One Fine Morning

I was up and astride my Cannondale Hybrid bicycle at 5:27 a.m. this morning. The air temperature was in the sixties; scattered clouds were being shoved about by stiff breezes. The Cannondale is a recent acquisition - my old Mongoose lived through one too many crashes, and it felt so heavy and clunky on the roads and bike trails. As its name implies, the Hybrid is a cross between a fat-tire mountain bike and a skinny tire road racer. It is still sturdy but not as heavy as the Mongoose. I can actually keep up with some of the Lycra-suited dandies on their $5,000 racers.

My goal on these rides is to sweat. I am not dawdling and gazing at the surroundings. But this morning was impossible to ignore. The cool air from the north chased away the summer humidity. The winds blew away the haze and smog. The clouds on the horizon amplified the light show as dawn broke. As I rode back south across the lakefront Northwestern campus, the towers of downtown Chicago were flashing in the light of the rising sun. It was all so clear, so clear.

There were an unusual number of bicyclists, runners and dog-walkers out early this morning. I saw lots of smiling faces, several friendly people called out to greet me as I whizzed by. I felt lifted up and encouraged. Strangers can still share their delight as they experience a fine morning - all is not lost, after all.

Demise of the One-Eyed Cat

If you dig into the archives of this blog back to December 20,2004, you will read about Jade, the one-eyed cat. This creature was dying slowly of Feline Infectious Peritonitis (FIP), but continued to be a friendly feline presence around the house. The vet told us that FIP would kill Jade quickly, but she kept on living. Jade had a special fondness for yogurt, hopping up on the kitchen counter to lick the yogurt cup after I finished my breakfast early each morning. My wonderful 13-year old daughter, Amanda, showered that cat with love and attention. I think that this helped to prolong her life.

Jade managed to sneak out of the house into the backyard a couple of weeks ago. She was happy in the yard - we let her out regularly. This time, she did not return. When cats feel death approaching, they often wander off to an isolated spot to face the reaper alone. This is what Jade did. Amanda was very upset and searched for the cat for days. We haven't found her. She is certianly dead, and I expect that her body is not going to be found. We have wild critters that wander through our leafy suburb at night, and the little cat's corpse probably ended up as a midnight snack.

Well. of course this event has been expected - FIP is always fatal - yet there remains a feeling of surprise and mystery to this ending. We won't have our anticipated cat burial in the backyard. Amanda has recovered from her grief, but we still feel unsettled.

Old Colleagues

From 1987 until the end of 1996, I was employed by a company called Heller Financial. Heller was one of the first commercial finance companies in the United States, founded in 1919 by a cantankerous curmudgeon named Walter Heller. The company went through many phases in its history, and shifted in a big way back in 1984 when the firm was sold to a large Japanese bank. The new owners had bought a "pig in a poke" and the company's problems were immense. New professionals were hired and the turnaround effort began. To make a long story short, the effort succceeded - eventually. The Japanese took the company public in 1998, and Heller was sold at a huge price to GE Capital in late 2001. During the last years, and especially after the sale to GE, many Hellerites jumped ship. Here in Chicago, there are dozens of organizations with former Heller folks in positions of responsibility. GE absorbed the Heller organization, discarded its name and brand and lost or fired almost all of the poeple.

A small group of Heller alumni had a fine idea. Since Heller was a seminal experience in the careers of so many people, perhaps there would be some interest in a reunion. The word went out, e-mails flew through cyber-space and the event occured on Thursday, August 11 at a two-story bar just north and west of the Loop. It was wild - probably 500 people crammed into the joint. All sorts of folks came to the reunion - from mail room staff to Group Presidents. It was equal parts nostalgia and networking. Many fermented beverages were consumed and many backs were slapped.

I have always found it interesting how work experiences augment, or even substitute, for family units in modern America. Heller was a corporation but it was also a social grouping and a collection of shared experiences that caused people to bond. I was sad when I left, and I am told there was basically a wake on the night before the company was officially sold to GE Capital. All of this merger and acquisition activity has a large emotional component, and the emotions live on for quite a while - they were on display at the Heller reunion last Thursday.

Junior Parker, SBII and Big Walter

Junior Parker has slipped into blues obscurity, dead now for 34 years. He came from Clarksdale, Mississippi - like so many other giants of the blues - and eventually died in Chicago of a brain tumor - he didn't live to see his 40th birthday.

