HAPPY HALLOWEEN. Halloween for me has always been tied to Harry Houdini. As a kid my two biggest heroes were Babe Ruth and Harry Houdini. Both were the best at their field, early 20th century showmen. They both gave the public what they wanted, in a time when life was hard in America and people needed escape from the everyday. They were larger than life men who helped people forget their economic hardships. I remember reading both their biographies. George Herman Ruth became the Babe, Ehrich Weiss became Harry Houdini, and I became Butch Ryan. Houdini was a man of vision, a man who dared to seek out all truths. In his day, he fought against those who preyed on the grieving, those who said they could contact the dead. He searched far and wide for the truth, not illusions. He was an escape artist, not a magician. He was a skilled physical oddity. He revealed many as frauds in a time when people believed, and often fell prey to the unknown. He stated that after his death, if there truely was a way, he'd make contact. To this day, on Halloween, contact is still trying to be made. I don't care if contact is ever made, he still lives on, like the Babe and Elvis. Guys who are known, and will always be known, by one name obviously did it right. When you make an impact you never go away, never. Happy Halloween Harry. Take care. Later, Butch

We're back in Ybor City tomorrow night, part of the city's scary drunken Guavaween. I was asked on a phone interview this past summer about the bay area's music scene, and more specifically, Ybor. I mentioned how awful it has become, with the city's noise enforcement and shoving out of what made Ybor, Ybor. Saturday night will be much more than noise for Ybor, it'll be drunks vommiting, peeing, fighting, and finally (hopefully) passing out; gangs of thug kids mugging and fighting, boobs-boobs-boobs, maybe some oral in the alleyways, and lots of king dollar. I mean mega bucks. That's what really sickens me about the whole thing, lack of sincerity. Or should I say, a stay of sincerity when real money is introduced. The rest of it is what it is. If you don't want to possibly get into a fight, get mugged, or see some tatas, stay away. Let those who do, do. About 2 years ago, Jay and I sat through (and I actually spoke! Me? No way!) a huge pile of Rose Ferlita bullshit about how the city worries about what the noise is doing to the community. Rose, by the way, is the commish that was elected by one, yes, one vote. And you thought your vote doesn't really matter. I'd like to shoe the corky who gave her that one vote right in the nuts. Enough on MR. Ferlita, back to the joke that is a once killer place to play a gig. My family goes way back to Ybor. Ybor City was a company town back in the 1800's. Cigar was the product, and my family rolled'em. My grandfather owned a store in Ybor back in the 30's and 40's. Ybor City and New York City, those were where his two stores were. Imagine? My mom was the cashier girl at the Ritz movie theatre while in high school. I was with the old house band at Carmine's, Ybor's first live music club, back in the late 80's. We helped put Ybor back in the minds of those wanting to spend some cash on a weekend while drinking a few beers and hearing a live rock and roll band. And after all that history, all I've got today is a bunch of greedy city officals and land developers licking their chops. Geez, it pisses me off all over again. Think I'll hit the Crown on stage Saturday night and give the open air a few words via the microphone. Let'em know just how I feel about what they've done to my and Papi's Ybor...bastards. I feel like listening to some Steve Earle. Viva la revolution! Take care. Later, Butch

So many ways to describe yesterday: stressful, determined, busy, fulfilling, consuming, useful, light at the end of the tunnel. While the city of Chicago celebrated on the wrong side of town (sorry, I'm a Cubs man), I too felt somewhat victorious. I think the homeless-sexual period of my life may be ending as a house may have actually been found. First we didn't have the house, then something fell through and we got the house... at least for now. Minutes later, I got the vocals down for two songs I want done before we showcase in Jacksonville next month, and I proved to myself that I can cope and accomplish things even when I'm feeling totally stressed out. I slept solid again last night. It was a good day for me. It was a day of personal growth and understanding. I'm very satisfied with yesterday. It makes me look forward to today. Who knows what today will bring? Whatever it is, I'll cope (at least that's the attitude I'm taking). Sometimes I feel like Anne Frank writing in my "diary". This blog thing is very therapeutic. You should try it. I'm glad I did. Congrats Chisox fans. Maybe next year... Take care. Later, Butch

