Before I become a touring singer-songwriter, I was a drummer and percussionist for many years.
I marched in high school band, and in the summers with a local drum and bugle corps. I later became a private drum teacher and a drum line instructor for drum corps and several high school bands. In college, I wrote a massive term paper on the history of Ottoman percussion and its influence on modern classical percussion (for you academia freaks, it got published in a peer review journal, which I guess doesn't generally happen with undergraduate papers); and studied the history of military music just for fun.
After a bicycle collision ended my classical percussion career, I switched to guitar and became the musician many of you know me as today.

But over the last twenty years since that bike crash, I've never completely stopped playing drums.
I've always had at least a practice pad and some sticks laying around, which I'd pick up from time to time because the muscle memory felt good, reassuring; and I didn't want to lose it entirely. I continued to keep up my chops when I could. I played for a season with a community concert band (their schedule and the cost of membership made it impossible to stay, but it was fun while it lasted.)
I reached for my sticks and pad more and more and it felt good to just play.
(Video, above: "Modern Syncopation" from the NARD Solo Book, one of the first solos I learned in high school. I still have that book and still like to work out of it from time to time.)

I've never stopped loving marching percussion. In the ensuing years since my crash, I've continued to follow competitive drum corps as a fan and have picked up my sticks and pad more and more, just because it's been a kind of comfort food for my hands and because I love the sound of a marching drumline.

So when friends invited me to join a community band -- "there are no drum charts, just show up and lay down some tasty beats, you'll know a lot of the tunes already" -- I couldn't say no. I had a marching snare drum, I had sticks and I could still play a passable long roll. So last night I joined the Unpresidented Brass Band for a neighborhood block party and greenspace dedication. It was, in short, a blast. And for so small an ensemble, these guys know how to jam. After a few nervous, flubbed notes, I fit right in, and felt very welcomed. I can't wait to play with them again.

Only here's the thing. This band has a mission to play not only at warm and fuzzy community events and get-out-the-vote rallies. The Unpresidented Brass band also plays at demonstrations. That's why it was originally founded. And Portland, as some of you know, has a reputation as a hard-lefty protest town. Back in the dark ages when then-Vice President Dan Quayle came to speak at the Benson Hotel, he was greeted by hundreds of protestors, who were so loud in their expressions of displeasure that the police began calling Portland "Little Beirut" -- a nickmane that has stuck.

Now, with the rise of the violent alt-Right and repeated visits to Portland and other liberal West Coast cities by groups like Patriot Prayer and the Proud Boys, the protests have turned threatening, violent and ugly. UBB played at a Patriot Prayer rally in June, acting as a peaceful alternative to the violence between the alt-Right and the radical-left Antifa groups where were there, ostensibly, to beat each other up. And while there were definitely violent scuffles and arrests, a number of folks who had come to protest peacefully said they appreciated the band's presence and its ability to keep things calmer.

I admit that appeals to me. A lot.

On the other hand, I also know that there's risk in attending protests, especially now that the corners are so sharply delinated and the "leaders" of each extreme are given to violence.
There's another Patriot Prayer/Proud Boys rally schedule next weekend in Portland. The band plans to play. I've been told repeatedly that there is absolutely NO pressure on me to join them; every member of the band gets to decide their own safety parameters for themselves and there is NO judgment either way.
I know that my Sweetie would prefer I sit out the next performance, situated as it will be near this rally. But a part of me -- a BIG part of me -- wants to go and make music in the name of waging peace.

Drums were once instruments of war. Intricate signals were developed that were used to sound changes on formation and/or a fighting battalion's position. These signals later became the rudiments -- the "drummer's scales" used to this day by students learning how to play snare drum. I studied these rudiments as a kid, and later learned about their military origins. While I understand that four hundred years ago drums were instruments of war, what if today they can be instruments of peace, joining with other instruments to make a beautiful cacophony of sound that encourages people not to fight, but instead to dance in the streets?

So I'm torn. I'm afraid of the potential for getting hurt, or arrested. But I also want to wage peace with music, and playing with this band has raised my spirits so much that the idea of playing again with them is high on my thinking radar today.
I'll need to decide one way or another very soon.
Meanwhile, I hope you'll enjoy this little bit of sonic happiness from last night's garden party.

(Video, below: courtesy of Andrine De La Rocha.)