JP was a singer and harmonica player. His motto was "I sing stories sad and true. I sing the blues and play harmonica. too. It is very funky." He had his first hits in the 50's, and was a bigger act than Bobby "Blue" Bland, for a while.

My friend and harmonica guru, Joe Filisko, burned a CD for me of some out-of-print Junior Parker tunes. Junior cut some great tracks during his heyday - "Funny How Time Slips Away" (I love his long conversation with his dog, Sam, between the verses); "I'd Rather Drink Muddy Water;" "I Done Got Over It." He was a calm, soulful, understated musician - a major contrast to other cats who were big blues men - Howlin' Wolf, Muddy Waters, et al.

Junior Parker's harmonica playing came from exposure to and lessons from Sonny Boy Williamson II (aka Rice Miller), an edgy dude who inspired legions of blues harp players, wannabees and posers. Sonny Boy II was out there - he stole another harmonica player's name, his vocals had a wierd, gargling thing going on during sustained notes; his harmonica snarled and spit at you. Late in his life, he toured England, where he was loved by British Blues crowd. This experience influenced him - he took to wearing a bowler hat and even effected an English accent at times.

I spent the early hours this Sunday morning on my back porch with my battered "A" Special 20 harmonica. (This is the harp that I sat on, which severely bent the cover plates. I pounded out the covers with a small ball peen hammer; I kind of like the way it looks now. It isn't very airtight, though). So I sat in the rocker on the porch and toiled away trying to perfect "Big Walter's Boogie," an intrumental tune that is a rite of passage for all blues harp players. Big Walter Horton was overshadowed by other blues musicians - he was even overshadowed by other harp players. This is ironic, since he was an amazing player - very innovative, and the tone he pulled from the little old harmonica was huge. "Big Walter Tone" is one of the many quests we blues harp players pursue. Big Walter gave tips to Little Walter Jacob and Sonny Boy Williamson II. He started recording before he was 10 years old. He had quirky musical tastes, often tossing in a cheerful version of "La Cucaracha" during his shows. He was a serious drinker. Bluesman to the core.

So I will keep plugging away at Big Walter's Boogie. I may never get it right, but it feels right to work it.

Traveling and Taxi Drivers

I have an adult son who is currently living in the Chama Valley region of northern New Mexico. I traveled from Chicago to see him recently. There is still lots of space in northern New Mexico. My son is living on an organic ranch near Los Ojos, a town that is 2 hours north of Santa Fe. He is in the middle of the boondocks, but my God, it is beautiful. He seems to love it.

I did a bit of business traveling right after my family trip. I ususally take a local cab to the airport from Evanston - Norshore Cab. It appears that all of the Norshore drivers are south Asian immigrants these days - from Pakistan or Bangaldesh. I hopped into a cab to Midway Airport on Tuesday evening and the gentleman behind the wheel was a very polite 50-something fellow from Karachi. We struggled through traffic for an hour - it was raining steadily that night, a blessed change form the persistent drought we have suffered this summer. While the rain was welcome, it turned into an annoyance for my driver. The roof of his weathered cab was not watertight, and a leak developed directly over his head. The poor guy was subject to an accelerating drip on his balding pate as we crawled toward the airport. It was a funny/sad sight. I gave him a big tip.

In Minneapolis, all of the Gold Star Cab drivers are Somalis. Minneapolis has the largest Somali community in the U.S. (Toronto has a slightly larger Somali population). Of course, Somalia is one of the most desperate places on our planet; Twin Cities is heaven to these folks. I caught a cab from the hotel at 6 a.m.; my driver was a lean, well-groomed fellow in a bright white shirt and dark trousers. The weather was cool and blessedly clear, and we small-talked about that. My driver was celebrating his seventh anniversary in the U.S. He projected optimism, and he had lots of questions about Chicago. He might be thinking about leaving Twin Cities for a new venue. I would think that the taxi business is more lucrative in Chicago...

Taxi drivers work hard and take home little disposable income. I tell all my friends to tip these folks generously - they need the dough. Driving a cab is the immigrant's profession - I rarely ride with a native-born American in a taxi these days. Driving a taxi is not a bad way for a relatively new U.S. resident to learn a lot about his community and his new country. It is an honorable path.

