October 19, 2010
It’s more difficult than I thought to begin this. It’s probably a familiar story to lots of musicians but
it never stops hitting a soft spot anyway. Okay. I lost another gig. I’ve been performing here in the
Dive bars of Hell’s Kitchen since the early nineties. Dive bars don’t always have the longest life expectancies
so some gigs evaporate like that. But other Dive bars are more stable and have been around forever and
it is this situation of losing a Dive that just happened to me.
It is the constantly changing ‘landscape’ of people involved with these bars that brought this specific
ending down to me. A bar manager who I have had a good relationship with for several years has just
vanished. He would book me into this bar the third Sunday of each month; it was a paying gig too.
But this past Sunday as I walked into the bar, carrying my guitar and pushing my small amp on a
handtruck, I was struck with the hard news. The bouncer told me my manager friend is now fired, I would not receive my
fifty bucks for the gig, I would have to pay for the beer I drink and I was going to have to wait for the Sunday
night football game to end before I could begin. He was at least a foot taller than me, as if I didn’t feel smaller already.
I wasn’t going to cancel the gig because I wasn’t getting paid. One the day of a performance I spend the
majority of my time rehearsing and focusing on performing. Preparing. I had also worked particularly hard
the week leading up to my date posting the gig on line and passing out flyers at all the neighborhood joints.
So then my son arrives pushing the PA in on another hand truck. We decide to begin the set up right away
regardless of the football game. Besides, none of my people had yet arrived, which plainly exposed only
the bartender and two other customers watching the game. After we had the set up prepared, which
doesn’t take long because I am a solo act, the bartender began to warm up to the idea and so threw out
the part about waiting for the football game to end. It was still early in the third quarter. She was concerned
because she had only begun this job and had just finished a conversation with the owner when I arrived. It
was the owner who told her not to pay me or give me a beer. Not her idea. The owner never has spoken with me.
Now it’s moving close to eleven pm. My people are coming into the bar and buying drinks. If I hadn’t been
scheduled to play there would have probably been two people in the whole joint. I brought in about twenty,
which is a lot. I began my set. It was difficult in my head those first few songs. Everything seemed so
surreal; out of place. But the support from my friends helped turn my head around and so I was able to knock
out my usual high energy show. One of the best moments of the night, for me, was seeing that I had won
over the bartender as she threw a dollar into the tip pail we had set up. I decided during my set to just go ahead
and play one long extended show instead of taking a break in the middle. I didn’t think it a good idea to stop
the train once it was rolling; I might receive another ultimatum.
Once the show had ended most of my friends went home. A couple remained to play a game of pool. I did too
because the bartender decided to buy me a drink. A big deal on a night such as this. My son and I then packed up
our stuff and headed for the door. The juke box hadn’t come back on. It was so quiet now I could hear the cue ball
run on the table. I thanked the bartender for the beer but as we walked through the door to the sidewalk we cursed
the place. Another joint in the dust. Another time not knowing when the next gig will be and that’s the feeling I
simply will never get used to. The never ending paying of dues.
I decided not to go with specific names and places in here because I wasn’t quite comfortable with that idea.
But I wanted to tell this story; another day in the life of an independent player. I have to say though, it sure
would be nice if every now and then these ‘surprises’ turned out to be something good.
July 7, 2010
Hey. Hey.
Despite word to the contrary The Bull Moose Saloon is having me back.
There was a moment there but it seems to have faded almost as quickly
as it appeared. Sunday July 18th at 10:30pm. 354 W. 44th St.
Tim Young. Solo Loco. Rock, Pop, Lust.
A new Ding Dong Lounge date will be posted ASAP.
Ding Dong is located on Columbus Ave. between 105th and 106th.
Then to get September rolling Tim will open at a new pub in Astoria.
Daly’s Pub. 31-86 31st St. Near Broadway.
Two sets on Sunday September 12th. That evening.
Exact times coming right up.
Thanks all for your support!
June 3, 2010
Hi. Two energy packed Solo Loco Tim Young gigs taking place
this June.
First up is June 20th at the Bull Moose Saloon. That’s 10PM. The Moose is a great bar in Hell’s Kitchen. Pool table too. The 20th is a Sunday night. Bull Moose is at 354 W. 44th St. Near 9th ave. Next up is the Sunday next, or the 27th at the Ding Dong Lounge. Ding Dong is located at 105th and Columbus ave. 9PM. Cool candle lit bar with plenty of cheap beers. There is no cover or minimum at either venue. Only the high energy original Rock n Roll from Solo Loco. Thanks.
