Oh Mississippi

Life is the river.

Life is the blues.

Life is the song.

Life is the soul.

Walking around the airport this summer I noticed I had about ten hours to spare on a layover in Memphis, Tennesse. So I ventured to ride A) Expensive Taxi B) Hitch Hike with a Local C) Hotel Shuttle to Downtown to experience the popular Beale Street. I called my friend Mrs. Lemay and she told all the things one should try to see. Do you ever feel like somethings just pull you towards it's grip as you just have to know whats on the other side? I felt that way that day. Luckily after failed attempts to find the right words in conversations with kind folk to hitch a ride I spotted the beautiful city bus with it's marvelous lights displaying "Downtown".

The taxi man before was relentless for $30 one way to Downtown. I declined and soon after found my one hour bus cruise to Downtown for about $2.50 cents. To top things off I didn't have change and I needed this bus. The bus driver looks at me like a young wandering traveler and reaches in his pocket. He pulls out the change I needed and I thanked him. I had no idea where exactly I was going, but I was excited. I spoke to a woman traveling on her own for a job transfer in Memphis, an elderly woman who said she couldn't possibly leave this place as she had tried before. As I started to feel uncertain I'd ever get there or know when to get off I neared by the driver. All the folk on the bus had gone and I was alone on this never ending bus trek. I did appreciate the length as the city was beautiful, different, and endearing as people called out greetings to the well-regarded man driving the bus. I laughed along with him with smiles and felt part of such a warm-place that I had no idea existed until I spent time there. You know the funny thing really is I was very much afraid that the bus driver would forget my stop or forget I was even in the big machine on his daily rounds.

He looked back at me pulling near the sidewalk on a very empty street where i'm sure it was not a proper stop and said "This is the closest I can get you to Beale Street" now listen he said "You need to get back to the bus depot around 5PM to catch the same bus back to the Airport"... I thanked him and I told myself somewhere inside my conscious soul that I would never forget him. I loved the way he looked at his city, his people, and his life as he held the steering wheel waving along all who passed him on the sidewalk.

It was about 11am as I walked the sleeping giant of life street named "Beale St." With me I carried my luggage bag on two-wheels that couldn't keep up with my stammering pace. I visited the Gibson Factory thank the good lord to allow me some "soul time" with some pretty wonderful instruments available to play, admire, and enjoy. The chords on a particular acoustic so sweet I had to pull out my camera to film it's tone and me the lucky participant to play her.

I knew I had to see live music, but it was way to early for the parties to ensue as I would leave before they even began. I heard a man playing blues guitar in a sort of courtyard alley of a club. I sat down, I yelled hello, we exchanged names. I followed with a drink of water a restaurant where a younger man was playing an amazing catalog of blues guitarist. I was kinda shocked and believe it or not I was moved by his age knowing so many historic players and their tunes. I started to think about how long he must have been playing for, how touring was going, or how he viewed his life.

I always reflected music to be a sound that is so beautiful that though it may be unheard of may also very well be caught by the wind itself and discovered by another. Thus the music should and shall never stop.

Times was running thin. My shirt was soaked in humidity, but I didn't care much that I probably looked like an exhausted child with a luggage tailing down the many streets. My heart was on a mission and I just couldn't stop now. I reached the Peabody Hotel like my friend urged me too. Too fancy for my liking or look I hurried to the nearest elevator to the vert last floor. Apparently I couldn't find the roof top and so I spoke with the house keeper asking her where it was. She instructed me well and asked, "What room are you staying in?" I don't remember what I murmured to her, but I got away quickly.

I reached the roof-top of this grand standing hotel and peaked over it's edges. An enormous view that my eyes couldn't fix itself on and beyond what I was searching for I saw her... the Mississippi River. I was raised in the concrete, trashy, city stricken Los Angeles lifestyle as a kid. I had only read about this great river and the people who lived by it. My childhood, the photos of my mind, and books came to life. Is this planet larger than what books, dreams, or life can portray?

Everywhere I go I can imagine my life as a local there and how that would be? It's almost impossible to say you know, see, and experience it all in the manner like my Memphis buss driver whose been there his whole life. There is history rooted deeply within the soul, the city, and the heart of humanity. I guess what I'm saying is that though we may never be able to be at all places and in all things, our influential handshakes share maybe just a glimpse of a life we may admire.

I had about two hours left and visited a ghostly ironic experience stumbling up the motel where Martin Luther King Jr. was killed. It had always been on my mind through the studies in school and movies watched, but to be in front of the depicted history location was very erie. I felt fortunate, but also accomplished on this journey being that I could have stayed at the airport or have relived hidden childhood dreams with new stories to add to my life's library.