Think, Don't Feel

The quote of the day is from Horace Walpole, the 18th century British writer and literary critic: "Life is a tragedy to those who feel and a comedy to those who think." So I am trying to think, not feel, as I read about the ongoing mayhem. The suicide bombing of subways and doubledeckers in London, the suicide bomber who kills 100 Iraqis by detonating next to a gasoline tanker truck, the nice lady who blew herself and several others to Kingdom Come on the shuttle bus in Turkey - I need to think about this. I am having trouble finding the comedy in all of this.

I don't understand very many things. I don't even fully understand myself. When I get boggled, I try to take comfort in fatalism - I am not important; in fact, the human race is not that important in the grand scheme of things. This old earth was around for a long time before the first human appeared and is likely to be around a long time after the last human dies. If you think about this for a long time, small glimmers of humor begin to appear around the edges of our most tragic human events. I think this approach is behind Douglas Adams' "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" books. It can all end, our physical existence may cease yet there will be something that continues - perhaps we continue to participate in the world after we are gone. Perhaps humans will continue to participate in the galaxy when if and when we destroy our planet.

Independence Day

The recent long weekend began Friday night with a Mystery Band gig at my local blues bar. The Taste of Chicago was in full swing and lots of folks were out of town for the holiday, so the crowd was a little sparse. There were about 40 paying customers and 10 or so "comps." My beautiful wife and my two little girls came for part of the first set, which is smoke-free/family-friendly. The Mystery Band included Tom Crivello, a guitarist who never played with us before (Tony Palmer, my regular guitar man, had a death in the family and was forced to cancel). We were a little ragged at first with the new guy in the band, but it smoothed out after a few tunes. Tom is a great blues guitarist; we just had to get clicking. Playing the blues with unknown, but good, musicians is kinda like being with a new sex partner - you know how to do it, but you just haven't done it together, so there can be some minor missteps until you find the groove.

Sunday was a quiet day. Independence Day dawned with light showers - our first rain in ages. The vegetation in the Chicago area is dying from lack of precipitation. From May 20 through July 6, we have had less than one inch of rain in Chicago. This is the first time in the 135 years of recorded weather observations in Chicago that precipitation levels have been this low in late spring/early summer. This will be a bad year for Illiniois farmers.

As I was leaving the house for my bike ride on Monday morning, the telephone rang. It was my father-in-law, Gregorio. He was quite insistant that we come to his bungalow in Chicago (33rd and Ashland) for an Independence Day barbecue. His brother is visiting from Mexico - my wife's uncle. So we went and I met Lucadio, Gregorio's younger brother (Gregorio is 81, Lucadio is 80). Lucadio needs a walker to get around, and he seemed to be in pain. We took a look at his left leg and reeled back - it was red and swollen, from toes to thigh. My wife insisted on taking him to the emergency room at our hospital back in Evanston. The ER docs admitted him and hooked him up with IV's of powerful antibiotics. He is still there. I suspect that he could have lost the leg to the infection if it had gone untreated.

We had a wonderful dinner with our neighbors - Kim and Jean-Francoise. They are both porfessors at Northwestern and their brilliance would intimidate me if I thought about it. To close out the day, we watched "Taxi Driver" ("You talkin' to me?") the DVD player and walked down to the lake for the Evanston fireworks. We watched the show from a street near the lake, and the concussion from the fireworks explosions set off car alarms up and down the block. It was a collection of obnoxious sounds, but the visuals were good.

I like Independence Day. I am still a huge fan of the USA - its principles, the concepts behind the country, the intense energy of the place. We don't always live up to our principles, we make more than our fair share of mistakes, but we keep trying. I don't understand the "blame America first" philosophy, but I understand that in world affairs, we are everyone's problem and everyone's solution.

Bad Biking

When the weather warms up, I leave the confines of the YMCA and get my exercise via long bike rides. It is great to push the old Mongoose to maximum speed in the early morning. There are terrific bike paths along Lake Michigan in Evanston; I generally bike about 15 miles on weekday mornings; 20-30 on Saturdays and Sundays. I am no Lance Armstrong - I look like a dork on my 10-year old cheapie mountain bike, plain old shorts and a t-shirt (no tight Lycra for me, thank you). During my morning jaunts, I see "real" bikers on their $4,000 racers with clipless pedals wearing the full colors of a Tour de France team member. They whizz by me and snicker quietly.