First up is June 20th at the Bull Moose Saloon. That’s 10PM. The Moose is a great bar in Hell’s Kitchen. Pool table too. The 20th is a Sunday night. Bull Moose is at 354 W. 44th St. Near 9th ave. Next up is the Sunday next, or the 27th at the Ding Dong Lounge. Ding Dong is located at 105th and Columbus ave. 9PM. Cool candle lit bar with plenty of cheap beers. There is no cover or minimum at either venue. Only the high energy original Rock n Roll from Solo Loco. Thanks.
May 22, 2010
Hi. If you have ended up here from a click on the link in the latest
Tim Young press release, great. All my gigs are posted here along
with links to my music. If you go to timrocksweb.com you will find
music from all three of my releases. Entire tracks too, not just samples.
You can also check out the other stuff i have posted here. Videos, some of
the other writing I do, etc. Enjoy. Please leave a comment.
Thanks a lot.
May 15, 2010
Hi all.
This Sunday, the 16th, at 10pm, Tim will be Live at
the Bull Moose Saloon 354 W. 44th St.
It’s known as Rock in the Kitchen.
Hell’s Kitchen to be precise.
Two sets—No cover—Let’s go!
Solo/Loco
May 14, 2010
IN THE PARK
by Tim Young She’s looking at me. She has a camera. I am sitting in the park on a bench. The leaves can not possibly know the brilliant shade of green they have become. There is only a hint of a breeze but when it tickles the leaves there is a sound. I am alone on the bench. I am sitting with my butt pushed to the back of the bench so that my back is as straight as I can make it. Her bench, the girl with the camera, is across the road. She is not pointing the camera at me. No. For the last few minutes she was not pointing the camera at me only her eyes but now, just this second, she is pointing the camera at me. I look over at her. I cross my legs and move my body slightly on the bench from my previous position. I see the camera eye looking at me and I also see her one eye that is not looking through the viewfinder looking at me. I look at her more intensely. She then takes the camera away from her eye. She brings it to her lap. She crosses her legs. She is wearing a bright blue pair of shorts and a man’s white shirt which is unbuttoned to the top of her breasts. Her hair is dark. It’s parted in the middle and I think I see that it is long and pulled back into a pony tail. I am positive she has noticed my look of disapproval. It sure feels disapproving to me. She turns her head to her right. The camera remains on her lap. Then she looks to her left. I end up doing the same. I see some people on bicycles, people jogging and walking their dogs. I think they are enjoying the day. As I think this I see her pick up the camera again. She points it directly at me and takes a shot. There is no flash but I know that she has released the shutter and that I have been captured into her camera.
I feel violated. I feel like she rose up from her bench, crossed the road, walked up to me and slapped me across the face. I touch my face. It feels warm. Then I decide to bring both hands to my face; left hand on my left cheek, right hand on my right. Then I open my mouth and without sound I say to her, “Oh no!” She does not respond. She sits on her bench, alone on her bench, looking at me as she holds the camera still on her lap. I uncross my legs and stand up. I want to go over and say something to her about how she has just stolen my soul with her camera. That’s what I do. A string of bicycles pass by me and then my feet are moving across the road directly towards the girl with the camera. She uncrosses her legs. The thought flashes through my head that the real reason I am going to confront this girl is because her legs look so inviting, naked as they are. But then I push that thought back into the hole it crawled out of. By the time that thinking is complete I have crossed the road and am now sitting next to her on her bench. She does not turn her head to look at me.
“You know you have stolen my soul with your camera,” I say. “Why did you do that?”
Instead of turning her head towards me and perhaps giving me a response, she begins to hum a tune. I recognize the tune right away but can’t come up with the title. What the fuck? I’m seeing the ball in my court so I must think of the title to this tune. Coming up with the correct title, I am assuming will aid in getting this girl to say something to me. Several excruciatingly long seconds sneak by. The itunes in my brain is in search mode. I get the first letter. It’s ‘P.’ P, P, P. Then I have it. So obvious, really. Instead of blurting out the title I sing the line in the chorus, “But all I got is a photograph and I realize you’re not coming back anymore.” Then I say, “Ringo.” She continues to hum the line. Then she picks up the camera, aims it point blank into my face and snaps the shutter again.
