The big stage. After so many years of bar gigs, lately it's been bars with bigger stages, not some corner next to the pool tables. Tonight it's a theatre gig. Playing the big stage is a different animal, and opening for a bigger show in a theatre is obviously another level of extreme. Where the bigger stage means things need to be polished up a bit from the "corner in the bar" gig, an opening slot calls for the clean up and a hectic pace. Now the pace can't seem hectic, it must flow, but after the 4 hour gigs of the past, 45 minutes fly by in a hurry. Focus is a must. With focus comes comfort. The chords don't change and become harder to play just 'cause people payed $20 at the door to see a "show". Tonight we open for The Outlaws, 70's hit masters who are originally from Tampa, go figure. Rob found a comp CD of their stuff at a gas station in Tennesee during our road trip last week. Man, they had some very familar sounding tunes; airplay was definately theirs back in the day. "There Goes Another Love Song", "Green Grass and High Times", etc. Should be fun. Time to get focused. Time to pull out the "socks". Take care. Later, Butch

The big stage. After so many years of bar gigs, lately it's been bars with bigger stages, not some corner next to the pool tables. Tonight it's a theatre gig. Playing the big stage is a different animal, and opening for a bigger show in a theatre is obviously another level of extreme. Where the bigger stage means things need to be polished up a bit from the "corner in the bar" gig, an opening slot calls for the clean up and a hectic pace. Now the pace can't seem hectic, it must flow, but after the 4 hour gigs of the past, 45 minutes fly by in a hurry. Focus is a must. With focus comes comfort. The chords don't change and become harder to play just 'cause people payed $20 at the door to see a "show". Tonight we open for The Outlaws, 70's hit masters who are originally from Tampa, go figure. Rob found a comp CD of their stuff at a gas station in Tennesee during our road trip last week. Man, they had some very familar sounding tunes; airplay was definately theirs back in the day. "There Goes Another Love Song", "Green Grass and High Times", etc. Should be fun. Time to get focused. Time to pull out the "socks". Take care. Later, Butch

It's a rainy day in Tampa. I like rainy days, unless I had outdoor activities planned (either a gig or a ball game. Not the D Rays though, they play in that crappy dome). What's the deal with rainy days, and rain in particular anyway? I can see the metaphor for tears. The sky has "cried" in many a blues song, but why does it depress folks so much. You know the talk of Seattle, rain, and suicide. Why am I different? I know there are others like me who like a rainy day every so often (Eddie Rabbit, for one). If you've read this blog for some time, you know how I feel about sleep. And nothin' beats sleeping while it's raining outside. The beautiful song of the rain hitting the window puts you right to sleep. It's a natural live gig of one of those "sounds of the rain forrest" CD's that massage people play when they're giving you the rub down. (That sounded dirty.) Rain. Little Johnny wanted it to go away so he could play. I guess he wasn't in a band. I guess he didn't need time to sleep and turn off his brain for awhile. I guess that's it. Rain helps to relax me. It's a huge shower to put your head under, though I don't really like getting wet. Sometimes when you get the seat of your pants wet and then have to sit for awhile, you get itchy bum. And that totally sucks. But it is nice letting the shower hit you on the head in the AM, so I guess the sky "crying" is a nice metaphor, for me "the big shower hitting the soul". Take care. Later, Butch

One of the best things about road trips are the "interesting" people you meet. Saturday in Atlanta was no exception. Harold bought everything and anything we had to sell before we even sound checked. Then we went to the men's room and changed into his new t-shirt. Wow, what a lover of original music, huh? He cornered our manager and rambled on and on about all sorts of things including his management of Latin bands. It was all pure manic nonsense. I helped her escape with a fake request for help with band business. Five minutes before we hit the stage he was in the men's room again. This time he was yelling at his left shoe. "What am I gonna do with you?", he barked, "there you go untying yourself again. Get over here!" He hadn't noticed I was in there. I got out as fast as I could. During our 90 minute set, he cheered every song. Afterwards, while I was breaking down my gear, he came on stage and knelt in front of me in praise. He beamed like a child on Christmas morning. "Is that a real Fender Telecaster? Oh my god, I've never seen one up close." His odd ramblings continued and included that he was a roadie for U2, and that Bono had given him 5 guitars as gifts. Whatever. Later, at the hotel, Jay told me about his encounter with Harold. Other than our last song and "one in the middle", Harold thought we sucked. Go figure. Yep, life on the road can be interesting. Take care. Later, Butch

