hoosegow

It was a musical odyssey. I don't know if anyone recorded the set from Aura last night. If not, there's no hard proof, and I can either tell you it was the greatest or worst show in the history of the world and you'll never find evidence to the contrary. Let's go with somewhere in the middle, yet leaning towards the greater side.

John Wicks plays drums, and plays them well. The show was our first extended musical experience together. Joel and I have played together for most of my six years in Los Angeles, and his ability to grow as a musician never ceases to amaze. We had moments of sublime empathy last night.

Playing improvised music provides a meditation for me on stage. I find myself in an entirely different state of mind then during my rock performances. During our rendition of Beck's "Nobody's Fault But My Own" (thank you Rob for the charts) I felt the audience was with me on each note. I played soprano, and I slipped away from the microphone to release all my air into the horn.

While my jazzy ambitions took a step forward, my career as a standup comedian took a step back last night. I brought my Nalgene bottle filled with water on stage. Joel asked what kind of concoction I was drinking and I said "water". He said "Daddy's water tastes like fire." I "lol"ed and repeated his line into the microphone to share with the audience. This was met by a deafening silence (and chances are high you're not laughing right now either). To which I replied, "even the banter is going to be esoteric and totally incomprehensible tonight."

What else do I know?

I got an iPhone. I did not buy the new one, I got one from a friend. I may or may not have tweaked it out, and I may or may not be playing Mike Tyson's Punch Out on my mobile telephone next time you see me. Aren't I stealthy? I feel like I should be wearing a trench coat filled with wristwatches.

I am on call for jury duty next week. This may not work out well because I'm flying to New York on Thursday. I informed the nice jury-duty-phone-line woman of this, and she said, "that's ok, just tell them when you get there what your schedule is." I'm not afraid of being on a jury. I think it would be an interesting experience, and I believe in the concept of civic duty. I'm a little perplexed as to how, as a self-employed entrepreneurial type, I'm supposed to keep my life moving if I got called into an epic O.J.-style trial. Fortunately I can blog from my iPhone now, although the typing is nowhere near fifty words a minute. Has this episode of Law and Order happened? Musician is thrown in the hoosegow for updating his myspace page in the jurors box while McDonald's is on trial for having coffee that's hot... *bong-bong*

falling coaster parts

I am the weekend warrior. Drake Bell and band have officially survived our fourth weekend in a row of plane-filled, rockutastic fun.

Our grand finale was Oklahoma City this Saturday. We witnessed a gigantic piece of metal fall off the roller coaster track and tumble fifty feet. The metal was not injured, but I bet the dirt underneath smarts a little. All the people were safe, and the band decided unanimously not to ride the rides that day.

Now I'm back home, recovering from a menage a trois de tennis (couldn't find a fourth for doubles, this is a family program). I forgot that I was wearing a collared shirt (mock me later), and have a bright red triangle of sun where I neglected to put sunscreen. This triangle looks vaguely like the brand the Beastmaster had on his hand. I wonder if that means I can talk to the ants in my kitchen now?



Nice marmot.

I've added a show on August 12th at Uncommon Ground in Chicago. Ow!

books and planes

I'm back from another weekend binge of plane flights and Drake Bell gigs. I've got a couple thousand more frequent flyer miles to my name, which is good for vacationing, and not so good for my carbon footprint. At least we flew in the carpool lane. Also, I've discovered that the book is not an electronic device and therefore can be used during takeoff and landing. As a result I've got some book recommendations for you.

I'm almost finished with the book This is Your Brain on Music. I've discovered I may have an usually large cerebellum. No, that's not a pickup line. The book is dense at moments, but definitely worth the brain power.

Book recommendation number two: Ken Follett's World Without End. It's the sequel to one of my all-time faves Pillars of the Earth. I'm sad that I'm finished with World w/o End. I miss the characters. Maybe they'll myspace me or something (they had ye olde internets in medieval England, right?).

One of the unexpected side effects of reading those Follett books is learning that back in the day your last name was often determined by your career. I've delved into a decently wide variety of music related jobs so would my full name in olden days be: Zachary Songwritersaxophonistteachercomposersidemanblogger? I'd have to get yardsticks to use as business cards. The abbreviated "Zachary Songwriter" is pretty decent, although I'm partial to Hexum, so I won't be pulling a Prince/Diddy anytime soon.