A couple of pigeons walk up to the bench. Their heads going like they do, then the male begins fluffing out his wings and making that mating sound as he struts behind the female. She hurries ahead of him. She notices a crumb and makes it disappear. They fly away.
The girl puts the camera on her lap but is now looking directly at me. I release the tension in my shoulders. I look directly at her. Her expression is compelling. I’m finding it irresistible.
“Looks to me,” I say, “that your method has been a huge success. You have been able to move me across the street. You now have me sitting right next to you. But you also have succeeded in making me, I mean I have to say what kind of nut case are you? Some people might not react so polite as I have.” Another excruciatingly long pause. ‘Please say something.”
“I don’t speak with strange men. I snapped your photo because I wanted to create a memory for this perfect Spring day in the park. See. Now I don’t feel as if you’re a stranger. You think I have stolen your soul? Oh well, I guess some beliefs are difficult to remove. I saw you noticing my legs and that’s the moment I decided to shoot you.”
“Ouch,” I said, “that was some bullet.”
“I see you have already stopped the bleeding.”
“I’m not so sure about that. You can’t see what’s going on inside.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” She says. For the first time I can see her lips give way to something resembling a smile. I take it for one anyway.
“I also decided that since your hair is long that might be a clue for you to know the song I chose to hum. Actually it’s not so much that as it is the song I usually think of when I’m out with my camera. Now I’ve revealed one of my major flaws. I’m so obvious. I guess I want to be. Well, at least sometimes. Look at me. I thought I was doing much better before I said one word to you. Now I am chatting you up as if we have known each other somehow. Weird.”
She turns away from me. She reaches behind her back to retrieve a bag which I did not see before, and puts the camera in there. Then she turns back to me directly.
“I can delete those two shots if you want. But I’m not completely sure that will return your soul to it’s proper place.”
“But you’ve already put the camera away. My soul is inside the camera bag.” I don’t think it enjoys being in such a dark place.”
“But that’s where you are mistaken. I think it loves being in there. I think it has finally found a home it can be comfortable in. I can feel it.”
A horse drawn carriage moves slowly by our bench. The horse is a shiny tan in the sun. He shakes his head and makes a sound. I can smell him. Straw and oats. The driver holds the reins without tension in his hands. I see him turn around to say something to the young couple sitting in the carriage. I can’t hear what he says.
I turn back to the girl to say something about the horse. She is gone. I was thinking I could feel her absence as I turned my head to watch the carriage. I didn’t want to believe she was going to vanish into thin air. I don’t know why. It simply must be much more of a chore to believe anything once your soul has been taken away and stuffed into a little bag. ©2010 Tim Young
Solo Loco
http://timrocksweb.com/
http://timsored.posterous.com/
Rock n Roll to Remember
by Tim Young She’s looking at me. She has a camera. I am sitting in the park on a bench. The leaves can not possibly know the brilliant shade of green they have become. There is only a hint of a breeze but when it tickles the leaves there is a sound. I am alone on the bench. I am sitting with my butt pushed to the back of the bench so that my back is as straight as I can make it. Her bench, the girl with the camera, is across the road. She is not pointing the camera at me. No. For the last few minutes she was not pointing the camera at me only her eyes but now, just this second, she is pointing the camera at me. I look over at her. I cross my legs and move my body slightly on the bench from my previous position. I see the camera eye looking at me and I also see her one eye that is not looking through the viewfinder looking at me. I look at her more intensely. She then takes the camera away from her eye. She brings it to her lap. She crosses her legs. She is wearing a bright blue pair of shorts and a man’s white shirt which is unbuttoned to the top of her breasts. Her hair is dark. It’s parted in the middle and I think I see that it is long and pulled back into a pony tail. I am positive she has noticed my look of disapproval. It sure feels disapproving to me. She turns her head to her right. The camera remains on her lap. Then she looks to her left. I end up doing the same. I see some people on bicycles, people jogging and walking their dogs. I think they are enjoying the day. As I think this I see her pick up the camera again. She points it directly at me and takes a shot. There is no flash but I know that she has released the shutter and that I have been captured into her camera.