Happy Thanksgiving holiday to all! The blog was off yesterday because I finally became un-homeless. I began moving in yesterday. Just when I thought I'd finally sleep in my own bed again... road trip. No blog till next Monday. More hotels, baby. We're hittin' Mufresboro (just outside of Nashville) and Atlanta on this little adventure. It's probably gonna be cold as hell (eventhough conventional wisdom would say hell is actually hot). It's probably gonna seem really really cold to us Florida boys. Oh well, it'll feel like the holidays. Have a good turkey day and be safe. Remember to think on all that you should be thankful for. C'mon, you can come up with something. Take care. Later, Butch

You never know when something you thought was trivial will become useful. As I was getting my degree, I took a class concerning handicapped people, and the possibility of having such a student in my class one day (which I have). The class was interesting because they would put you in their place: get from one end of the campus to another specific point in a wheelchair, for example. Order food from the cafeterria wearing sound proof ear muffs, etc., etc. While I realized at the time these lessons would make me a better teacher and person, more thoughtful, understanding, and accepting, I never thought I'd use any of this stuff unless something happened to me and I, too, became handicapped. Then this morning, it hit me. Every morning I get water from the sink for my tea. I do this in the total dark. As I feel for the water spicket with my right hand, my left hand is holding the cup with my left thumb curled over the top and into the cup itself. Once I feel the water hit my thumb, I know my cup is filled up high enough. Simple. All done in total blackness. I was shown this is how the blind are taught to do things independently. It makes perfect sense. You never know. There are lessons everywhere, you just need to keep your eyes and ears open. Things will stay with you, then one day pop out and become your everyday. Amazing. It's not like I worked with the blind for some time. It was one day of class out of hundreds. It pays to pay attention. It also makes life more interesting and understandable. Take care. Later, Butch

That which does not break you will make you stronger. Isn't that the old saying? While "that" is going on, you're thinking, "bullshit", but I think it makes sense on many levels. First of all, it's positive. Positive thinking, in my opinion, is the root to a happy life. While some may say optimism gets in the way of reality, I say negativity does the same and even goes further: it makes you someone nobody wants to be around. There must be balance (I'm sounding so Yoda-like). Balanced positive thinking (that's what I'll call it) helps you to keep pushing forward in a world that sometimes doesn't make sense. The balance helps you to remember the reality BUT not give in to the negative side of things. You can cry and mope and say why, why, why, OR you can accept it, say, "this too shall pass", and live to see another day. Also, when being realistic, you must face why your problem arose. Why did "that" happen? From that conclusion you will move forward and keep grasping at your goals with more of a purpose. Listen, nothing comes easy, but that doesn't mean you can't have fun. Being negative will eat you up. If you're negative in one aspect of your life, it will grow and effect other aspects, thus making you less and less the person you really are. Chinny up! Don't let any "thing" defeat you. Remember what The Boss said, "no retreat, baby, no surrender." If you're wondering why the blog lately has been "the struggle to accept change and move on" corner, I'll address that when the time is right. Fear not, life goes on. Once a jackass, always a jackass. Better days will come. These dark clouds will blow away. The sun will shine once more. Let's all just be patient. Take care. Later, Butch

The crappiest thing about adulthood is that you are an adult. You are surrounded by adults, expected to act like an adult, and must accept all responsibilities the world pushes towards adults. Now don't get me wrong, one must grow up and move on. Peter Pan is a sad reality. In order to truely experience life, one must get out there and accept what life deals you, take responsibility for it, and keep on keepin' on. It's just that some days it seems like too much. Some days you'd rather run to a comfort zone (as if you were still a child) and let someone or something, in your behalf, fight off the troubles of the day. I guess that's why some find the comfort zone in a bottle, another sad reality of adulthood, a loss of innocence. And that loss of innocence is really the whole thing, that is the "adult" perspective. It's not wrong, just harsh. It's realistic... but some days reality is best left aside, just for a short time. That time off helps you to regroup, refocus, become an adult again, take on those responsibilities, and move on. You must never let that last bit of child in you die off. Cast the demons aside. Smile, look for the funny things in your life. Don't let the clouds make your life a perpetual rainy day. They're just clouds, they'll blow away. I promise. Take care. Later, Butch