My next gig with the Zack Hexum trio is right around the corner. Here's a flyer:

feet on the ground, power not grounded

I just got finished with a four-gig/five-days-of-flights-rampage with Drake the Bell. I brought my laptop with me in hopes of being able to blog a bit from the road. Alas, I was so wiped and wifi was so not-free that I essentially only got my computer out in time to put it into it's own little rubbermaid tray and have it x-rayed to deaf.

The good news, I'm back! The bad news, I leave again tomorrow. I'm leaving this here laptop right at home, so my next blog will either be typed with a BlackBerry Pearl (no iPhone for me yet, but I do enjoy imagining my ownership of said gadget) or it won't be typed until I'm back home in the good ol' Los of Angeles.

The four show run was eventful, to say the least. We were harassed and perhaps even intimidated by a power-hungry woman who wore Crocs. We played Six Flags Atlanta, where the poor kid had the roller coaster-fence-hopping accident just one day before. I got the crap shocked out of me three gigs in a row when I touched a metal part underneath the rented Hammond B-3 and microphone simultaneously. I think I took the Lord's name in vain into the aforementioned microphone when that happened. You're not supposed to do that at soundchecks in the South. The only gig where I didn't get shocked was the one where the show got cut short by lightning. Go figure.

Continuing on my power riff, as of yesterday, my folks' place in Omaha is one of 20,000 homes that have been without electricity for a couple days in a row. Fortunately no trees were embedded in the Hexum family roof, so no harm no foul.

I posted four shots from the Hotel Cafe show on the myspace page.

Zap!

Ow!

backhanded conundrums

If Rafael Nadal is right-handed, but plays tennis left-handed does he get the left-handed slightly shorter life expectancy? Or does he just get the good batting average? Does right-handed baller, but left-handed eater/writer LeBron James shop at the leftorium for everything but his sneakers? Do you even need to shop for sneakers when you have an eight-figure (or is it nine?) endorsement with Nike? I think not.

Why Lakers, Why?!

I've been attempting to come to grips with the colossal failure of my beloved Los Angeles Lakers last night, and more specifically why I care like I do when they lose, and why the hell I bother to follow sports to begin with. I came up with this, which was written in a message to someone who was pondering related issues:

Following sports is great because it's roller coaster ride on invisible tracks. You watch a movie, and you more or less know what's going to happen and that the good guys are going to win. In sports all that stuff is off. Even if you believe that the refs are betting on games, you don't know which side they've bet on beforehand. It's such a great ride when you've got your Rain Man-style statistics at the ready, you read every column and scouting report, and your team wins. You feel like you had some cosmic part in willing your team to victory, especially since you wore your lucky Magic Johnson '87 MVP t-shirt.

On the other hand, I'm simply pissed the Lakers "wet the bed" after having a 24 point lead. The fan, especially when watching the game on TV and not at the arena, has exactly zero percent input on the outcome of the game. The fan thinks, "I would've known to at least foul Ray Allen, or punch him in the kidney or something." When they lose it really makes me think, couldn't I have been learning origami, or trying to end world hunger instead of screaming at a television?

It's very anti-Zen following a team, all highs and lows, no creamy middle. Those stakes only get raised as the playoffs stretch onward towards infinity. At the beginning of the season, with Kobe demanding a trade to Chicago (so he could lose to the Celtics more often, no doubt) I thought there was no way we were going to be in the Finals, but here we are (and by "we" I mean a team that I don't play on) and now I'm mad we're losing!

Even though a team has never come back from a deficit of this margin in the Finals, I still have a sliver of a glimpse of hope. That doesn't really make any sense to me, but I guess in the end that's why I love sports. Nobody knows for sure that the good guys will win.

A Ditty (no relation to P Diddy)

Ladies and Gentledudes! Boys and girls! Feast your eyes on the first-ever-in-the-history-of-the-world (as far as I know) video flyer!

I wrote myself a little jingle for the upcoming show at the Hotel Cafe on the 24th. I hope you like it.