NAMM Museum of Making Music

I've been in the process of moving and jet-setting to the Golden State (bourgeois, no?) for about a week now, so I haven't had a chance to post anything. For now, I thought I'd share this little bit that happened while I was at the NAMM Museum of Making Music in Carlsbad, Ca.

There were these two little kids-- siblings, maybe 7 and 9 years old-- who apparently frequent this museum with their mother on a regular basis. In the section devoted to the 60s, the little boy was pushing the buttons that pull up clips of artists on the television monitor when he pushed one in particular and exclaimed happily, "Eric Clapton!"

If a kid that young knows who the heck Eric Clapton is, and trust me, I could tell he knew exactly who Eric Clapton is, maybe we can breathe a little easier.

Anywho, the museum was pretty cool, tracing the way people make music starting in the late 1800s. Tons of old instruments-- a few I'd never seen before, even. The folks working there were really nice and really talkative. If you're ever in the area, definitely check it out. They were in the process of installing an exhibit on the Moog synthesizer. Wish I'd seen that, but the exhibit they had on going electric was pretty sweet.


On a related note, Les Paul died Thursday while I was away. Really sad stuff. Dude was 94.

The Evolution of John Mayer

This past Friday I had the pleasure of being alerted to the fact that John Mayer was going to be performing on Good Morning America. Usually I brush off these kinds of segments purely because I'm not completely sure that three songs is worth dragging myself out of bed when I actually have the chance to sleep in. This time was different I suppose given that John Mayer is one of the few acts from whom I'll take those three songs and any other notes that emanate form his guitar. Sitting on my couch, fighting off the blurriness of my eyes, I watched him on stage with the mighty Eric Clapton and couldn't help but think "the boy's come a long way." Several years ago I first spotted him in some glossy, pink magazine crooning into...wait, that's not right, sucking on the microphone in between lyrics that sounded more like grunts than than words. I dismissed him as one more reason why music at the time blew big time. Girls bought his CD because they thought he was kind of brooding, the classic tall, dark, and handsome and boys just wished he wasn't there. There were hardly ever any comments on his music itself beyond what and a dreamy song "Your Body is a Wonderland" was. I made a point to stay far away. Not long after the release of his second CD, "Heavier Things," I came into possession of a copy. Completely unintentional; I really didn't know what to do with the thing, so I decided I'd listen to it just to see how bad it was. Well, I was wrong. Really, really, really, wrong. His lyrics were thoughtful and meaningful, not just the garbage cranked out to fill the space between the bars of music on a page. And the music itself...impressive. It was smooth and crafted, bolstered with feeling in every note. Clearly this guy had talent. I couldn't wait to hear what he had next. It took a while, longer than I would have liked, being the impatient person I am but still trying to understand the process. The result, in my opinion is truly one of the finest albums recorded in several decades. Lyrically and musically solid; he went away for a couple years and made himself into a guitarist who can hold his own on stage with the likes on Eric Clapton. Just watching the two made me want to get off my ass and pick up my own guitar. He's "not the man [he] used to be lately," and I'm quite pleased. He no longer eats the mike and he drips with credibility. If I had to hinge bets on one artist who was going to be around in twenty or thirty years...I think I'd win.