Released from the ground
Sick spattered walls washed and the guilty
Sent away
Country boys living in jet seats
Uniforms and injuries
Rhythm pushes the drone through new landscapes
Somewhere a troll charges toll
How we earn a whole new world
Subscribe,ransom, set up the pashas tent
Pick a muddy field, a closet, a men’s room
All these jobs posing as something else
Games are anything but
Jobs are anything but
Creating something with unseen goals
Employed to do one thing, making art on the side
Historians in stage blacks, selling memories and memorabilia
Our experience becomes the R&D for others
And the weaning process for our own future
Out the window, in the distance
The dancing lights of the lampago de catatumbo
Far off in time and space
Another planet, another heart
A soft silent sigh of shared song
The toxic fumes of man, of earth, of woman
Fly over state of your own history
Toll paid, troll fed, what to make, what to make
25 years is time for many buildings, children grown
Cars junked, canals cleaned, new streets for art and traffic
Still here, still wondering
Still more than a few steps behind what moves me
The push, the pull, looking in the wrong direction
Often gets the ire and the occasional perfect shot
When not obsessing over happiness or self destruction
Still writing about the lights on the hills
And the sound of wind and surf
The lines cross again and again
The words wash up on the sand
Or fall from the sky blessed and undiscussed
The fleeting lesson probably something simple
I yam what I yam and that’s all that I yam
Can I be content with that and sleep
And dream
And dream.
I woke up this morning thinking about how loss changes with age in many ways. What was once unthinkable for a young person has become acceptable; the levels in between are interesting progressions from one end of the spectrum to the other. This is triggered by the news of Clarence Clemons passing away last evening, after a very serious stroke knocked him down one last time. The sense of loss was different from losing Danny or even my brother Sam. I think it is because of my own aging and actually having been in the process of grieving in the past 6 years or so.
I’m gonna elaborate a little on the first idea. As a child the thought of a friend or a relative being gone forever starts off as not even a possibility. You have forever and they are ten feet tall and bulletproof. As feelings and emotions develop the concept intensifies. Not only for those close to you but the odd connection to celebrity, an emotional closeness created by media or art. People are very different in how they process and carry these losses, bearing them like full-sized monuments tied to their backs or stuffing the grief inside, the venom oozing out of the person in other forms. This is not to say that the loss of a child, a sibling, a parent, a spouse is not a major and consuming thing; it can alter your whole life with or without some proper handling.
I often wondered what else people are grieving when they become immobilized by the loss of a celebrity or an outright stranger, their only connection through the TV or media outlet. I tend to vacillate between thinking I am partially sociopathic or they are drama hungry, feeding on the sadness like the thirsty drinking tears. Could the bond created by a single song or a repeated sequence of still photos from a tabloid news show make an authentic connection or does it represent something else? Marilyn Monroe,Elvis, John Lennon, Princess Di… they were big but became bigger with the death cults, martyrs for something missing in everyone’s everyday life. Better to focus on that than 100,000 unseen victims in a far off war or a second cousin withering away in a hospital room. The fear of being close to it, like you could catch it, easier to manage with the patron saints and their merchandise.
shot by Jo Lopez
As I approach 50 rapidly, the emails come more often and find myself thinking of Facebook as “Deathbook”, the speed and frequency of the obits increasing. I visit my parents and older relatives, hear stories of being sick for months, see the oxygen tanks, the slowing down. For those who suffer, often for a long time, the end is actually leaning more towards welcome than not. When I began working with the ESB in 2002, Clarence had physical ailments which required him to prepare mentally, physically and spiritually before every show. His knees, his hips, his back, they were all a mess. He was in pain so much of the time. The toll on that massive frame radiated off of him. It didn’t get any easier between then and the last-go-round. You could see that pain in his big beautiful eyes but very little would slip ungrateful from his lip in front of us. He was an incredible example of love and spirit persisting when the body had no business carrying on.