When I wrote my first solo CD, "Unknown" (which, by the way, is available for purchase on this site. It's never too early to do some holiday shopping), I was messing around with the theme of love and how it is defined differently according to situations and relationships. I actually went to the dictionary and pulled out lines (yes, I steal, we all do). Today I'm thinking about stress, not that I'm going to write a song about that (Billy Joel already did), but I'm interested in how we sometimes, and more specifically, how I sometimes can better deal with it than other times. Why is it that at first it seems unconquerable, and yet as it grows that very growth whips us into action, and gives us a determination we never thought we had before? I guess that's the human spirit, buried deep within us all, waiting to come to life when we really need it most. The dictionary says it's a mental or physical tension or pressure. Obviously, I'm concerned here with the mental. I question though, how mental is it? When does the mental influence the emotional? And yet, aren't the two actually married (unless you're a Vulcan)? I think with me it all goes back to sleep. If I'm rested, I'm focused. And once I'm focused, almost anything seems possible. Today, I'm focused. I slept very well last night, very deep. I needed that. I was stressed out. Take care. Later, Butch
P.S. If you're stressed, take a nap. ("Take a break!" - Jim)

Yesterday was a hurricane day. Sorry for missing the blog. The fact that Wilma got here later than expected actually helped the band. The drive back from Georgia was pretty much rain free. The weather in Georgia the night of the gig was awesome. Clear and cool, mid 40's. Great for an outdoor show. The set went well. The college kids were very receptive to the tunes. Of course, "April's Lips" went over well. The last part of the video was filmed at the LaGrange Delt house about 18 months ago. Some of the kids that appear in the video were at the show. It was cool. I was handed a cell phone and spoke to the girl in the video that is perceived to be "April". She's now a graduate student in South Carolina. As a band, we were very tight. It was a good gig from start to finish. After our set, I got a Crown and Coke and headed to the front of the stage to sing along with the Journey cover band that hit the stage after us. I had a blast. The Crown helped fuel the Journey sing along, kept me warm, and eventually got me to start calling my friends in Chicago on the cell. Yep, I had more than one beverage. Take care. Later, Butch

Not much time to do anything today. Buying a house, selling a house, hitting the road for Georgia, and runnin' from Wilma. Sounds like an Eagles song, maybe written by Jackson Browne. Such is my life these days. Keeping the book at Little League is my biggest escape. I lose myself in at-bats and pitch counts. Let's pray nobody really really gets it from Wilma this weekend. We'll talk on Monday with stories from the road. Take care. Later, butch

Secret societies, what's the deal? Every once in a while, when I have 30 minutes to spare, I might watch The History Channel. I recently saw an episode that dealt with these "societies". It got me thinking. Skull and Bones, Masons, they've shaped our country, even landing in the White House. I don't get it. It's seems like cheating. A demonic good ol' boy system. Why demonic? I'm not sure, but during the tv show, they played scary music in the background and showed blurry images of scary masks worn at midnight meetings. Talk of rituals always scare me. And what's the deal with that pyramid with the eye on the back of a dollar? Freaky shit, dude. I had an uncle and a cousin who were Masons. I guess it's in the genes 'cause back in high school I was in a secret society: Knights of the Scrotum Wrinkle. We produced a business owner, a lawyer, engineers, a Federal agent, teachers, and a singer in a band. Who would a thunk it? K of the S W didn't do much else except drink beer and try to get laid. I guess our aspirations were a bit lower than Skull and Bones... but I bet we had more fun. (Maybe not. W looks like the kind of guy who had a blast in college.) Enough on this, it's freaking me out. Long live The Knights of the Scrotum Wrinkle! Take care. Later, Butch

WILMA! Are you kidding me? Another friggin' hurricane? It's hard to take this one seriously. Wilma? I'm thinking Freddie Flintstone yelling that he's home from the rock quarry. You know, Peebles' mom, redhead with pearls, prehistoric firebush. Hurricane? Maybe it's 'cause we're leaving town on Friday for the Georgia college gig, but I can't seem to get up for this one. Maybe it's because there have been so many this season and Florida has been pretty much spared. Who knows. What I do know is that that type of thinking will get you in trouble. It's the old "boy who cried wolf" thing that comes back to bite you in the arse. Hopefully all will be safe back home while we're gone. And we'll have homes to come back to. Speaking of homes, I think I sold mine but have not found a new one I like. Told you this would happen. I'll be homeless by mid November. As Paul Westerberg once sang, I'll be "a homeless-sexual". Take care. Be safe. Later, Butch