The front page of today's St. Pete Times has a story asking who will be the "big arena-sell out every show-mega band" that lasts for 30 years after U2, Springsteen, and The Stones are gone? After all, while those are the huge tours this year, everybody is getting older. Can The Stones still tour (and draw) at 70? The story goes on to say that the industry really isn't producing good bands with longevity anymore. I wonder if the author was just being ego driven and nostalgic about "his generation's" bands. If maybe he can't see a band of today being around for 30 years because today's bands don't speak to him. While there are young fans going out to see The Stones and U2, the majority of the crowd who paid an incredible amount of cash to see the show (what ever happened to the low dough show?) are those who grew up listening to these bands. The guy who knew every word to "Where the Streets Have No Name" while he was in Gainesville at the University of Florida back in the late 80's, is now the married father of three pharm rep with the two car garage who is willing to sit through the new stuff to relive his youth. Why won't this happen to young Green Day fans in 20 years? Why won't tomorrow's doctors pay stupid amounts of money to see an older Green Day? I don't think it's 'cause all of today's music won't still speak to people as the decades move along. Hell, artists are artists. Springsteen sang about "running" as a young man. Now he sings about figuring out where all that running got him, and we listen because we're wonderin' where all our runnin' got us too. Nah, I'm not sold on that St. Pete Times article. Rock won't die. Never. There will always be kids with guitars in garages, and just like U2 didn't sound exactly like Elvis, it spoke to the next generation (ours), and Green Day is speaking to the next generation (our kids'). People will always relive their lives to a sound track, and that sound track will be made up of that generation's artists. And when that band comes back to town 20 years later, they'll fork out the bucks and make a night out of it. Take the wife to dinner and a show... a rock show. Take care. Later, Butch

Change. The dictionary states it's to make different, to alter, to cause to pass from one form to another, to replace or switch. Change not only is inevitable, it's constant. Sometimes it's for better, sometimes for worse, sometimes we're not even sure what it is. You deal with it and move on, although sometimes dealing with it is much tougher, it's even painful, not only physically or mentally, but emotionally. As the brain goes to panic, the stomach flips and the heart misses a beat. I'm never good with change eventhough I deal with it all the time. I'm able to rationalize and move on, but I'm never the same on the inside. Time does heal most wounds. I believe that, but some scars are bigger than others, some scars will remind you constantly and take you back to a place and time that broke your heart. That's life, and the stuff it's made up of. You must be truthful with yourself, see things for what they are, and finally accept change. Remember the good times and be thankful for that. What else is there to do? Never take anything for granted. And always, always appreciate what you have. You never know when things may change. Take care. Later, Butch

On the road again. That's what Willie sang. Willie, now that's a trooper. Willie once said his only regret ever was when he toked a j in the middle of the night atop the roof of the White House. Seems Jimmy Carter had invited him, he snuck out in the wee hours and hit it from the roof of America. Says a friend shouldn't do that, that he'd put Jimmy in a bad spot if he'd been caught. Anyway, that's his only regret. Atta boy, Willie... and he wore plaid. So we're off on another adventure. Today we go to Jacksonville. Wonder what their cheerleaders are up to, or should I say in to? Manager Lady Karen (aka the British Bulldog) will mingle, mingle, mingle. We'll play a short set of our tastiest tunes, and hopefully, something'll come of it. If not, well, there's always the stories. And oh, the stories we could tell. Remember that old song? The Heatbreakers covered it on the live "Pack Up the Plantation". Speaking of packing up, I might've found a house. Imagine that! November has been one hotel room after another. I feel like a male prostitute, not that that's a bad thing. See you on Monday. Happy Vets Day, and thanks guys, you're the real heroes, not some idiot big mouth jackass millionaire football player. Whew, T.O. sure has alot of adjectives. Take care. Later, Butch