So, I guess this little post is about the path between denial and acceptance. Beginning with death not existing and ending with it being the only conclusion, the act of growing up and letting go of these temporal temporary bodies, it always has been what we made of the time between the beginning and the end. In the Middle Ages, Sunday was put aside for church and the idea that things would be better in the afterlife, because life was so hard for so many. Many philosophies focus on being in the moment, the act of finding “heaven on earth”. As a pretty typical human being shifting between the selfish “woe-is-me” headspace and the slivered moments of Eden found in a flower pushing through the concrete, time lately has been on my side.
I don’t want my friends to go but they’re gonna. I don’t want anyone to truly suffer but some will. Some defy the odds and others are struck down by space debris. Nobody gets out of here alive.
The lessons that those who have gone before left us are still here, good and bad. It’s our job to share them, keep the memories alive and hope that someone else gains something from these people who no longer walk the earth. Lessons about passion and sharing, selfishness and self-destruction, creating and destroying. Like road signs or myths, they can guide another generation to choose between doing something while they’re here or rushing headlong into the abyss, dragging the innocent along with them.
After the last breath, it’s up to those remaining to let go. What we let go of, well, is up to us. I hope that those who suffered in life are released once they cross the threshold. Perhaps the thought of that can give us peace even if we’re not in the Middle Ages. Perhaps we can find the grace to live a better life by holding the memory of our fallen Blood Brothers close to our hearts.
A few weeks ago my wife Angela won a pair of tickets to the Big Game. Even when recording a video for the company that gave them away, it couldn’t be referred to by name, just the Big Game or the Event. I’m surprised that NBC didn’t complain about that. The name is protected by the NFL in that there is a layer of promotion and advertising that occurs with and without it; they enforce this and have strict guidelines (as well as financial considerations) that must be followed.
Everyone knows that this Event is about money. Cities fight for hosting it, companies spend 3 million dollars for a 30 second spot on TV during the game and the price of everything goes up for the finale of the American football season. Tickets, parking, concessions, lodging, drinks and merch are more than the week before. As much as this sounds like corporations flexing their capitalistic muscle, it also plays into the very real passion of the sporting fan, their team, their community, their love for the game. It’s a perfect storm of greed and passion, played out on TV worldwide.
I know a thing or two about events, from town parks to stadiums. I’ve been working in the event business for 25 years in many different roles:stagehand, roadie, vendor, stage manager, production coordinator. I’ve also participated in 3 different Super Events in 3 different roles; in 2005 I worked for a band at a televised off site event, in 2009 I worked for another during the Halftime Show and this year in Arlington, I went as a crowd member.
I am somewhat jaded when it comes to events, as I have spent so long having All Access passes and not having to herd along with the Great Unwashed. You might find this ironic but as much time as I have spent in arenas and stadiums, I really dislike crowds. For me a backstage pass isn’t about getting somewhere else, it’s about getting away from the crowd. Spoiled as I am, I still go to events without anything other than a ticket and can have a good time.
There is so much that goes into making a good event. Execution does little good without planning. Advance work and the ability to make use of time before doors is key. As my friend Chopper showed me, a good advance leaves you with time to deal with the 200 or 300 things that happen every show day that are unanticipated by people at every level. A good production person is one who handles those audibles with a level head and a smile.
Others I’ve worked with are pioneers in the event industry who created the modern festival format, stadium security and video reenforcement. Without the basic infrastructure, the most simple acts can become a tragic error. Putting colored tape on the edge of the stage, lines on the floor to follow, barricade, proper staffing… they all go unnoticed but when missing can be a dangerous fault.
OK, what does all this have to do with the Super Bowl? (there, I said it) My experience yesterday began on friday when we went to pick up the tickets. This week in the DFW area has been extraordinary weather-wise, with an ice storm. freezing temperatures and a 4″ dusting on Friday. As these are things that are usually momentary here in North Texas, a week where all these special events are going on (many outside), you can see why the game is usually held in Florida or somewhere else that has a good chance of being safe from inclement weather. Dallas is usually pretty mild, but ice storms, cold snaps and some light snow are not unusual. They just don’t usually shut down the city for a week.