I got a quick philly cheese steak in the middle of all this and would never forget the honest teller's opinion of their food as I asked "Is this really the best philly cheese steak around?" and he said, "Well, We're one of the best. Out of five, I'd say we're number three, but we still have a great food". So I sat down and ate there.

I hurried back the empty streets to the bus depot passing through a park with an Elvis Statue. I rode the trolley down the street to give me a little more patience not disown my luggage bag. I wasn't very sure of what bus I needed to catch and that I wouldn't miss it. Possibly four to five local people watched out for me with guidance and finally the bus came. As always it was decently filled until time passed and I was alone once again on this bus. I put my travel friendly bag on the next seat to me and finally felt happy about keeping her with me as she served a great pillow. The sun coming down I fell asleep on this bus as I awoke almost five minutes before reaching the airport.

I sat up. Wiped the wrinkles of my face. Took a deep breathe and wondered Lord "What a crazy day". I thought about how lonely one can be when traveling, but that across every turn or step there is someone or something waiting for you. I know we speak of a troublesome world often or of a hardened life we've been been left with.

But all I can do now is think of that river.

The river of love.

The river of hope.

The river of life.

I think we're all walking by it in someway or somehow.

Maybe people are grace. Maybe music is like heaven gates. Maybe God resembles some of the good people we meet.

I think we are a collective effort of his glory. If you don't believe that, I'm sure from a larger perspective we make an amazing portrait of rich history, music, and love.

You can't have it all, but you can surely enjoy it with what you do have when you can.

-The Wanderer

p.s. Listen to Lissie "Oh Mississippi" that inspired this blog, memory, and feeling.

Sunshine

"How many sunrises have you seen from this perspective?"

"Do you remember?"

"Ha ha... Yea now I remember"

Memories are so sweet when you find the treasures in them like the ones you could never have proposed for yourself, the true gems of life. Do you ever sit in the habitual passenger seat in a car, plane, or next to the window glass to stare just right at the rays of sunlight as it tells you how much eye contact you can really make until hurts. There is something about these consistencies in life that are universal in all parts of the world and that are written in time.

We celebrated our Seven Year Anniversary Show at a local rock club in Anaheim, CA where we grew up admiring our favorite bands at the time. What we didn't know was that we'd be playing there and let alone having one of the most unforgettable nights there. I guess when you're in a band it's good to reminisce on the past as not every moment is repeatable.

I think when you're living life on the line you can't really replicate it and if you can sometimes it's really the one time deals that are most unique. To every moment his own, but i'm afraid that we've really outgrown our shoes since our first summer together.

What I can't seem to forget are the sunrises to sunsets at every truck stop, airport, country, beach, hotel windows we pass through. How you felt at the time or what you were doing then. Tattoos that mark time signatures on skin. The moments where our guitars seem like they don't want to rock in humid Cancun, Mexico or Goldy's big fall at our first big show in Honolulu, Oahu. The 26 hour drive to Montana to play for six kids or sleeping at the airport in Bangkok, Thailand. You lose sight of it all, but you can't forget the faces. The kids in Puerto Barrios, Guatemala that held our hands so innocently. Illness's on the road that couldn't keep Gil on the bench(Broken ribs, colds, sore throats, can't get up disease, etc.) The old SH T-shirts, demos, posters in rooms that we may never see again. So much happens beyond our understanding or appreciation. The surprising little kids that grow up and come to our shows who are now college bound. You find letters, drawings, or gifts that you can't help, but remind yourself of how fortunate you really are to have been alive then and now. The amount of love and respect you may receive somedays should always be just a little bit more of the kind that I believe we should share in return.

Memories remind us of a dream once lived in time over and over again. The dream never ends, but always begins. At every turn we get a new street, a new pavement, and a new city. One thing is sure that whether it's today, tomorrow, or yesterday the sunshine will always be on time and feel the same.

Warm, Strong, and Illuminating.

-Mani Sandoval

Blowin' In The Wind

"How many roads must a man walk down before you call him a man"

I've consistently been searching for more than what I can give electrically lately on the guitar. So I've picked up an old twelve string acoustic and popped in some of Bob Dylan's tunes in the car. It's very interesting to me to also hear the many interviews and the honesty in a lot of artists stories. Humble anecdotes of hitching rides on freight trains, lack of acceptance, and loss on the road to their dreams.

It's obvious that in America as i'm sure in the many parts of the world the struggle for work or opportunity seems really dull for many hard-workers. From my own family to my favorite bands growing up have been hit by these changing times.

I've read many blogs of bands slowing down for the lack of financial stability and show opportunities. I've also known the lack of words when it comes to my family and friends who have endured tough seasons of losing their work and loved ones. I look into our history and my own hope to consider these,

No real journey is worth telling if there weren't any rough moments to build from. I guess life hits you in the face it causes you to "feel" and to react. Some days we may go without the title, our needs, or the love we desired/cherished so much, but there is a reason for everything even when I hate to admit it there is. If you believe in fate well i'm sure there is something you can learn from the moments you can't take back or live again.