It's Nick Lachey's birthday. I know nobody really gives a crap (myself included), but it gives me the opportunity to ramble a bit as I've got nothin' else today. First off, he was with boy band/poor man's 'N Sync 98 Degrees till a cold front came in and ended their run. Then he married the incredibly stupid but totally hot-hot-hot, totaly hot Jessica Simpson. Did I mention that she's hot? She's so hot that I'd have to touch her with oven mitts as not to blister. Same with Pamela Anderson, but it's the hep C not the blisters that I'd worry about with that filth. Anyway, I was playing this 4th of July gig at the St. Pete Pier. I was in the back for the older folks, and Brooke Hogan and Ashlee Simpson (pre SNL) were in front for the screaming children. In the middle of a song I noticed Ashlee Simpson get out of a van out back away from the screamers. I spoke to her via the mic. First I introduced her to the old folks; we made eye contact and she smiled (sigh), then I said, "you're sister's hot!" Did I mention I think Jessica Simpson's hot? Well, her smile faded and she quickly went in a back door. My wife told me I was an asshole, and Polly (Jay's wife) said that that was possibly the worst thing you can say to a young girl. She doesn't want to hear about her sister when she's trying to get out there herself as a young and beautifully independent woman. Who knew? Happy b-day Nick. I know she's stupid and you got to put up with alot, but damn playa, your wife is hot! Take care. Later, Butch

Superstitions. I think deep down we all got some even though we know it's silly and irrational. I have my lucky socks. All "big" gigs MUST be done with these socks on. Any plane rides MUST be done with these socks on. I will not board the capsule of death without them. How did they become so lucky? They didn't. They just feel good on my feet. Remember the most important thing (according to infantry men in 'Nam) are your feet; keep'em clean and dry. The socks were a Secret Santa gift from a dude named Rob Thomas (no, not the Matchbox 20 guy). I liked them from the get go so I made'em lucky. I know they do absolutely nothing but feel good. Maybe that's enough. Who knows? It's all psycological anyway, right? I had the pleasure to share some beers with Hall of Famer Wade Boggs. Talk about superstions, his plaque at Cooperstown even mentions it. Infield practice at 3:16 for night games, must eat chicken everyday, will not drink any other beer than Miller Lite. I asked him about it. He smiled and said, "yeah, it's silly... but it got me into the Hall of Fame, didn't it?" Indeed it did, Boggsy, indeed it did. And so this weekend when we play for someone of some importance at an international showcase in Jacksonville, my feet will be sporting the Sox of Luck. Let the psycology of superstion run wild: Boggs' helped him to BASEBALL's ultimate achievement (he entered the Hall as a RedSOX player), the last "2" BASEBALL champions were the RedSOX and the WhiteSOX, and so I wear "2" SOX on my feet (one on each foot, of course). It all makes soooo much sense. Take care. Later, Butch

Sorry for the late blog. I'm pretty tired today. I know, same old story. I'm runnin' on about six hours sleep total for the entire weekend. Three straight days of local gigs mixed in with moving out really ate up all my sleep time. I'm looking forward to the upcoming road trip. Besides the music, I hope to catch up on my sleep. Something more interesting tomorrow, promise. Take care. Later, Butch

Back when I was an English major at the University of South Florida, I was taught that the most important thing in writing is theme. Even when writing fiction, and taking on a character and their point of view, you still need theme, and you must stay focused and true to that theme. In poetry classes I learned structure. I think if one looks at my songs both of these are very evident. I guess it's intuitive at this point. Unless the lyric is something close and personal, I look for character and theme. And even then, the structure is all there. Sometimes when I break away from the actual structure of the poetic lyric, I find it hard to memorize my own lyrics, and usually mess them up live. Therefore, I don't break this pattern very often. It works for me. As the band has stressed all original material, the need for breaks in the set, and me doing a few acoustic numbers alone, has grown. With this in mind, I set out to write a few tunes that would work well with only one guitar, one voice, and maybe a harmonica. Also, we'd been playing a little dive filled with rednecky types so I figured a "cowboy" song would be a good fit. I dove in with the theme of a nomadic love, one that not only follows geographic changes, but mood changes as well. As far as structure, I felt again that geography would help move along. The first four verses name actual states (that I have spent time in, by the way), the last sticks to the geography structure by naming topography. I think this song is a perfect example of my lyrical style, in theme, character, and structure.