Jim Morrison once said that the media controls the mind, therefore, he who controls the media controls the mind. I've been told that the clothes makes the man. The clothes sets the mood. So he who is the clothes is the man and the mood. What? Anyway, lately we've been focused on image, clothes being part of that. Jay is dropping the leather cock piece 'cause we don't play metal anymore. All this thinking has got me thinking... I'm so calm and relaxed today. Is it due to what I'm wearing? I'm comfortable, khakis with high top black Chucks, and a 60's logo Cubs t-shirt. Yep, I dressed for success today. My clothes has set my mood: laid back. It's like when Chris wears a bra and panties underneath his clothes at a gig. You can just tell he's feeling saucy. I mean, even if I didn't notice the erectness of his nipples under his England National Team soccer jersey (and Victoria's Secret bra), his lusty grin tells me "horny". On the road we sometimes have to share a bed. It's a financial thing, honest. If Chris has been wearing his bra and panties underneath his clothes, I refuse to sleep with him. When we spoon he becomes all hands. Then I've got to drive the van the next day 7 hours to Memphis... what a pain in the ass, honestly. What's all this mean? How should I know, I'm a shitty dresser. Take care. Later, Butch

Saturday's show in Melbourne was awesome. I was just going through some of the raw video footage shot at the show. I'm sure parts of it will show up in a future video for a song on the next CD. What a neat gig. It's an old 80's style movie theatre where there are two movie theaters with a concesion stand in between. The concesion stand is now a bar (upgrade already), and when the early movie in theatre one is done, the band sets up underneath the huge screen. Once the late movie in theatre two is done, the band goes on in theatre one. It was like U2's Zoo TV. We had huge images of ourselves (yikes!) behind us while we played. Nothing but original music for 2 plus hours. A very receptive crowd to all things original, which gets me to my next point. Jay and I watched a little of "Charlie and The Chocolate Factory" before sound check. I'd seen it before. While some parts were visualy stunning, it never even came close to the original. Maybe I feel that way because I still remember how blown away I was as a kid the first time I saw Wonka. It's still one of my favorite movies. It takes me back every time I see it. Why try to remake something that was perfect the first time? Move on, get original. Blow us away again on something new. Take care. Later, Butch

In case you're wondering where I've been, yesterday was Yom Kippur. I'm not Jewish but I took the day off anyway. To those who are, hope your day was what it should be. It is my humble opinion that it's not what you believe but that you believe. Faith is what keeps us going, keeps us balanced, through both the good and bad times. To be able to live each day with hopes and dreams is to always strive to better oneself, and in doing that make things better for all around us. Some say religion is the only answer, some curse it as humanity's biggest enemy. I say what ever works for the individual, so be it. If deep in your heart there is something that helps guide you, whether that is religion or science, then good for you, and good for those around you who will benefit from a better you. Enough on that. The blog will take another rest till Monday due to the fact that tomorrow we travel to the East coast for a theatre show in Melbourne (details to come on Monday, I'm sure), followed by a no sleep drive to fulfill our commitment to the Buccaneers Sunday morning. Hence, Saturday will turn into Monday before we know it. Have a great weekend. I will... I'll be singin' with my band. Take care. Later, Butch

Today is Dixie Chick Martie's birthday. Happy birthday Dixie Chick Martie. I don't listen to The Dixie Chicks, and I don't know which one is Martie, but that doesn't mean I can't wish her a happy birthday. Hell, it's a free country, right? I don't think she's the one who caused all the fuss with her "W" statement, but she took the assult that Clear Channel and country radio unleashed anyway. Guilty by association, but guilty of what? The Chick who spoke her mind was doing just that. Springsteen came to their defense and made a great point: what was un-American was not the "W" statement, but how Clear Channel and country radio tried to blackball The Chicks for freely expressing their views. The Right missed that point altogether, but I'm not the sort of guy who gets into all that. Leave it to the great angry Steve Earle. He's got something to say, and he does an unbelievable job saying it. He's a great songwriter. I love his stuff. However, me, I'm not a political dynamo, just a jackass who sees the BS on both sides, and choses to write non-political tunes at the present time. I guess I see my place as one who should entertain, not inform. Maybe that's because all the answers aren't clear to me, I simply have opinions. And as my brother Richard says, "opinions are like assholes: everybody's got one, and yours stinks!" Wow, enough said. Happy birthday Dixie Chick Martie. Take care. Later, Butch