Friday Morning before the Super Bowl
Here they sand the roads a bit, especially the big bridges and overpasses on the freeways but rarely plow. In our town, until Saturday afternoon when the temperature finally got above freezing, the major streets were still rutted ice, from Monday. Schools were closed all week. Fed Ex wouldn’t deliver on our street for days because of the lack of roads being cleared.
When we went to pickup our tickets, there was a high sense of SNAFU going on. Though the contest had been going on for a month,the tickets were not delivered until way after business hours on Friday. We figured it was the company who put on the promotion or the brokers they used. Once we had them in hand I checked a chart and found that they were in the temporary seats constructed on the west end zone “party plaza”, a giant concrete slab that is filled with standing room only patrons during Cowboys games, nearly 30,000 can fit on both sides for a somewhat reasonable $29 a head. While there you can drink $10 beers and watch the big screen standing up. Of course you’ve already spent $70 to park your pickup, so, you’re well on your way to a $200 day anyway.
The NFL erected giant temporary bleachers on these plazas, above the end zones. The seats extended way above the giant video screens. This way they could fit 15,000 people into assigned seats; the venue was designed to be able to do this. It was not some last minute jury rigged fix.
Green and Gold
Angela and I left the house about 11am and drove to our new light rail station one mile from our house. The Super Bowl committee got the transit authorities of Dallas, Forth Worth and Arlington to band together for the event, issuing a $30 transit pass for 4 days which would work with all the systems in a nice sleeve and lanyard (which, at the Super Bowl, people wear multiple ones to show their elite status). We traveled south to catch the TRE (Trinity Railroad Express), the commuter train that runs from Dallas to Ft. Worth. At the mid-point, Centrepoint Station, busses waited to shuttle the remaining 7 miles to the stadium. We were dropped off at the nearby Rangers baseball park and joined the throng walking the half mile to Jerry’s House.
And a horse made of crackers...
For the Superbowl, the outer part of any stadium is rebuilt for the event, corrals for the endless media, segmented areas for corporate shmoozing and the slaughterhouse-like funnels for security and ticket scanning. What struck me first was the general lack of signage and the serpentine tapeworm layout for the general public. The mood was positive and the amount of bedecked fans from both sides was trippy.
When we got to the ticket scanning part, both of our barcodes created scrunched faces of the ushers and they announced to us we needed to go to “Resolutions”. Being over a month from New Years, I was concerned. No one was really sure where this was, just “down there, at the end”. Walking at a 90 degree angle of lunging football fans for a 1/4 mile we arrived to a pile of disgruntled patrons also labeled “Resolutions”. Information was not forthcoming from our keepers so we all compared notes and tickets and found that most of us were all in the same temporary seating area. Many of the people in our group came from the season ticket holder lottery on both the Pittsburgh and Green Bay sides. They won the chance to pay face value (another source tells me they mostly paid 3 to 4 times more than face value) and get their butts to Texas to see their teams compete.
As with most American crowds when money, sports and passion are involved, it didn’t take long to hear bitter raised voices. They just wanted to get in and see their team win the game. We were shuttled out of the cordon and to an NFL office where information was being given with an eye dropper. We were eventually told to go to the “Resolutions” area in Parking Lot A. After a time we found an unmarked 3-sided white party tent with 2 bare banquet tables and no people. Eventually a nice English gentleman from the NFL was thrown under our wheels to explain.
He said that there was a problem with the temporary seating we were supposed to be seated in, that they were trying to resolve it and that if they could not, they would pay up to three times the face value of the ticket to refund. This was not an acceptable answer for most of the crowd.We were then directed back to the security abattoir for another screening and then shipped into some plaza party area away from the TV cameras. There was talk of a $10 voucher but it never materialized. A second sheet of paper was handed to us explaining about the seating problem and putting the refund offer in writing. Patience was wearing thin. Most of us got into the security line between 11am and 1pm; it was now nearly 4pm, 90 minutes from kickoff.