I was banging away on Saturday and suddenly started to hear a clicking noise - one click for each spin of the wheels. I stopped and looked at my rear tire - somehow I managed to pick up a safety pin! My tire was hissing angrily. I turned back and rode it until the tire was totally flat, then walked the dog home. Lousy ride.

I repaired the tire and was back out slammin' it this morning. It was early and I was riding on the sidewalk to escape a section of bad road in Wilmette. There is one crook in the sidewalk that creates a little blind corner. I cruised around the corner, and met another bicyclist coming toward me rapidly. It was perfectly bad timing - there was no opportunity to avoid a wreck. We each had about 0.1 second to react. We collided and hit the ground in a tangle of arms, legs and bicycles. Since we fell on the grass, we weren't hurt badly - we weren't really going all that fast. But I bent the rim on my front tire. I tried to ride it home, slowly. This painful effort was terminated when my front tire exploded - a nasty sound it was, echoing like a rifle shot down Sheridan Road. So I had another long walk home. Bad biking this week thus far.

As I sat at my desk today, delayed reaction injuries began to appear - stiff neck, sore back, achy knees. I may let the bike sit in the garage for a week or so - go back to the stationary version at the Y. I have yet to blow a tire or have a wreck on the Lifecycle (but if anyone can do it, I can).

A Stupid Way to Die

Evanston, Illinois is a mixed up community. We got Masters of the Universe pouring out of Northwestern's Kellogg School of Management and down-market scufflers from the western neighborhood by the high school. Every once in a while, these two divergent communities intersect. At the intersection, in a bar called The Keg, there was an explosion early Sunday morning.

Hard to believe that some 18 year old ball-bouncer dodged the ID check and got into The Keg with his pop gun. Ah, The Keg never was too careful about checking ID's, so I shouldn't be surprised. After several drinks (I assume), this young punk decided to stand up to a 22-year old African American guy - an unwed father out for a late night party. Words led to blows, and the ball-bouncer pulled his gun and shot the unwed father to death. Yet another stupid murder in the good ol' USA - one kid dead and another kid lost. May God have mercy on their souls.

The deal went down while a crowd of richy rich white Kellogg grads were in the ol' Keg celebrating their matriculation into the high cognitive class of business achievers. They got to watch the bloody drama. Hey, this is a little piece of education that ain't available at the B-School, boyz and girlz. It is brutal down there at the lower rungs of the ladder. People die over diddly-squat - an insult, a sexual come-on directed at the wrong young woman. Learn your lessons, Kelloggers. These are the people in our American mass market. Makes me want to light a candle.

So here in Evanston, we have a new reality - young people drink, get stupid, and blow each other's brains out. What a nice suburb we have here!

Narcissistic Entitlement

The word "narcissism" comes from the character made famous by the Greek poet Ovid. We all remember Narcissus, who fell in love with his own reflection. In the story,a girl named Echo falls in love with Narcissus and gets rejected. The story makes it clear that Narcissus is only able to love himself and not others. Conversely, Echo completely loses herself in her love for Narcissus and has no sense of self at all - she just ends up repeating everything that she hears. At the end of the story, Narcissus tells Echo, "I would die before I give you power over me," and Echo responds, "I give you power over me." Both Narcissus and Echo die because their love is unattainable. Like many of the Greek myths, this story has "legs" due to its universal applicability - many of us cannot find a balance between ourselves and others.

"Narcissitic Entitlement" is a psychological term that has been around for a while. There are lots of people that bang through life with an inflated sense of personal entitlement - people that believe thier rights trump everyone else's rights, people who never apologize or concede anything. Folks afflicted with narcissitic entitlement are obsessed with collecting on all debts they feel that they are owed, and they are owed a lot by many people. People with narcissitic entiltlement syndrome never forgive and never forget. They usually ignore the needs and viewpoints of others.

I am pretty sure that narcisstic entitlement is becoming a common condition. It seems to be extremely contagious - entire groups of people can quickly get infected - all the members of certain religous groups, political parties, economic classes. Some of my clients have this affliction. I think the guy my eldest daughter dates also suffers from this - at least a little bit.