When I look back on the three albums I self-produced and crowdfunded, I have to stop sometimes and ask myself, Did I really do all that?
Because, with the exception of a couple of cover songs on the first album, everything else I wrote is original.
It's not all equally good or equally important, but it's all stuff I wrote.
And when I stop and think about that it does two things:
First, it sort of blows my mind.
Second, it reminds me that, no matter what struggles I deal with on any given day, I am truly blessed to be called to do this creative work.

And so my thoughts have recently turned to making another album of original songs.

So, in the interest of thinking out loud, I'm going to share my thought processes with you over the next several posts. Because I think it might be interesting to let you in on what I'm thinking, and how this particular singer-songwriter goes about bringing all the little bits together into an album.

Today's thought: How much should an album cost to make?
In the grand scheme of things, my making another album won't change the world. It won't bring about world peace or restore jobs and homes to everyone who's lost them due to economic greed or war or whatever else. It certainly won't make me rich, or even financially stable.
But making albums is a way for me to get my songs out there, to be heard and shared and absorbed by people. And for some reason I can't quite articulate, that really matters to me.

In the world of Jewish contemporary music, my albums are small potatoes, both in the making and in the selling. My last album,  Sliver In The Sky, took three months of focused rehearsal, two days to record in the studio, and about $4,000 to make. It was just me, singing and playing guitar and laying down a couple of percussion tracks.
By contrast, the last four crowdfunding campaigns of other Jewish artists, raised an average of $10,000 to 20,000 each, for recordings ranging from a four-song EP to a ten-song album. Those albums had producers, paid musicians, and recording and mastering processes that took weeks, not days.

There is, I admit, a part of me that would like to experiment with a more thickly-textured recording. But the larger part of me rebels against the idea that music should be so expensive to create, record and distribute.
Let's face it, I chose a genre that's really, really small, I don't sell a ton of recordings, and in the end I give about 1/3 to 1/2 of my recordings away -- to radio stations, small havurot (communities) without much money, and young artists just starting out who need encouragement. I also accept that I live in a post-copyright world and so I don't bother spending money I don't have to join groups like ASCAP or BMI, because how on earth would I benefit from membership in those organizations when my market is so niche-y?
I'm not upset about any of this. In fact, I sort of like that I've managed to get my songs out into the world without mortgaging my life away in the process. But last year at a Jewish conference, when I was given a half a table from which to sell my recordings and other items, another artist came to me, saw what I was charging per CD, and told me I was undercutting everyone else. "The going rate we all sort of agree upon is [X], " I was informed. I took a deep breath, and responded politely that I would not raise my prices, because my CD didn't cost a lot to make and I saw no reason to gouge my fans to make up a difference I had not spent. I later found out that this artist had spent upwards of four times as much to make their latest five-song EP, not even a full-length album. But they made a choice, and so did I.

Do I want to change what I'm doing and make a more elaborately produced album this time around? Mostly NO, but I am also paying attention to the little part of me that says Maybe. Because even if I go with my gut, that little voice might have something to teach me, and that's always worth paying some attention.

I welcome your thoughts. Just drop me a line over at my COMMENTS page. And thanks.

Here's an update for what's in the works from now through December 2018.

In July and August, I'm mostly playing out in Portland, at jams and open mics as my schedule allows, while I turn wrenches a few mornings a week at the nonprofit Bikes4Humanity-PDX. My go-tos include Wednesday nights at EastBurn and Sunday nights at The 1905, both on Portland's east side. Occasionally I may also sit in with the folks at Ladd's Circle for an open old-time/bluegrass jam as weather permits.

All of this takes a back seat, of course, to preparing for the High Holy Days. I'm blessed to serve Congregation Beth Hatikvah in Bremerton, WA as cantorial soloist again this year; I'll be composing some new liturgical settings for them as well.
In October I'm off to Ashland, OR to enjoy the closing weekend of the Shakespeare Festival; while I'm there I'm hoping to also play out a little bit during late night. Stay tuned as I'm working on this right now.

I am THRILLED to report that, as of yesterday, I have now filled ALL the spots on my upcoming Florida Tour!
Beginning in Palm Coast and making my way south via Orlando, West Palm Beach and Boca Raton, I'm bringing my music to Shabbat services, house concerts and a special visit to the first ever Limmud-Boca!
More later, as I continue to fill in dates all the way through to July 2019! Stay tuned, and thanks for supporting Jewish Music Made By Hand!

