(Phaysis)

If you’ve known me for long, you know that I really, really like the band Rush. Of the handful of arena shows I’ve been to, Rush has been the most frequent. I have all their studio albums, a stack of T-shirts, concert videos and a documentary or two. To say I am a fanatic is an understatement.

This week, among my internet friends and some sites I frequent, I’ve seen references to a lot of Rush stuff. A lot. Their current concert tour. A friend’s overview of their show this week in Dallas. An intimate interview with the band on Canada’s “Studio Q“. An interview with CNN before a show.  The full-blown documentary of the band released earlier this year. And in the news today is an article on the new Guitar Hero video game featuring the entire “2112″ suite (all 21 minutes), required to unlock a “Demi-God” to slay “The Beast” during the game’s Quest mode (how cool is that?). That’s a lot of Rush news.

These guys have been going at their thing for 40 years now, and that’s a huge achievement. But during most of that time, they’ve toiled in some level of obscurity. They have a gaggle of radio-friendly hits, but by and large their musical and lyrical content borders the fringe of what the mass culture is willing to accept. The main consumers of Rush music are the nerdier ones among us. That’s been the joke for a long while, but every joke has a thread of truth.

So, if they’ve been in the fringe for so long, enjoyed mostly by those who get their jollies on the weirder stuff, then why all the sudden press from the band?

Ah, yes, the press. Ever notice when disparate threads come together in your head and tie themselves together into a larger narrative? All the talk of the band this week reached a critical mass with me where it confessed the story of a band propelled back into the Limelight by a very skilled public relations firm whose sole job is to reestablish, in the public’s mind, the importance of their works and their worth to rock music at large.

I don’t need convincing, but apparently more outside people do. I can’t begrudge them that. If the Rolling Stones can keep going, selling out stadiums for more than $100 a pop (cheap seats), if U2 can still make an impact and elevate the people lucky enough to get a ticket to a show before it sells out in an hour, then why should Rush languish in the shadow? It’s noteworthy that the band even referenced these and other bands in their interviews, tying themselves and their career to the cannon of rock-and-roll. It’s a clever play.

The members have a certain level of humility in their interviews, and it’s somewhat refreshing to see a band of their caliber have that. But there’s also a subtle subtext of seeking recognition, of increasing the brand awareness, of getting the rewards they merit by sticking to it for so long. Of a band making a push to rocket into the stratosphere where the rock gods live. Of going out in a blaze of glory.

Our better natures seek elevation.
A refuge for the coming night.
No one gets to their heaven without a fight.

Bought a new UPS (Uninterruptible Power Supply) this weekend. The one that’s been powering my network equipment for the past 7 years crapped out on me Wednesday night. Not the first time it’s shut down unexpectedly.

Luckily, I was there to witness the shutdown this time (I was 2 minutes away from bed). A brownout made it trip, and since the battery was three years old, it just gave up. I put everything on a power strip, pulled the battery, and the next day picked up a replacement. After shoehorning it into the case, I plugged the backup into the wall and heard a distinct pop inside the case. Yes, I made the Magic Smoke. So, until I can have it looked at, my faith in the backup is gone. I returned the battery yesterday and picked up a new UPS.

Did some swapping with my other functioning UPS by installing the new one at my desk, and now my audio workstation in the bedroom has a UPS. What a relief. God forbid I’m working on a piece of music and the power goes out before I can save my changes.

Speaking of music, I picked up a decent mid-level studio mic a week ago. I’ve set it up, but I haven’t taken a chance to actually use it yet. I’m discovering how loud my walk-in closet (my makeshift isolation booth) actually is. It shares an outside wall with a busy neighborhood street. Another wall is shared with the neighbor. The third is a wet wall, so every time somebody showers, flushes, or runs a sink (which is often), the mic can pick it up. Plus the air conditioner is mere feet beyond the wall. So yeah, it’s noisy. I can find periods of relative quiet; the problem is that they’re later in the evening. And if I’m going to be singing loud enough to drown out the environment, I’ll probably be heard by the sleeping neighbors.

On second thought, they don’t give a damn about keeping quiet for me. So fuck ‘em.

The song I’ve been working on for the past two months (and now it’s starting to feel like work) is at a standstill. I’d like to say I’m taking a week-long break to chase some other projects. If I say it loud enough, I might believe it. I do enjoy doing it, elsewise I’d…stop. Hmm. Seriously though, it’s fun, but the writing part is rounding towards the end. Now it’s the recording and mixdown stage. Mixing sucks, and I suck at mixing. I think I need some skilled help. Y’know?

The problem I’m finding lately is that I’m trying to do too much by myself, and it’s setting me back. From my projects, to my hobbies, to my job, I keep attempting to keep it all hidden until it’s ready for the world, keep from having to bother anybody else with my problems. Nobody’s got my back, because I’ve not been calling for backup. And as a social creature among social creatures, that thinking is wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

I’m no Atlas; I don’t have the strength to keep carrying the weight of my world. I’d like to say that I’m a pragmatist instead of an idealist, but this way of doing things confesses my highly-principled view of my life. I’m trying to prove to the world that I’ve got the skills and ability to do things on my own better than everybody else. To sneak my activities into the shadows of attention and toil away in private until viola! I bring it out into the light and everybody goes, “Ooh! Aah!” That’s bullshit thinking.

The goal is not to prove myself by doing things the right way on my own. The goal is to get the goddamn things done.

I live in a big city and work at a big company; I’m surrounded by people who are experts in their field. All I have to do is ask and navigate the crowd until I find someone willing to help. I don’t have to carry the world alone.

I know you guys tune in for good news and true views. Instead, I’ve been putting out this emo dear-diary stuff, and I know you’re probably getting bored with it. I’m trying.

Thing is that I’ve hit a bad spell with my life, and I know things can get worse, but I know they can also go really, really right. If only I’d work for it. If only I’d make it happen. If only I’d put my fears aside and move forward.

If only.

I hope the Wheel will turn back around soon.

As much as I dislike The Eagles during their “country” period, this morning while listening to Johnny Cash’s cover of “Desperado”, I finally got it. This whole time, I’ve been disengaged from the song, ignoring the lyrics, pressing “next” or switching stations. It’s a painfully slow ballad. But as I ate breakfast, I let the song play, and the lyrics sank in.

The gist of the song is that you can’t go on for too long straddling the fence on finding a lifelong love. Comes a point in life where it gets so difficult to catch the one you want that it’s far better to get caught by the one you’re with. Settling, in a word. Let somebody love you before it’s too late.

The Queen of Hearts is always your best bet.

(Yeah, I just learned some wisdom from Glenn Fry and Don Henley. Dammit.)

It’s a Saturday night, and I feel the biggest urge to go to the coffeeshop and hang with my peeps. Go up, have something to sip on, feel the vibe of being a known face in a known crowd. Get a groove on and feel accepted by the company I keep.

But no matter what I try, that ain’t gonna happen.

See, the problem is that Epoch ain’t Mojo’s. Understand? The scene is completely different. Back during my Mojo’s heyday, I usually found myself surrounded by enough of the kind of people I appreciated, respected, wanted to be with. Even on the quiet nights, there was still a familiar face here and there.

But not so much at Epoch. Even though there are clumps of people there with familiar faces (old Mojo’s regulars notwithstanding), thing is that I find it difficult to want to be with these newer faces. Make sense? The taste, the consistency is far different, and for some reason, I just can’t think of myself asking names and seeking out their company. Y’know?

Maybe this is what getting older is leading me to: settling on a dwindling subset of my waning social life.

So, what do you people who’ve managed to move on do to keep your social circle fresh and growing?