Do you know anyone who is obssessed with being treated with respect and fairness, quick to take offense, always externalizes blame, views forgiveness as moral weakness and insists on repayment for any perceived transgression? These are often the type of folks that work themselves into that state of righteous rage where any behavior is justified.

This is a nasty approach to life.

Quick Plug for the Mystery Band

Mr. G and the Mystery Band will be playing at Bill's Blues Bar on Friday, July 1. Bill's Blues is located at 1029 Davis Street in Evanston, Illinois (telephone # 847-424-9800). This is a rare event - the Mystery Band appears only once a month. The July version of the Mystery Band will be suh-weet:

Twist Turner on Drums: Twist has played with most of the legends of the blues, including Junior Wells, Buddy Guy, Sunnyland Slim, Eddie Taylor, Jimmy Reed, etc. etc. Whew!!!

E. G. McDaniel, Bass: Son of the mighty Floyd McDaniel; has played with Eddy Clearwater, Byther Smyth, Junior Wells, A.C. Reed, etc. etc. Whew again!!

Brian James, Keyboards: Currently holding the keyboard slot with the Lonnie Brooks band, plays with Chico Banks, Delbert McClinton and a host of others.

Anthony Palmer, Guitar: One of the top blues guitar players around - currently playing with Matthew Skoller, has played with Luther Allison, Otis Rush, Joanna Connor and many others.

Your correspondent, Mr. G, will blow the harp and sing a bit.

If you read this and you live somewhere near Evanston IL, come on out and party with the Mystery Band!

Steve Guyger

Steve Guyger - Philly Harp Star (Photo by Alex Cuevas) 

Little Arthur Duncan

Little Arthur Backstage at the Chicago Blues Fest (Photo by Alex Cuevas) 

Piano Willie

Piano Willie and Mr. G. (Photo by Alex
Cuevas) 

Gorging on Music

The second weekend in June is Blues Fest weekend in Chicago. The Chicago Blues Festival is allegedly the largest free blues music festival in the world. I was there - I gorged on the music for days; just finished up last night.

The first weekend in June was the Chicago Gospel Music Festival, which I missed. The thunderstorms discouraged me from attending - I hate standing out in an open field in the pouring rain. Well, the thunderstorms didn't last, of course, but once I delayed my departure for the Gospel Fest, family tasks filled up all available space in the weekend. But I did see Nick Moss and the Fliptops on Saturday night (June 4) at my local blues bar. Mr. Moss and his crew are solid, energetic players - traditionalists with an edge. Nick cuts an imposing figure on stage - he is large and in charge, with his tatts and his blistering guitar. He also has a very hot young player in his band - Gerry Hundt, a fine guitarist and excellent harmonica player (and yes, he plays bass, too). And to add to the Fliptops' cache, they have the amazing Piano Willie O'Shawny. Piano Willie is a deeply retro guy - he's got the conked hair, the tight white t-shirt, the wiry frame. I ran into him at Blues Fest and we snapped a picture, which I have posted for your review. Willie is no spring chicken, but he can pound the keys. So Nick Moss and the Fliptops served as my warm-up for the blues fest.

On Thursday afternoon (June 9), I stood out in the mid-day sun to watch Tommy McCracken. Every fan of big blues-belting male vocalists should run to Chicago and catch this man's act! He works very hard and delivers a song like very few others. And he has some cool dance moves, too! He's 6 ft. 2 in. and meaty; he is a multi-racial stewpot of a man. He worked hard out in the ninety degree/ninety percent humidity Chicago summer weather. I felt honored to be in his presence. The man is 66 years old and still kicking it.

On Friday, the Fest hit its high points for me. First, the amazing Robert Lockwood, Jr. held forth for ninety minutes, playing and singing a range of jazz-tinged blues with his large band. He had the "hot set," meaning he was in the mid-day sun. Robert is a powerful performer. He is only 90 years old, so we should get to enjoy him for a few more decades ;-). This man is in fantastic mental and physical shape for a nonagenerian. He still has a lot to say; his music is deep. His version of "Big Leg Woman" is now my all-time favorite. I talked to him after the set, and he was cracking jokes and waving his arms around like an enthusiastic youngster. Robert is one of the last of the original bluesmen still standing - along with Honeyboy Edwards. Lockwood took guitar lessons from Robert Johnson, fercryinoutloud! He played with Little Walter Jacobs, Sonny Boy Williamson II (aka Rice Miller), Sunnyland Slim and a host of other legends - he was probably the top session man in Chicago during the glory years of the blues. He took off for Cleveland in the 1960's and still lives there.