I feel violated. I feel like she rose up from her bench, crossed the road, walked up to me and slapped me across the face. I touch my face. It feels warm. Then I decide to bring both hands to my face; left hand on my left cheek, right hand on my right. Then I open my mouth and without sound I say to her, “Oh no!” She does not respond. She sits on her bench, alone on her bench, looking at me as she holds the camera still on her lap. I uncross my legs and stand up. I want to go over and say something to her about how she has just stolen my soul with her camera. That’s what I do. A string of bicycles pass by me and then my feet are moving across the road directly towards the girl with the camera. She uncrosses her legs. The thought flashes through my head that the real reason I am going to confront this girl is because her legs look so inviting, naked as they are. But then I push that thought back into the hole it crawled out of. By the time that thinking is complete I have crossed the road and am now sitting next to her on her bench. She does not turn her head to look at me.
“You know you have stolen my soul with your camera,” I say. “Why did you do that?”
Instead of turning her head towards me and perhaps giving me a response, she begins to hum a tune. I recognize the tune right away but can’t come up with the title. What the fuck? I’m seeing the ball in my court so I must think of the title to this tune. Coming up with the correct title, I am assuming will aid in getting this girl to say something to me. Several excruciatingly long seconds sneak by. The itunes in my brain is in search mode. I get the first letter. It’s ‘P.’ P, P, P. Then I have it. So obvious, really. Instead of blurting out the title I sing the line in the chorus, “But all I got is a photograph and I realize you’re not coming back anymore.” Then I say, “Ringo.” She continues to hum the line. Then she picks up the camera, aims it point blank into my face and snaps the shutter again.
A couple of pigeons walk up to the bench. Their heads going like they do, then the male begins fluffing out his wings and making that mating sound as he struts behind the female. She hurries ahead of him. She notices a crumb and makes it disappear. They fly away.
The girl puts the camera on her lap but is now looking directly at me. I release the tension in my shoulders. I look directly at her. Her expression is compelling. I’m finding it irresistible.
“Looks to me,” I say, “that your method has been a huge success. You have been able to move me across the street. You now have me sitting right next to you. But you also have succeeded in making me, I mean I have to say what kind of nut case are you? Some people might not react so polite as I have.” Another excruciatingly long pause. ‘Please say something.”
“I don’t speak with strange men. I snapped your photo because I wanted to create a memory for this perfect Spring day in the park. See. Now I don’t feel as if you’re a stranger. You think I have stolen your soul? Oh well, I guess some beliefs are difficult to remove. I saw you noticing my legs and that’s the moment I decided to shoot you.”
“Ouch,” I said, “that was some bullet.”
“I see you have already stopped the bleeding.”
“I’m not so sure about that. You can’t see what’s going on inside.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” She says. For the first time I can see her lips give way to something resembling a smile. I take it for one anyway.
“I also decided that since your hair is long that might be a clue for you to know the song I chose to hum. Actually it’s not so much that as it is the song I usually think of when I’m out with my camera. Now I’ve revealed one of my major flaws. I’m so obvious. I guess I want to be. Well, at least sometimes. Look at me. I thought I was doing much better before I said one word to you. Now I am chatting you up as if we have known each other somehow. Weird.”
She turns away from me. She reaches behind her back to retrieve a bag which I did not see before, and puts the camera in there. Then she turns back to me directly.
“I can delete those two shots if you want. But I’m not completely sure that will return your soul to it’s proper place.”
“But you’ve already put the camera away. My soul is inside the camera bag.” I don’t think it enjoys being in such a dark place.”
“But that’s where you are mistaken. I think it loves being in there. I think it has finally found a home it can be comfortable in. I can feel it.”
A horse drawn carriage moves slowly by our bench. The horse is a shiny tan in the sun. He shakes his head and makes a sound. I can smell him. Straw and oats. The driver holds the reins without tension in his hands. I see him turn around to say something to the young couple sitting in the carriage. I can’t hear what he says.
I turn back to the girl to say something about the horse. She is gone. I was thinking I could feel her absence as I turned my head to watch the carriage. I didn’t want to believe she was going to vanish into thin air. I don’t know why. It simply must be much more of a chore to believe anything once your soul has been taken away and stuffed into a little bag. ©2010 Tim Young
Solo Loco
http://timrocksweb.com/
http://timsored.posterous.com/
Rock n Roll to Remember
May 8, 2010
May 8, 2010
A visually stunning piece. A lot going on in this short film. I think it’s a good idea to watch it more than once. Thanks to the filmmakers.