Cursing in the chute
The crowd cursed. It cursed the NFL, it cursed the Cowboys but mainly it cursed Jerry Jones. Living in Dallas, the first makes sense, the second doesn’t and the third is a given. He’s not a hero to us either. A reporter found his way into our ranks and was passing our story out into the world. I tweeted and Facebooked. I suspected that there were a few groups of us around as this group didn’t equal 7000. We found ourselves pushed against a chain link fence, inches from the admitted public and about 100 feet from the outside of the stadium. While some drafted a class action suit and others quietly discussed the stupidity of it, others participated in a more traditional response, drunken yelling.
Build it and they will sit...
Around 4 an Arlington police officer walked through the crowd and told the security to open the gate. Apparently the fire marshall had signed off on the bleachers. Our gaggle cheered and staggered towards what we thought was an entrance (remember, signage is an issue). We found our way up to the rafters and the shiny aluminum seating. The outside staircases were still roped off with hazard tape and guarded by bored looking ushers but the interior stairs were clear. It looked save enough, compared to some I’ve seen; it can be a mess when it’s not…
Well, we got in. The section seemed pretty full but we didn’t see a lot of the people we were in line with. Since yesterday we’ve heard that 400 of the ticket holders were taken to the field level bars or bunkers which you can really just watch TV from. In the following photograph you’ll also see 2 (of 4) sections we spotted that looked temporary and were empty for the whole game. They appear to be big enough for about 100 people and would account for the ones below. A friend had his tickets in a section in the 300s (331 I think) which on the official chart is empty but was there during the game, without people.
note the 2 empty black areas on the third level...
So the game goes on, the crowd cheers, beers are spilt, Margaritas are sold for $19 and a team is crowned world champion in a league that is only played in one country. We get up and begin to depart, no signage to guide us (through scaffolding racks and road cases with thousands of others), a few false starts and backwards through the muddy tapeworm, back to the street. When we arrived back at Rangers Park, we find a line of people the length of the park waiting for the shuttle to the train station; there were no signs, we had to ask the least drunken person what it was. An hour in the light cold rain listening to smashed logic from visiting fans who have hated their Texan Super Bowl experience and we finally get on a bus which arrives in time for the last TRE trains heading to Dallas and Fort Worth at 11:30. I know it’s Sunday and North Texas, but it’s the Super Bowl! Is it because it’s a school night? We arrived at Victory to grab the last Green Line train home. We made it there, saw the game and got back but it was not a pleasant experience.
big fun in the attic
Ok, so we were inconvenienced for a while, were able to see our first Super Bowl from the seats we were assigned and got home safely. What could be done better in a place with the most ridiculous venue I’ve seen, far between the two city centers with a truly unpredictable weather history?
- Improve the Mass Transit options for an event this size. Get the info out. Super Bowl Week is a corporate junket for some, a bacchanal for some more and a grand sporting tradition for others. Why are there people taking cabs from Arlington to Denton? Why are they considering paying $300 to get from the game to Dallas through Waco in someone else’s van?
-Please, please,please rethink the layout of the infrastructure on the stadium grounds. The media area was positioned so that the stadium was the backdrop for all the reports but it made getting in and out of the venue a pain in the ass and potentially dangerous. Invest in some arrows, signs and people who know where the fuck things are.
-According to the NFL, they knew that seating was an issue during the week; why were they working on a fix until doors? The set up and inspection should have occurred days before, with or without the weather. I know how the Fire department loves to show up an hour before show time and ask you to change everything but doesn’t that mean the NFL should too?
-I know from experience that many people who work for the NFL don’t live in the game city and don’t know the area or the building. How about educating them before the public shows up?
-Please have Maroon 5 next year at Halftime; I want to watch their career end too.
after the loss
From talking to many life long fans and frequent Super Bowl patrons, the North Texas Super Bowl experience left a bad taste in their mouth. They were angry, felt ripped off and said they would never return to North Texas if it was held here again. I was embarrassed to be from here and see so many people so bitter about it. For the rich and the famous, these are all issues that will never touch them in the luxury boxes and their shrimp cocktails. The experience of sitting in the stands is like being in coach class with 100,000 people. Parking is like paying for 2 checked bags. Cowboys Stadium prices make you homesick for Heathrow. As much as this may be the facts of moving numbers in and out of a megadome, if the average joe don’t show up, the scallop sauté station isn’t long for the VIP area.