Over on the Front Porch Stage during and after Robert Lockwood's set, a marvelous blues family gathered to celebrate the life and music of their deceased partriarch, Eddie Taylor. The stage was crowded with Taylors - Eddie Jr., Larry, Brenda, Edna and Demetria. Their dad was one of the builders of the Chicago blues. He invented Jimmy Reed's sound with his subtle shuffle and tasty solos. In addition to the Taylor kids, a number of Eddie Taylor disciples were on stage - Little Arthur Duncan uncorked several tunes and re-created the '50's blues world with his keening vocals and earthy harp. Steve Guyger, a massively gifted blues harmonica player from Philly, added energy and zest to the tunes.

On Saturday, I was tired. I also had been a bad dad and husband, so I needed to re-connect with my wife and kids (who are incredibly kind to tolerate my blues addiction). But The Smoke Daddy on Diversey had it going on during Saturday afternoon and evening - pig roast, $1 Buds, and hours and hours of harmonica blues. Oh, yas man! I had to be there. Scott Dirks was the MC - he is a great harmonica player and a scholar of the blues harmonica (he literally wrote the book on Little Walter). Scott brought up a parade of players - Big Al Blake from California, Steve Guyger (see comments in preceeding paragraph), and local heroes Shoji Naito and Big D. The evening entertainment was the Billy Flynn Band. Billy is a nice feller from Green Bay, Wisconsin who has blues blood and blues guts in his lanky middle-aged white body. He has true reverence for the Chicago blues traditions. He brought Bob Stroger with him, so we had the honor of hearing this giant of the blues bass guitar for a few tunes. And Steve Guyger also took the stage with Billy and really stretched out, playing the truest blues harp I have heard in ages - maybe ever. Steve's vocals were authentic and impassioned. To add to the fun, Cathi Norton sang and Joe Filisko played some harp. I left the Smoke Daddy at 1 a.m., completely sated.

Sunday was a day for rest. I went to church, we had a barbeque.

Last night, I went to Joe Filisko's advanced blues harmonica class. This is a group of blues harp zealots, a cult led by Joliet Joe. We are studying the intricacies of "Sixth Position." No, this is not a martial arts move or a page from the Kama Sutra - it is a very different way of approaching the harmonica in a blues setting. So we played, we studied, and we went to the bar for beers after class.

I must now re-engage as a good investment banker and family man, let all of this music settle into my system.

Job History

Here is a list of jobs:

1. Manager of a hot dog stand.
2. Investment banker in a 3-man partnership.
3. Greenskeeper on a municipal golf course.
4. CEO of a failing healthcare software firm.
5. Head of corporate development, marketing and communications at a big finance company.
6. Salesman for an equipment leasing company.
7. Park maintenance man.
8. Trombone player in a band that supported a funky little circus.
9. Associate Director of Admissions for a graduate business school.
10. Commercial banker for major midwestern pharmaceutical firms.
11. Singapore-based Asia-Pacific manager for a small financial institution.
12. Singing, harmonica-playing front man for a blues band.
13. Night manager at the UC Berkeley Student Union Building.
14. Manager of a healthcare industry lending group.
15. Leader of a start-up business focused on investments in alternative energy and cogeneration projects.
16. Night Grill Man at a Jack In The Box burger joint.
17. Independent consultant.

This motley collection of occupations is my job history. The longest time I have spent in one job has been about 6 years; the shortest time - one week (I didn't do well as a night grill man at Jack in the Box).

Sometimes it is a curse to be saddled with a short attention span; sometimes it is a blessing. When you keep starting over, you lose momentum. But if you keep your feet moving, you are harder to hit. I prefer to keep moving.

On the Cusp

There is an old joke - "Question: What is the difference between a harmonica player and a large pizza? Answer: A large pizza can feed a family of four." This joke applies to most musical pursuits, I am afraid. Early on, I decided that I did not have the stomach for the battle that most professional musicians fight every day. A top performing player generally does not receive compensation from the market that is commensurate with the talent and effort expended by the musician. Only a few make it, and I think there is a significant oversupply of musicians relative to market demand for musical talent. So I switched my college major from music to economics, followed up my undergrad degree with a MBA degree, and embarked on a banking career. I am in my 27th year of that career - time just flows like a river.