When I was about 10 all I wanted to do was play baseball, day and night. If nobody was around to play then the games would be in my head, totally imaginary, against the back of the house with a tennis ball. And I kept score. Sometimes I would even lose. As I grew older, the guitar replaced the glove and bat. I played that thing 24-7. Sold out shows in Cleveland or Chicago were waiting for me in front of the mirror as the stereo blasted away. Just as before, I'd totally lose myself in it. Sometimes some things at perfect moments are better than life itself. For me, that was baseball at 10, the guitar at 15, and today, October 11, 2005, sleep. (Once after a gig in Georgia with my pal C. Baxter Carter (editor of The Link), that perfect something was a cold porkchop at 2 AM.) Yes, I'm tired, very tired. Besides the usual band load, I'm selling my house. Soon I will be homeless. Just another load to carry as I must find a new house to buy. And I know me, so it will be an arduous hunt for something that is something I don't even have a clear picture of. Oh well, there are things much much worse in life. Baseball, music, and sleep (and a cold porkchop from time to time if it's late and I'm a little hammered) have remained a constant escape for me, infact, it might just be because of baseball (staying up late in October to watch is a given) and music (we're getting busier, if that's possible), that I need sleep... and maybe a cold porkchop, from time to time. BMS&PC, that's my recipe for life. Take care. Later, Butch
P.S. Cubs'll get'em next year, just you wait and see!

Today I'd like to use the blog space to communicate with a reader of the Butch Blog. I tried to contact McPee Pants via email but was unsuccessful. Hope nobody minds. This letter is in response to the last message he left me in this site's guestbook.

Dearest McPee Pants,
Hello. Hope all is well. I'm sorry you find my blog "soooo" boring. I guess it is what I am, and for that I can offer no other appologies. I saw your site. WOW!!! I can see why you find me dull. As an adult, and pretty much a regular American male, I have no interest in cartoons. I find them childish, and with adults, somewhat odd. I realize I'm missing out, not only on the wonderful cartoons, but on a deep personal connection with you, McPee Pants. (Any tie between watching cartoons and pissing yourself?) I guess it's my loss. Sure, I can lose myself in a DVD of "Lord of the Rings", but being I was outside playing baseball as a child, dating girls as a teen, and finally enjoying time with my family, as well as traveling with the band, I've never had time for D and D, thus having no connections to Aqua Love cartoons as an adult. Again, I know it's my loss. Best of luck to you, McPee Pants, and all the wizards, trolls, Pokemons, and other drawn friends in your life. Take care. Later,
Butch

So you may be wondering, "why the lyrics yesterday to a song I've never heard?" Well, several reasons. First let me say the song's called "One of These Days". I've been doing it for about 2 weeks now during the break in the set when the guys take a breather and I continue on by myself. I hope to work out any kinks it may have before I record it. Then, who knows, it may make it to the new CD we're working on. I always like to have a real stripped down acoustic number on the disc to help break it up a bit for the listener. Same with long live sets.Let's just say I'm introducing a new song so that you may be familiar with it once the new CD is out and you purchase one. Let's call it advanced promotions. (See BB, I'm always workin' it.) Also, after the rest of the week's blogs, and all the Butch Zen found therein, I had this tune in mind all morning yesterday. Although the speaker in the song is a somewhat pathetic procrastinator, not acting now but rather saying " one of these days", it is a song full of fight, and the spirit that leads one to take action, to go for it, to tackle the beast it's been chasing. And that's been what's been cluttering my brain this week. Never give in, keep keepin' up. So that's that and my reasoning behind it. Unless I get huge complaints, I'm thinking I'd like to do that with the tunes from time to time. After all, even though many of my characters are simply that, voices representing others and their emotional states of being, and not me personally, the thought to speak for that character has to come from some sort of emotion or observation that's crossed my mind. Hope this process is somewhat interesting to the reader. Take care. Later, Butch

