech, Jay Rubin, and I left around midnight on Thursday Sept 13th
just 2 days after the hideous U.S. terrorist attacks in an effort to avail
ourselves of one of the last possible opportunities to get out of the
US and to Europe before all borders were completely closed. Canadas
border was completely shut and Mexicos border crossing was erratically
going up and down like Jays trousers in an East European hospitality
bar. Leaving L.A. like spies in the night and driving ourselves
down to San Clemente, where we picked up Tony X, our driver for the remainder
of the trip and returner of our rental vehicle, which was not permitted
inside Mexico, we contemplated the journey ahead.
Arriving at Tony the Sharks
home in the middle of the night we awakened him from peaceful sleep. We
noted a very odd phenomenon occurring however as we approached his house.
In this quiet suburban neighborhood there were women, on their own and
in groups of twos and threes, jogging or power walking. Young
to very old and no men whatsoever. Now if this were 6 or 7am you could
explain this away as America waking up and getting fit and ready for the
day, but it was the middle of the night! The Stepford Wives werent
any stranger than this although they were much better dressed. Leaving
the surreal suburbia of San Clemente for the even more surreal climate
of Tijuana, we continued southwards.
Approaching the outskirts of the Mexican border we were confronted with
an ungodly traffic backup which was not completely unexpected, as we knew
many US citizens who absolutely had to travel might be considering this
option as well. The first sign of things to come occurred as we approached
the border driving in the left hand lane of traffic, whereupon we saw
the first and only sign announcing that 200 feet ahead is the LAST EXIT
for US citizens wishing to drop off people going into Mexico. Of course
we missed it because we couldnt get across 5 lanes of cars in 200
feet. Thinking there might be one more hidden opportunity before the border
we were forced to continue. We finally managed to pull over to a customs
section where there were Mexican policemen and other officials doing very
little, which was disconcerting considering the volume of traffic and
the events of the previous two days. They really didnt seem at all
interested in why we were traveling or what we were carrying in the car.
Through a series of broken translations, pidgin English, appalling Spanish
and hand gestures we managed to elicit enough information from them to
irrefutably confirm the fact that we had indeed missed the last exit and
Swiss Tony would now have to drive across the border and wait in line,
which the policemen conservatively estimated at 3-4 hours, to get back
into the USA. Tony Bones then became VERY PISSED OFF.
Obviously this was not part
of our agreement and he turned beet red, started swearing profusely (fortunately
in English) so much so I thought we might land in a Tijuana jail. As he
was jumping up and down, kicking the tires and plotting how he might be
able to back up the car on the soft shoulder to the US side, the convivial
polizi was directing Jay and I to the nearest taxi stand. Calling the
vehicle we stepped into a taxi would be like calling George Bush Jr. a
grammarian. We rattled, banged and careened headlong through the streets
of Tijuana with little regard for traffic, red lights or luckless pedestrians.
Screeching into Tijuana airport we were met with an army of hustlers and
baggage handlers. Once inside the terminal it became glaringly
apparent that the events of the previous days might as well not have occurred,
for the complete lack of security in evidence. Jay and I managed to get
through Immigration without even producing our passports by virtue of
the fact that there was no one there. Apparently it was time for Mr. Immigration
Mans coffee break as his desk was totally deserted and people were
sailing right by and proceeding to the carry on baggage x-ray machine.
Security might as well been having a coffee break too for the amount of
attention that they were paying to peoples carry on items. But the
most alarming was yet to come. After about 20 minutes of trying to place
an overseas call to let the English side know that we had made it at least
this far, I gave up. Telepathic communication or even string and a tin
can would have been more effective. We finally sat down in the Tijuana
International Airport Coffee Shop, which also seemed to double as some
sort of gambling casino/ bookie joint where, throwing caution to the wind,
I ordered some breakfast.
As we had been informed by the Aero Mexico
check in personnel that there would be no meal service on the 3 ½
hour flight to Mexico City I thought it a good idea to have something
now as we hadnt eaten since the night before. Sometimes you tend
to forget, living so close to the border, that Mexico is not just another
country but an entirely different way of food preparation and handling.
Wisely, Jay opted to fast, but I rather unwisely decided eggs and ham
sounded nice. The consequence of that decision was rather long lasting
and now fills me with dread whenever I see these two perishables living
together on one plate. While
I was enjoying this Mexican delicacy Jay wandered off to have a look around
the shops, or as it turned out, the shop. He came back in a highly agitated
state demanding that I go over myself and have a look. Inside this quaint
little gift shop was the usual tourist bric-a-brac, travel sundries and
a lovely collection of knives, one or two of which would have done an
excellent job of gutting fish. All duty free of course. Alarming as this
was, much more worrying was the fact that we were beyond the last checkpoint.