"the belt"
I hope the NFL looks at how this “Event” was handled and makes an effort to make their bread and butter feel a little more part of the team.
I’m not really sure if or why I want to write about my current recovery here. Perhaps as a way to update my friends and followers or maybe to help inform people about the process, either as a deterrent for bad habits or as positive motivation for others having to keep moving forward. A good deal of the warnings for bypass patients are split between sternal precautions (“don’t do this or you’ll look like a well-wacked piñata…”) and the emotional warnings (“you may feel depressed, cry without provocation or understand Journey lyrics for the very first time…”).
A great deal of my focus is on not overdoing it with lifting, bending, reaching, pulling, pushing, the petting of cats, dressing and the most frustrating, the opening of my Italian Moka-style coffee pot, which in true King Arthur/Excalibur fashion I offer to anyone who comes to the door to save me from the current percolated existence I am living. No one is the chosen one, yet. Thinking of calling strangers from the local gym, even steroid users.
I saw my surgeon for a follow up yesterday, the one stitch by my chest tube incision was removed and another stapled pile of papers was handed to me with more warnings and suggestions. Driving is out for a few more weeks. The 10 pound lifting limit is nearly 3 months and today it makes sense because I can feel what heavier things do to my chest clearly. I don’t want to threaten my healing in any way but the feeling of being totally unable to do those guy things (unload the groceries, shlep the Christmas tubs, cat wrangling) really does add to the bummer factor.
The real wildcard is the energy factor. You can wake feeling rested and in fact, better than you have in years with the exception of this post Alien chest binding. You begin to attack the day, doing light chores, going for walks, getting rid of a years clutter from your office and then you realize that your gas tank only holds ounces, not gallons at this point. You can push it but will pay in the end, often for a few days. I am doing my best to build my endurance back, in the short term with my goal of being able to do my job at the Super Bowl (more likely pointing a lot than lifting at all) and long term with better heart heath in general. I am looking at beginning actual cardio rehab next week to help me with my goal.
Well, I have to take on the physical side of my day right now (misty cold walk through the neighborhood) followed by the heavily enforced sissy nap (well, I won’t fight too hard). I’m gonna try to write more as I have no work based excuse and the more engaged I am here, the less isolated/negative I have a chance to to be (in theory). I need the outlet as the cats rarely laugh at my jokes.
Been procrastinating about writing this post for some reason. Maybe I was waiting for some insight or witty tag line to help me tie it all together. I have been running hard now for a little over 17 months or, if you want to be technical, maybe a while longer than that. My experience this fall working for Metallica was one of the highlights of my career and a great way to wrap up a good year of touring in a bad economic time.
I have spent most of my work life touring, usually taking care of the band or sidemen but very rarely the guy or gal down front. It’s a different kind of pressure. If you screw something up, the show often comes off the rails; no place to run no place to hide. I often catch myself playing “under speed”, a term used by pool players when you don’t play as good as you can to sucker in a mark and build up his confidence. Not wanting to take on the challenge or attention, I guess I have stuck to the shadows.
When I contacted my friend Arthur about working this fall, I wasn’t even sure which position I was looking at. I just wanted to work with my friend again and having learned that it was a temp job filling in for someone who had the job for years, I figured I could pull it off one way or the other.
It turned out to be taking care of guitars for James, the singer. I had inadvertently taken on a pretty good sized challenge. My fear was replaced by a drive to prep as much as possible and find a way to stay relaxed, believing in myself. Thanks to the crew, Chad (the guy I was filling in for) and James, I learned the set up and the songs. I tried to make my mistakes when it didn’t count and just focus on the details I needed to make his show smooth. I think my most valuable asset was that he was very clear in what he needed and what he wanted from me. You would be surprised how much of the difficulty of my job is either a lack of communication from a client or their belief in my ESP abilities. A relationship is a relationship and being clear without punishing the other is a really good way to get what you need.