I'm gonna buy me a brand new pair of shoes
I'm gonna fix my face and wash away the blues
I'm gonna finally get up and walk away... one of these days

I'm gonna scream and shout out the truth
I'm gonna do it like I got nothin' left to lose
I'm gonna finally put you in your place... one of these days

You ain't so big, you ain't so big
I ain't that small, I've seen it all
You ain't so big, you ain't so big
Oh, just you wait

I'm gonna shut my ears tight when you yell
I'm gonna stamp you and send you straight to hell
I'm gonna finally find my own way... one of these days

The machine keeps ticking. It's well oiled, it's gears continuously moving. At times, a wrench might be thrown in, but it's then repaired, and soon continues it's operation. Such is G. Cool (officially now known as Butch Ryan and Groovy Cool). With Monday being an anxiety filled cluster f**k (I think I may have underage readers; gotta do the right thing for the kids), Tuesday rolled in with dates starting to crysalize for a March '06 return UK tour. Nashville booking got you down? Don't worry, London and Southhampton are coming to view. What a crazy business this whole band thing is. I'm glad I'm the guy who writes the songs and not the business and promotions manager. In my brain, a middle eight with a minor third or sixth makes much more sense then accommodations and transportation from Bolton, UK to St. Helens, UK (yeah, we play ALL the big towns). But that's the well oiled machine. Each little part carrying it's own load equals an engine of forward progress. I play my part and trust in others to do their part, and they do, we do. Hence, the well oiled machine. Remeber Bill Murray's "Bob"? Baby steps, baby steps. I'm realizing the past few blogs have been chalked full of "Butch Zen". I must be preparing myself for something, getting my "blinders on". But for what? It's business as usual at the G. Cool store (not to be confused with The Butch Store, which is open at all gigs for your merchandise needs; also available at this site under "Merch". It's never too early to start your Holiday shopping, whatever that holiday may be). Although I will admit business is at a hectic pace, which is good, maybe I'm just getting more focused? Maybe I'm just a jackass? Who knows? Who cares? I do. Thanks for listening. Take care. Later, Butch

"You're fifty miles away and I've got gas for forty nine, guess I'll walk that last one to prove that you are mine." That's the chorus to a new song we were working on last night at Jay's studio. It's weird but I think those words really hit home yesterday, especially for our manager. The desire to keep on going forward, regardless of what you must do to get there. Whatever it takes is whatever it takes. Third parties leave you hanging on an out of town gig, which was fit in nicely around other gigs on the tour, now only to be left void. You go places with a purpose and things don't pan out exactly like you'd hoped. We've all had those type of days. Driving all night to make the next gig; no sleep, but the fire to do what must be done keeps burning. The song could be seen as a love song, the trek of one lover to find the other, or the faith of trying to see something you believe in come to fruition. In the end, you deal with it and try to find something positive out of all the mess you've been handed. The positve is there, you just have to seek it out, look for it, and acknowledge it. That's the only approach to take, the only way you can keep walking that last mile. If you run out of gas, you walk, but you never give in, never surrender. Fight the good fight and live to tell of it another day. It's the only way you can look at yourself in the mirror and be satisfied. Anything less leaves you hollow inside. Never give in, never say enough's enough. Never. Take care. Later, Butch

A woman went through a very difficult pregnancy. When she finally delivered, she was met minutes later with a very serious and concerned doctor. "I'm very sorry, but I've got good news and bad news." "Oh, after all I've been through," exclaimed the woman, "just give me the news straight!" "Well," continued the doctor, "you did not give birth to a baby." He paused to let the woman reflect. "You gave birth to a giant human eyeball." "What?", cried the woman. "Oh, my god, give me the good news." "That is the good news." The woman was confused. "The bad news is... it's blind." Just remember: when you think things are bad, they can always get worse. Hang in there and keep pluggin' away. Hope springs eternal. Cubs 'll get 'em next year. Take care. Later, Butch