From here it was a mere 50 feet to the gate and straight on to the plane
with your duty free purchases. Judging from the flimsiness of the cockpit
door on our Aero Mexico flight, I think the average child would find it
harder to get into our pantry through the slatted accordion divider than
this poor excuse for security. Nevertheless we boarded the flight and
Im happy to report that nothing happened except Jays hunger
pains and a general feeling of relief when we landed in Mexico City.
After navigating the delicate intricacies of the so-called Immigration
Department and Customs we made our way to British Airways to check in
for our evening overseas flight. Fortunately we had a few hours in between
flights to straighten out the fairly substantial oversight of the Tijuana
Immigration Dept, which as I said before, was on a donut break or something
equally important. It turned out both Jay and I entered the country totally
illegally, which is quite a reversal of fortunes for our Mexican neighbors!
If they want to keep those Americans out of their country they are really
going to have to try a little bit harder than this. We managed to get
through three major security points without having to produce one shred
of evidence as to why we were here or where we were going. As a result
we were made to circumnavigate the convoluted intestinal track that comprises
the rabbit warren like maze of administrative back offices inside the
Mexico City Airport, trying to find the right one which would grant our
late and unexpected immigration request without first sending us off to
airport jail for review. With this at last accomplished we set off in
search of a non toxic dinner for gringos, which proved, Im happy
to say, to be a much better experience than the Tijuana episode. Setting
off for the gate we found, yet again, Mexican security for carry on luggage
was minimal and largely disinterested, and once inside the departure terminal
any evidence of the New York tragedy was largely overshadowed by a local
soccer game dominating the televisions.
It was a tremendous relief to finally board the British Airways 747 Jumbo
to London. Despite the heightened sense of tension, they displayed some
of the nicest, most courteous and comfortable service I have ever experienced
in the air, although I cannot compare it to that most illustrious of airborne
clubs known as The Mile High Club. I am not a member, although Ill
bet Jays dues are fully paid up. The rest of the journey was reasonably
peaceful and uneventful although we were required three times to change
our flight course, once to avoid American airspace and twice to avoid
a nasty hurricane off the coast of Cuba, which did produce some spectacular
lightning and one phenomenal pressure drop. Still, it was good to reach
Heathrow and the relative calm of England and I went to the cockpit to
thank the captain and his crew, who were very gracious but also relieved
to have reached home territory without incident.
It was great to see the band and crew the next day when we met at the
airport to fly the final leg to Oslo. Just to regain that kind of day
to day normalcy, such as it is on the road, is important and I think we
all felt it immediately upon seeing one another.
I am in my hotel room in Stockholm, feeling a very long way from home.
Sometimes the road can be a lonely place even when you're traveling amongst
friends and colleagues, but it feels particularly lonely right now. The
sad, tragic events in America two weeks ago heighten the degree of homesickness
that I am feeling. After growing up and living in New York City for 35
years it is heartening to see, amidst such devastating tragedy, the genuine
empathetic concern and support that Americans and people the world over,
with a few notable exceptions, have shown towards their fellow men and
women. But watching the news still continues to be just overwhelmingly
heartbreaking and fills me with an inexpressible sorrow. Knowing some
of the people who perished high up in the South Tower, I find it still
grips me with horror as I try to imagine what must have been going through
their minds and the thousands of other poor souls in those final moments.
I still seem to have very little control of when these thoughts will randomly
grab and shake me down. The paralysis and powerlessness that many of us
feel through our inability to change such an inexorable event is tempered,
I suppose, by the knowledge, that to ultimately give in to those feelings
would mean that we really have lost to those evil bastards. Most people
are far too hurt and angry to allow those emotions to gain a permanent
foothold, although the process of grieving and rebuilding is going to
be a long, slow, painful one.
Im one of the lucky ones who love my job and its a small comfort
to think that maybe what we do helps some people get through their day.
I know it helps me get through my day even when the traveling gets me
down. At it's best, music can be a powerful antidote to chaos, confusion
and grief and I would like to think that there is a measure of healing
and peace that it will bring, to me and to others.
We still enjoy freedom here in the West and are likely to continue so
despite these horrific attacks. Im just wondering how Bin Laden
is enjoying life in his cave right now? I trust our tour will continue
to go uneventfully and that we can bring some light to people.
Peace to All,