The Metallica touring machine has a reputation as a steam rolling force of nature with a large show that can move fast, often with multiple systems and across continents. A number of well known production managers have held the job and the team has great pride in their ability to attack tough gigs and get it set up in time, safe and sound. There is always infighting between departments and individuals but it’s been a long time since I’ve been around such a team. Very refreshing.
My part of the tour turned out to be 14 shows, a casual few legs as the band decided to work one week on, one week off as a way to not get separated from their families and their sanity. It is a civilized way to go out and work hard and then recover. The show runs around 2 hours, filled with lasers, fire and riffs of doom. It requires a great deal of focus, especially as the backline guys all do some form of effects switching, actually having to hit the button at just the right time for different sounds as they run across the stage.
I returned from New Orleans for the Thanksgiving break, a little down as I was not going back and still struggling with a lingering cough and cold I had been fighting for weeks. I spent a great deal of the holiday week in bed. Last Sunday around lunchtime I felt like I was having integestion and it came back at breakfast on Monday. Concerned I went to a cardiologist on Tuesday and found that I had arterial blockages bad enough for a double bypass. One was about 70% blocked and the other front side one close to 100%. I was admitted and scheduled for a “Cabbage” (Corinary Artery Bypass Graft) on Thursday.
The procedure went really well and I got out of ICU Saturday morning 6am all tubes and lines pulled by noon Saturday. My progress has been helped by my age and being in relatively good shape. I have been up walking and doing breathing exercises since Friday and after getting cleaned up Saturday night I woke up Sunday morning saying “I feel good this morning” which I probably have not said in 20 years.
I was released Monday afternoon, 3 and a half days after double bypass surgery. It is truly amazing.
A few challenges exist as I try to regain my breathing volume and deal with the coughs that are part of the healing process which clear the cack out of my chest and require me to carry a pillow around to wrap against my chest to protect my cool new scar and keep the pain from knocking me over. In all, my discomfort has been minimal, some antinflammitories and 2 small pain pills a day have been doing the trick. For a roadie to be home for 6-12 weeks and be limited to lifting no more than 10 lbs. is looking like the hard part; patience is a new focus. The rehab of my breastbone and chest muscles as well as the new lifestyle I’ll need to lead will be the new focus.
The love and support of all my friends and family have made it easy so far. I feel blessed and truly lucky to have discovered this problem which in reality is mainly a hereditary one with midnight bus pizza thrown on top…. and a long stint of getting away from exercise. I hope all my friends go see the doctor after hearing my story and go for a walk.
As with most of my days since I’ve been home, I start out filled with energy and promise and then the reality of my situation is I am a bit winded and tired. I’ll keep getting stronger.
There has been an ongoing conversation the past few days over at Newsgang Live, a conference call/podcast that I sometimes participate in. I suspect it’s actually been going on since it’s inception earlier this year. When Steve Gillmor opened the doors to people outside the Gang (well, Calacanis did, but Steve always could have flipped the switch), this somewhat open source roundtable began to find its feet behind the Democratic primaries and Twitter. I have participated as my schedule allows and also done my best to listen whenever I can; I miss a few either way.
This group has begun to develop a voice of its own, distinct personalities and interest points that usually start around political news and end up either at an unexpected vista or in the weeds. The risk you take with an amorphous group and no clear format or topic is the chance for either the freedom to go wherever the group needs to go or total anarchy. Steve is good with making sure that his opinion is heard; some will use this as a starting off point or react to it like a magnet pole charged oppositely, compelled to go directly away from the point of contact.
Recently Steve has left the group to its own device, chiming in when either the ship starts taking water or lifting into the sky. The effect here has been both chaotic and strangely stimulating, others having to assume roles they either haven’t had to or didn’t want to. For the most part, everyone wants to talk about what they personally want to talk about. The political types are up on the latest news and angles; the tech types are watching the flow and looking for workarounds. The interesting part to me is those who are attracted to the intersection points, who, like Steve, see it all as one big organic organism that may be too big for anyone of us to see the connections or perhaps too simple for those of us who tend to complicate every equation.