I find hope in having a voice. One that if spoken softly in the midst of the night may be heard. Somewhere within lives the words my mother always optimistically smirked on the days where there wasn't much of anything to make it enough,

"No temos de otra"

Sometime's we have nothing else to consider, but that this simply isn't where it ends.

-The Old Soul

The Bike Bandit

I've equated bike riding at midnight to a lot good vibes music gives you.  If you roam the streets on Marquart in La Mirada, California at 12:00am you'll find that there's this very vibrant erie feeling that attracts a good ride on a bike accompanied by some solid music to give you soundtrack. There are the street lights that shine the road ahead, but truly what inspires me to come back every night is the sense that you never know how beautiful something really is until you plunge out of bed and discover some of most exciting features that are really closer to normal than abnormal.

If you turn onto this street it feels like a deserted two lane street, but if you really look with heart you will find that the whole street down to the park and up it's hill is lit up by a strong row of dozens candle lit poles. The only other fascination of an explanation I can use to describe it is Disneyland or some amazing dock/pier lighting I picture in my dreams about a london photograph at night.

I have to say the most exciting part besides my extreme imaginations is the ride down this hill where the world is silent and you are speeding down this runway. You start slow and you speed until you grip the handle bars cause you are going faster than you can even pedal. Then the sudden thought comes... 

Let's ride in the middle of the road. How about we swerve to the right and the left lane like we own the street. Why not?

I imagined that some of life's high points musically must be the ones where we clash between how hard we can work vs. how much we enjoy the ride on this current that we ourselves cannot control. Maybe it's what we can't control that bring us thrill or it's maybe it's the trust we put in the moments that bring us glory.

Life is cause and effect... but it's also sprinkled with grace. So if you are ever in the time of day where you can't find that freedom or outlet. Try a bike ride when the worlds asleep with a little of your most enjoyed music and find liberation knowing that sometimes the things we can control are far more rewarding than the things we can't. 

-Bike Bandit

Nature

It's been quite the trialing season for many.
I can't ignore that I'm one to complain in these moments.
Yes I am one of many who take for granted all that we should keep.
I often think of immigration. Not much politics. A lot about religion and faith.
One thing is certain that our nature is an important piece of information.
I've noticed over the years more and more of who I am in this inner manner.
Much of it I'm afraid to admit I'm not always so proud of. I can add that though it makes me feel small I know it's also all relative to one of a billion people who may also feel the same. Music is much that cap that seals my cup. I do understand that though my heart, body, and soul revolves around this magical power it doesn't always seem so inviting when it lives in you. For my sake I mention that though I'm not hungry I know that I will be hungry regardless of how I feel as it is my nature that I too will grow famished in time without the right food.

Music, passions, dreams, and faith I believe may just be the same. I know there has to be something implanted in the human DNA that causes the urge to understand all that is misunderstood. We are indeed curious beings who search and voyage on this ambition.

Personally, I run from music... maybe more so break from it though I can't really do just about anything without listening to "music" and letting it get my sadness, joy, or the "led" out as we say through my day. What I mean is I let myself take-in more than I give out.

Growing up I was always taught respect, good measure, and precaucion.
Honesty is a big part of any one person lifestyle and though I sometimes make excuses for the things I feel are correct the truth may be otherwise.

I sometime's believe that breaking or taking time off from the many sorts of outlets our souls strive on is at moments that way back to the light. I noticed that a life, song, or a faith gesture well-planned out or fabricated isn't quite as rich or real as when you leave it all up to pure heart-motives where you abandon all hope to your art, faith, and dreams.

I believe knowing ourselves is probably half the journey.
I'm always afraid to lose my mind, to lose my faith, to lose my heart.
But truly you can't lose what you aren't willing to give up.

Though we are in nature the way we appear or believe to be.
Nature gives you tools, but I ultimately always cling to the words a woman once spoke to me.

In my heart it penetrates and bounces around like an echo in a cave as in my own interpretation she made me understand that:

Free-will is one of God's greatest gift to us.

Though all sorts of question, decisions, beliefs in all forms around the world we disagree on. I always dreamed of something pretty insane.

If we could listen maybe we could change.

I'm in line for some change myself. I've accepted that my nature is very musical and faith driven, but it doesn't mean that I too can't sharpen the dull blades that I use everyday through faults, failures, and doubts. I know that all of our heads put together are smarter than one, but truly I hope that true openess in the forms of truth within us, our beliefs, and families are worth that effort.

My love and prayers are always with a world, a people, and a heart that is in need.

-Emanuel