Pat B's Blog

Hey now

A quick update for those of you who still read this stuff.

I moved to Santa Cruz last month!  For those of you back in the midwest, it's about eighty miles south of San Francisco right on the central coast of California.  The locals describe this place as a "hella chill beach town with lots of gnarly people."  Translation - there are lots of surfers, hippies, bikers, and musicians, and anything goes here, it seems.  You don't have to wish that they all could be California girls, because they all are.  I live in a townhouse with two nice ones who I just recently met.  We're walking distance from the beach and the sun rises over the mountains to the east.  It's a truly stunning place and has a great vibe to it.  I'm soooooooo happy to be out of Man Jose.  That place was really starting to kill me.  So if you still haven't been out here to visit, now is the time.  I've got a great place for you to crash at.

I'm a little farther from San Francisco, but that hasn't discouraged me from playing my music up there, which by the way, has been going well.  Check out the Left Coasting page when you get a minute, I'm excited about the good energy and new songs we've been coming up with lately.  For a band that was sputtering for a while, we've found new life and keep on growing.

The music scene in Santa Cruz is really cool.  Lots of small venues that attract some great talent.  That's always a recipe for success.  I've already got a half dozen local shows to see on the calendar, so that's a good thing.  In the meantime, lazy days on the beach don't hurt anything either.

The song "Any Naked Eye" that was recently posted is from a show I did with The Collective, a little side project that was thrown together for a show in June.  June was a rough month for many friends in Detroit.  While I couldn't be there with them to mourn the loss of a friend, this show coincided with the memorial service for John, and I found the music getting me through yet another one of life's hard times.  It always has.  I trust it always will.  I wanted so badly to be home for some hugs.  And I wanted to be on stage with Doop at the Cityfest on the Fourth of July.  And I wanted to watch the fireworks in the Shores, but it wasn't in the cards with the airlines and with my job this year, so all of that has to stay on hold until next time I'm home.

Jack White (of the White Stripes and the Raconteurs) was born and raised in Detroit and left the scene for Nashville about two years ago, right when I moved West.  I'll leave you tonight with something he recently wrote about our hometown.

Courageous Dream's Concern, by Jack White

I have driven slow,
three miles an hour or so,
through Highland Park, Heidelberg, and the
Cass Corridor.
I've hopped on the Michigan,
and transferred to the Woodward,
and heard the good word blaring from an
a.m. radio.
I love the worn-through tracks of trolley
trains breaking through their
concrete vaults,
As I ride the Fort Street or the Baker,
just making my way home.

I sneak through an iron gate, and fish
rock bass out of the strait,
watching the mail boat with
its tugboat gait,
hauling words I'll never know.
The water letter carrier,
bringing prose to lonely sailors,
treading the big lakes with their trailers,
floats in blue green chopping waters,
above long-lost sunken failures,
awaiting exhumation iron whalers,
holding gold we'll never know.

I've slid on Belle Isle,
and rowed inside of it for miles.
Seeing white deer running alongside
While I glide, in a canoe.
I've walked down Caniff holding a glass
Atlas root beer bottle in my hands
And I've entered closets of coney islands
early in the morning too.
I've taken malt from Stroh's and Sanders,
felt the black powder of abandoned
embers,
And smelled the sawdust from wood cut
to rehabilitate the fallen edifice.
I've walked to the rhythm of mariachis,
down junctions and back alleys,
Breathing fresh-baked fumes of culture
nurtured of the Latin and the
Middle East.
I've fallen down on public ice,
and skated in my own delight,
and slid again on metal crutches
into trafficked avenues.

Three motors moved us forward,
Leaving smaller engines to wither,
the aluminum, and torpedo,
Monuments to unclaimed dreaming.
Foundry's piston tempest captured,
Forward pushing workers raptured,
Frescoed families strife fractured,
Encased by factory's glass ceiling.

Detroit, you hold what one's been seeking,
Holding off the coward-armies weakling,
Always rising from the ashes
not returning to the earth.

I so love your heart that burns
That in your people's body yearns
To perpetuate,
and permeate,
the lonely dream that does encapsulate,
Your spirit, that God insulates,
With courageous dream's concern.

Polish Jazz Guitarist,

Marek Blizinski

"His playing is characterised by a synthesis of focus and a unique selection of sounds. He never performs with the aim of showing off, in a manner where fingers are faster than thought; instead, he is always focused and seems to play for himself, without attempting to boast. It's probably this introvert approach to performing that makes him almost unnoticeable; there is only his music on the stage."

A tremendous description for a Blizinski - it's nice to know I share this bloodline.

You can read the full bio at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marek_Blizi%C5%84ski