I often expound my thoughts on how groups and group energy can be focused or wasted depending on either the effort or mutual release of control by the group. I work in a business where I see crowd control and crowd manipulation on a grand scale. The efforts to control a crowd for safety or efficiency often look futile; when the kids are released from the ticket line in order and told to walk orderly to the pit, they often ignore the security and each other, running with total abandon to secure the spot they want, that they feel they are entitled to, that they feel is threatened by the person behind them, often putting themselves in harms path. The container fills much like a bathtub, the low points filling first and leveling off as physics allows. In the time before the show, the crowd amuses itself with games, including chants, cheers and doing “the wave”, all requiring the ability to interact with others.
The next example is a little different. A good performer with charisma can make a crowd do things with a simple hand gesture, a funny look, an outrageous action. More often it is with words or a melody that the most powerful effect is reached, often songs that a group as a whole knows very well and has an emotional attachment to. The group moves as a single organism, sings together as a single voice, maybe not at pitch but remarkably close to either what their brain remembers from a recording or the reference of the sound coming from the speakers.
(physics) A quantity that denotes the ability to do work and is measured in a unit dimensioned in mass × distance²/time² (ML²/T²) or the equivalent.
What I now offer is a theory I have been playing with for a while to try to explain my own personal energy experience with work. Certain people have the ability to take groups and get them to direct their energy towards them in order to perform at a higher level. This is true with a good team leader or performer. With certain performers I find that I am twice as tired because they require intense focus from every one of us. When energy is processed properly, it can be a positive but draining experience. Sometimes if you don’t stay centered and allow the exhaust of the energy burning process to be removed, it can be toxic. Ask a massage therapist who does a poor job of releasing the tension they removed from a client.
The audience also feeds the performer. A better audience often inspires (fuels) a better performance. The energy fed to the performer is focused and redistributed to the crowd. The artist can either hog the energy or be free with it, making the experience more intense for the audience.
OK, where does this intersect with a podcast and micro communities?
(from Wikionary)
community
Group of people sharing a common understanding who reveal themselves by using the same language, manners, tradition and law. (see civilization).
Commune or residential/religious collective.
The condition of having certain attitudes and interests in common.
(Ecology) A group of interdependent organisms inhabiting the same region and interacting with each other.
I have personally experienced similar energy transmission within the web community. It may have not been as physical but was certainly just as visceral.
(from Wikionary)
visceral
Having to do with the response of the body as opposed to the intellect, as in the distinction between thinking and feeling. Often described as intuition; cf. gut feeling, gut reaction.
The people I have met with my connection to Newsgang Live are certainly intelligent and passionate about their interests. While some people become charged over elections, they are not all interested in the details. The same with Twitter and “social media”; I constantly get the dog-watching-a-card-trick face from very engaged and smart people. I know that among us are ADD, OCD and ADHD types who latch onto things hard or just to any bright shiny thing that catches the sun. Perhaps I’ve lived in a tour bus too long or in a city without many friends, but the community I’ve fallen into there is both stimulating and confounding.
Of all the people involved I’ve only met Steve and Tina; that was short and rushed in a work situation but you get a great sense of so much more from a face to face. That said, those I have not met, I still have a visceral connection to, the way we tumble the rocks put before us and find gems that pave the way forward. We are learning to listen as well as trying to clearly express the merging ideas in our heads. We get sidetracked but we seem to keep moving, perhaps some days away from where we’re headed, perhaps in circles, but we are moving.
I again wonder if we need to stand still and listen for answers, the difference between prayer and meditation, the act of group listening an action, not a defeat in a race to be heard or get the perfect spot on the barricade. This is not submission, it is surrender, an action, a choice to no longer fight the traffic and allow the chaff to fall around us, exposing what we’re looking for. Our actions will resume soon enough if I am right about the people involved but these moments of quiet are not only good but mandatory for me. We’ll find the words, the vocabulary, the questions and the answers…
(from Wikionary)
community
Group of people sharing a common understanding who reveal themselves by using the same language, manners, tradition and law. (see civilization).
Commune or residential/religious collective.
The condition of having certain attitudes and interests in common.
(Ecology) A group of interdependent organisms inhabiting the same region and interacting with each other.