For the past year, I have been a partner in a small investment banking boutique in Chicago. There are only three partners - no other employees. We have one client that pays us a fee every month, so we have our expenses covered. In order to make decent money, we have to do deals. We have three deals on the cusp right now. The first is a deal we have been working on since last summer. We have been retained to sell a company; we have a buyer lined up, and we are trying to push things along to close. It is hard slogging, but I think we are going to get it done. The second deal is a prospect that we have been working on for about six months. We are negotiating our engagement letter right now. We have hit a snag. I hope that we work through this, because this company will sell readily to a hungry market. The third deal isn't really a deal - it is a consulting assignment with a very large company that could turn into a long term relationship. We have reached agreement on economic terms; now we have to work through the legal language with the attorneys. If we close on all three of these deals, we will have a fat year. If they all fall apart, we will be in a bit of difficulty.

Everything is hanging on the razor's edge, which is making me a bit edgy. I am waiting for other people to take action; I can't push too hard lest I annoy my counterparties; neither can I be too passive. Finding the right balance requires patience and luck. It stretches the nerves a bit.

Well, it is Friday evening and time to wander over to the train station - the 6:00 PM Union Pacific North Line train will take me home to my happy family. I can get my nerves unstretched by immersing myself music - and this weekend offers fabulous possibilities. The Chicago Gospel Festival is happening this weekend! Solomon Burke is the headliner tomorrow night!!! Business matters will be forgotten while I hang at the Gospel Fest.

Small Business Death Rattle

I like to think that I am an economically rational person, but I occasionally invest in things that are pretty shaky. In 2003, I became aware of an undercapitalized guy who was trying to open a blues club in my hometown. Now, I have longed to have a local blues club in my 'hood for a very long time (I am a knucklehead for the blues - what can I say?). I knew that the odds are long against the success of such an enterprise, but I figured out how much money I could afford to lose, got together with a couple of like-minded friends and put the dough in. The club opened in August 2003 and I have had a marvelous time hanging out there, hearing people like James Cotton, Rod Piazza, Magic Slim and the Teardrops, Carey Bell, L'il Ed and the Blues Imperials, Eddy "the Chief" Clearwater -- and many others. I have also hopped up on stage and played some harmonica, sang some songs, and made a complete fool of myself.

The club has struggled from the very first. The operator was over-optimistic about revenues and over-generous on expenses. The Northwestern University community was a big part of the business plan, but the college kids ain't down with the blues anymore. The manager of the club has made many mid-course corrections, but we continue to chase break-even. He raised additional money (including a little more from me), but the well now looks dry. Unless something positive happens soon, the place will probably die over the summer. Last month, the club lacked the money to pay certain amounts to the State of Illinois (the liquor retailer's license fee went unpaid, which causes problems in the booze supply chain. The bar was running out of booze!). Well, the operator managed to scape together enough money to pay the state and we have product on the shelves again. A massive influx of thirsty people is required to get some air under the wings of this sick little business. I think I hear death rattling in the bar.

I think this place enriches our community. It is a dirty shame that the community doesn't care enough to support it.

The Hypnotic Brass Ensemble

For the past couple of days, the northeast corner of Madison and Wells has been occupied by an unusual group of young men. They are the Hypnotic Brass Ensemble, an eight-piece band that consists of three trumpeters, three trombonists, a Sousaphone player and a drummer. They have the instrumentation of a New Orleans brass band, but they have a sound that goes beyond the "Dirty Dozen Brass Band" world. While their tunes have a lot of rhythmic forward motion, there is also a drone to the music (they call themselves "Hypnotic" for a reason). All of the musicians are the son of a single man - Sun Ra's trumpet player, Kelan Phil Cohran. Phil is a legend in Chicago - for his creativity and his remarkable skills of procreation. He has nineteen children, from 4-5 different women.

So I bought their home-produced CD - I am going to tee it up tonight to see if it captures the energy and verve that they spill out on the streets of the Loop.

King of the Blues Chromatic Harmonica