"Two Gypsies"
There was somethin' 'bout California
Not sure what it was
Might've been in the air
Or the fault line's crooked bust

And there were things about Texas
Made it seem so mean
Maybe it was the climate
Or all the spaces in between

But I never worried, baby, 'bout us
We were two gypsies in love

When we got down to Florida
You seemed kind of scared
When the wind would start blowin'
With wicked rain in the air

And way out in Missouri
'Neath that concrete arch so tall
I felt a little lonesome
'cause we seemed rather small

Still I never worried, baby, 'bout us
We were two gypsies in love

Now the mountains are high
And the rivers run so long
And I'm here playin' my guitar
And singin' this tortured song

Wonderin' the whole time
Where you might be
Believing in the unknown
Forgettin' what I see

And I'm so confused, baby, 'bout us
We were two gypsies in love
But that was so long ago, we've turned to dust
We were two gypsies in love
Whatever happened to the gypsies in love?

Life is funny. Although it can be incredibly cruel at times, sometimes it causes things to happen so that you are reminded of what you have and can cope with all the day to day crap that in the end really doesn't mean much. This was my circumstance yesterday. Besides the busy schedule with the band (out of town road trips 2 out of the next 4 weeks), I'm dealing with the fact that I've sold my house, must be out in 8 days, and have not found a new house. Everything for three people in a 1700 square foot house and shed must be put into storage, along with a baby grand piano. The house my wife and I liked was sold to someone else. Within this moving/schedule nightmare, I received a notice from my 11 year old son's school that I should take him to the doctor, that he'd had signs of possible spine problems. I was blown away. My wife and I kept the severity of the situation from everyone. I think we both felt better not talking too much about it, hoping for the best. Not denile, but rather positive thinking. For anyone reading this who is a parent, I need not explain. For all others I only offer that once you are a parent, you would do ANYTHING for your child, ANYTHING. As I sat with him in the sterile environment of an x-ray lab, I tried to keep positve. Not knowing what the future may have for my boy's health was more than I could take. He was being his usual happy self. He's a great kid. Anyone who knows him will attest to that. I tried to keep my composure, play it off for both of us (and keep relaying info to my wife via cell phone; she was in a meeting at work). The tech called me over once the images were completed. There was my Ryno's spine, straight as Saturday night's set was long. I took in his info.
No spine problems, no curves. The relief overcame me like that sweet warmth that covers you after a hefty Crown Royal shot. In an instance my crazy schedule meant nothing, not having a new house and having to "hotel" it with the fam wasn't a big deal at all. I was as happy as my son was once I announced we were going for burgers, he and I, to laugh and goof off and enjoy what really matters, us. What a wonderful moment, what a wonderful life. Take care. Later, Butch

Six hours, five minutes. Three hundred and sixty five minutes. Over 75 songs. That was our one set list this past Saturday night. I don't think I've ever done anything, except sleep (and that's not happening lately as I'm STILL house hunting), for six staight hours non-stop. Hell, on road trips we stop to pee and gas up before six hours have passed. Thinking back, it seemed long, but not that long. If you sat down in front of your TV on a Sunday and watched 2 football games, back to back, from 1 to 7 pm, we'd still have you beat by 5 minutes. Wow! That was a long set. We'd done it before, but things have changed. That's not us anymore. We all agreed driving back in the van. We were all wiped out. It had it's moments but enough's enough. It's time to focus squarely on originals. Six plus hours of music (a third being original) is just not us anymore. As Tom Petty once sang, "It's time to move on, time to get goin', what lies ahead I have no way of knowin', but under my feet babe, grass is growin', it's time to move on, time to get goin'". Yep, it certainly is. Take care. Later, Butch