The hair is human hair inserted one strand at a time

I went to Arkansas over the break. The day before New Year's Eve. I went through Hot Springs first to pick up James and Anne, and then to Little Rock where my dad's group Sugarhill was having a pick.



We stayed all day and then ate at Star of India before driving back that night. James and I went out later for drinks at the Arlington and stopped to watch the ice skaters on the way. The city had brought in a mini-rink and positioned it downtown, outside, with the steam from the spring fountain nearby. Little kids sprawled out on the ice in varying degrees while a cool teenager zipped around with his shirt unbuttoned. A group of girls held up traffic for a photo op under the Christmas lights while their parents sat in the makeshift stands to the side.

We left when the music got bad and headed down the street to the hotel. Inside, we found a seat near the Christmas tree, probably 30 feet tall, all lit up. We ordered Old Fashioneds and listened to the band while the couple next to us -- an older guy with a youngish woman, all smiles and boobs -- cooed and danced and sat lazy-eyed. The band was one of those bar bands that you see in a hotel, but with one notable exception.

The guitar player was older than everyone else, maybe 75, and a serious player with jazz chops. We heard one lame song after another, cheesy standards mostly, but this old guy was just getting warmed up. By the time the band finally played "Mustang Sally," the liquor had kicked in and everyone else had all but disappeared, my narrowed vision focused only on the old guy and a small group of Japanese tourists.

The tourists take turns posing by the tree. As the group moves upstairs, a girl in her twenties and polyester pants lingers, trying to get a guy from her group to dance. The guy smiles "no." He won't do it; he's too shy, so she dances by herself, a sort of modified "pony." It's the 80's in Japan. I notice the old guy watching her; you can tell he's bored, and he doesn't like the short pony-tailed drummer, the fucking cheeseball. But then he tears into his solo like a lion on meat, ripping it wide open, to shreds. The song plays on, the crowd only mildly interested, but James and I are left with our jaws slack.

After playing their break song, a sort of Tonight Show theme, we went over to talk to the guy. Turns out he's from Little Rock (for 26 years now). There's not much going on Little Rock, he explained. A shame that more people don't get to hear him play. Ed Smith is his name. If you're in Hot Springs on a Sunday, he's playing from 6p-9p at the Brau Haus downtown; otherwise, it's Fridays at the Arlington.

The next morning we got up and went to Madame Josephine Tussaud's Wax Museum.



First, at the top of the oldest escalator in Arkansas, there's Jesus on the Cross. And directly behind him, his Last Supper. This made James very nervous. And as you walk into the alcove where DaVinci's painting is life-sized, music starts playing VERY LOUDLY.



The creepiest bit of the whole experience was hearing the horrific screams of the Hall of Horrors blended with the saloon piano of the Billy the Kid exhibit, that and the World of Make Believe, where Snow White's grin molests an overly ecstatic Happy:




Innocently, the staff had added Santa hats to many of the figures, which only heightened the weirdness. Santa Einstein didn't seem to appreciate the irony:



Satchmo Santa (with disturbingly light-colored hands, as if they're *yikes* not really his!)



King Santa:



Bollywood Clark Gable:



Next, we move into the Hall of Fame. The Clintons are there, of course, as well as the Royal Family and Lincoln.



Afterwards, we ate lunch at an Ecuadorian/Cuban place on the strip. I had Castro's favorite. It was lovely and quite tasty. About halfway through the meal, I felt the elastic pull of Monroe and the need to get on the road back to my family.

It was great seeing James and Anne. I miss them terribly, but now the distance has been marked and counted. It's not that far. Next time I'll take the whole family and we can all go to Magic Springs.

Thanks for the hospitality, guys. See you soon.

Equinox @ The Dixie Theatre

Last weekend I played at the newly renovated Dixie Theatre in downtown Ruston.



It felt great and overall was well received. Friday was a private show for the "friends" of the theatre (the rich folk), and Saturday was a free show for the public (for the po' folk). Saturday, naturally, was better. The place was packed, and people danced. My students, about ten of them, came to see me play. Drove to Ruston, all dressed up. Some danced, even. Very cool.

Here's us backstage before the show:



We also had several guests... Lawrence Gibbs played the clarinet on a few tunes; actually, Friday was his gig -- all Benny Goodman, Artie Shaw, Big Band Era tunes -- for the first half of the show. He came back on Saturday to play some more, including the show's closer, "Sing, Sing, Sing," (which my students referred to as the "chocolate chip" song, from some TV ad).

The primary guest for the second night was a displaced New Orleans guy, Ted Ludwig, an unbelievably good guitarist. Seriously. The guy is good. He also owns one of the most beautiful guitars I've ever seen.


So, all in all, a good show. I'm glad it's over, but I had a ball. Evidently, there's going to be a DVD. And I taped it (on DAT). And there was a photographer there taking pictures, as well. You can see those at Josiah Kennedy's site (use the pulldown menu and select "Equinox Jazz").

I was one of those nights that remind me why I love playing music so much -- the energy from the other musicians, grinning ear-to-ear, the lighter-than-air floating that comes from riding on top of the rhythm. It comes all too rarely these days.

This is how I roll

Simply the coolest video game ever: Katamari Damacy.

You might need some explinations? If not, then "hello"?