M. Giant's
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Saturday, July 13, 2013  


We Could Be Brothers

So I'll start by telling you what happened and then I'll tell you what I hope you'll do about it.

A couple of years ago, our basement flooded. It's not as bad as it sounds; only an inch of water or so, and it didn't even cover the whole basement, and we don't generally keep water-soluble items on the bare floor down there anyway, as a lingering result of some long-since-resolved drainage problems. But it did force me to clean out the space under the stairs, which is really the only tiny pocket of hoarder-ism in our entire house. I found some things I had no idea were in there. Like, for instance, a guitar. To this day I have no idea where it came from.

It was a smallish acoustic, and Trash wanted to learn how to play it. She's always wanted to learn to play guitar, and while it may not make much sense that I'd never taught her how in two decades of marriage, there had been two seemingly insurmountable obstacles to this. One was that Trash has tiny little Kristen Wiig hands that make it difficult for her stumpy fingers to reach any but the easiest chords. The other is that I'm a lousy teacher.

But this smaller guitar seemed to help with the first problem, and the second solution presented itself in the form of M. Edium's karate instructor, who we already knew was an excellent teacher but also turned out to be a talented guitarist. He started teaching her how to play, much better than I ever could have. And a weird thing happened once she knew a bunch of chords: she started putting them together. In order. In the right order. And with words.

A visit to Guitar Center later, Trash switched to a new acoustic-electric guitar made to be played by what she calls her "Muppet-hands." Before we knew it, her "guitar lessons" had become band rehearsals, with me sitting in on bass and running Garage Band on the iPad. We were playing, recording, and improving Trash's songs. Which are remarkable in their melodies, harmonies, lyrics, variety, and sheer number. Don't believe me? The ones you'll find here only represent a small fraction. And we've got more and better ones that we just haven't gotten around to finalizing yet.

We started playing open mic nights here in Minneapolis, and took part in a couple of acoustic performance festivals organized by local rock & roll bodhisattva Mike Michel, whom we'd invited by for a listen and who was quite impressed. And Trash came up with the only possible name for a trio composed of a large, powerful black man; a smart, hot blonde; and me: We Could Be Brothers.

But we haven't gone fully public yet. Until now.

Because our first gig is coming up. And so is the call to action.

On Thursday, August 1, we're playing our first full live set. We're playing at Veterans' Memorial Amphitheater in St. Louis Park. That's at 3700 Monterey Drive, in the park behind the Trader Joe's on Excelsior Boulevard. More good news: we're playing at 7:00 PM, so you can bring the kids or anything else you'd normally need a sitter for. And there's no admission fee. Bring a camp chair or a blanket and you're all set.

Trust me: we're good. Trash is an amazing songwriter whose music comes from even she knows not where. Jefe Dos is an ingenious all-around musician whose guitar, vocals, and piano bring the songs alive, and their intertwining harmonies are reminiscent of the Indigo Girls or the Civil Wars. If you've been to one of The Question's gigs lately, you know about half of what I can do with a bass. Trash has even mastered all her guitar chords. And don't worry; we'll also play some songs you know, even if you've never heard them done quite the way we do them.

So there's the push. Come out on the first of August and enjoy some good music on what we hope will be a great evening outdoors. We'd love to see you there!

Seems like we should get something good out a flooded basement.

posted by M. Giant 2:16 PM 1 comments

1 Comments:

Yet another reason for me to move back to Minneapolis. Wish I could be there.

By Anonymous Tempest, at July 16, 2013 at 11:03 AM  

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