Working all the time is one of the great dangers of being a freelancer. You think you have to work all the time, or at odd hours of the day and night, because you've been taught that this is the honorable way, the RIGHT way, to earn a living. You've had it drilled into your head and heart that, by eschewing the 9-to-5 path and choosing to work for yourself, you must work twice as hard and three times as long. Consider it part of your penance, society insists, for being independent.
As a seventh-grader, I read a short story called "Junius Maltby," by John Steinbeck. To say it altered my views on the nature of work would be an understatement. Combined with watching my father work eighty hours a week at a job he never really loved, it showed me a different path.
Humans are not meant to work so long and hard all the time. Reeducating myself has been and remains a struggle. Every time I take a moment's leisure -- to nap, to daydream, or to play music for no other reason but pure pleasure -- I must fight the societally imposed guilt that pops up.
So today, I dared to set aside the unrealistic work ethic for a few moments to play music of no great consequence, just because the feel of wood drumsticks playing open, timed diddles on a deliciously resonant practice pad was so marvelous.
May the coming weekend give us all a chance to do something for no other reason than pure pleasure and renewal.
Happy Friday and Shabbat Shalom.

Happy Summer!
Now that I'm home until High Holy Days, a major focus of mine will be working with synagogues I've scheduled visits to in the coming year to talk about writing a new song for each one. This can be a setting of liturgical text; or it can be a totally original song. This has become a fast-growing part of my work as a touring Jewish artist, and I could not be more excited as it combines my love of songwriting with my love of teaching.

Below are some examples of songs I've helped create in some kind of collaboration with various communities. If this looks like something you'd like to explore with me, and perhaps build an artist-in-residence weekend around -- let me know soon so we can add it to the calendar.

Below, in order:
1. Let's Come Together (Temple Sinai, Houston TX)
2. Happy Are We/Ashrei (Temple Beth Tikvah, Roswell GA)
3. Where In The World (Machane Jehudah day camp, Overland Park KS)

Tomorrow is the last day of Machane Jehudah Camp for this year. For the last two weeks, we've taken campers on a journey through the history of ancient and modern Israel, using experiential and informal education, art, music, theater and even sports to help teach the story of the Jewish people.
It's been wild and crazy at times, but overall the kids had a great time, growing in knowledge and spirit every day.
A week ago I could barely hear them singing during lunchtime ruach. Today they carried the melodies themselves and danced with delight.
This Shabbat will also mark the end of my sixth -- and final -- Incredible June, the ast summer I'll serve MJ Camp as Spiritual Life DIrector and Music Specialist. I've had an amazing time, but I am ready to let a younger person take on these tasks. I hope to be able to return to B'nai Jehudah now and then as a Shabbat guest artist and guest educator over long weekends, but this is my last full-on camp trip with this sweet community.

I am grateful for all that I've learned from my colleagues and especially from the campers. And I know that I will treasure the memories of my time working at the best Jewish day camp in the universe for a long time to come.

Thanks, MJ Camp! It's been an amazing ride.

On the surface, I wrote this song in a couple of days. In reality, it took me over forty-five years to write it. I had to live long enough and learn enough and be in the world long enough to lose my way and find it again, to cut through everyone else's noise and give voice to the fifth-grader who couldn't understand why the conflict between Israeli Jews and Arabs never stopped. Could never stop. Getting back to what I believed when I was ten, in that awful fall of 1973, required me to put aside the rhetoric, the extreme polarization of both sides and a sense of nationalism that I was not raised with and which I realized I could not pretend a strong emotional attachment to.

(Having just written that statement, I realize I may not be welcomed into any Israel-centric circle on the right or left. That's okay. I'm an Oregonian, which is like being a 4-year-old Libertarian; we're not joiners, preferring to go our own way.)

So I took my own winding way back to who I was and realized that I still feel the same way. I believe with all my heart that if we don't put down our weapons and our indignation and start to listen to each other, we'll end up destroying the whole world. So I remain an idealist, someone who believes life is sacred enough to compel us all to choose peace. I will choose peace, for the rest of my life.
And here's the Israel song I finally wrote. If I don't write another, that will be okay.
Feel free to share as you like. And thanks for being patient.

For ages, friends have asked me, "when are you going to write a song about Israel?"
For a long time I didn't know how to respond.
I want you know I'm finally working on it.
I can't promise everyone will love it, but I can assure you it will come from the deepest honesty of my heart.
You're welcome.