Bloomington Indiana... For just a minute....

Hey folks,
It's been a minute since I've written a blog post.  I had meant to do a lot more blogging on this tour but as with most tours, wifi can be sparse.
I'm in Bloomington, IN right now at a bagel place. The coffee is good and the internet is strong....ish.

The last couple days were off days here in Bloomington. This is a pretty cool hippy town. Those are my favorite. The coffee is always great and the people are always pleasant. The food here is awesome actually. The other night I had some insane Indian food and yesterday I found a Thai Vegan place called Siam that went off. That was great.

Enough about food. The shows this tour have gotten consistently better and better. The first night was in New York at Terra Blues. We actually did a two nighter there. It was a really cool little spot in the Village next to the Bitter End. The stage was tiny which I like actually. I've played some massive stages and I always prefer the tiny little ones where you get sweaty and work together in a hole. I like the grease. It feels like you're getting more done musically... Maybe I'm full of shit. haha
We did two nights there and stayed at a hotel in Jersey.
The second night we played there was almost a catastrophe. After the gig, we were going out to the van to go back to the hotel and it wasn't there. We all had that look on our faces that only people who are just realizing their cars have been stolen can have. Jason scrambled. He called the tow service, the cops, all of it. It was either towed or stolen. I sat on the steps of the club and thought.... SON OF A BITCH. I'm Macauley Culkin... Friggin' lost in New York... And I had no cheese pizzas or limos to pacify me. I'm fucked.
We started to walk towards the other vehicle the rhythm section had been driving and in a last ditch effort I asked Jason if he had remembered maybe parking another block away. He said "Of course not".
He checked.... It was there. We all breathed a sigh of relief and went back to the hotel without it fully setting in yet that the tour wasn't over the second night.

I'll report more on the rest of the tour when I have time. This is kind of a quickie.... I'll find more time to write soon. :)

Best,
-Gino

P.S. My beard is getting out of control... and it's staying.

Trying to remember....

I have a stunningly bad memory.
I've hung out with friends from high school in the past few years and played the "remember that time" game several times. My answer is almost always "no".
I play that game most often with Trevor - my drummer who I've known since before I even had the thought to pick up an instrument. During long drives on tour, one of my favorite things is to hear him spout off things we did together when we were kids. I rarely remember them. Once in awhile, something in my brain will get jarred loose and I'll let out a jubilant "oh yeah!" but it's rare.
He's told me about times that we'd been drunk doing God knows what... Nothing.
There are a few blips on the radar but for the most part, nothing.

I remember one thing that happened vaguely when I was in my late teens.
Some friends of mine had a rock band called Aetrium and they had a garage in the guitarists house that they'd turned into a studio. It was pretty much the hang out spot for the group and friends. There were parties there almost every weekend and I destroyed many a brain cell there, I'm sure.
There was a neighbor across the way in a rural area who owned tons of studio gear that he let the guys use to set the place up. He was in his 40's, a little heavyset, and balding. I don't remember his name. Apparently, the gear was given to him by a relative who worked at a TV station... A Christian station if I remember correctly.
Anyways, we were all hanging out and they decided to get something to eat.
I don't think I had any money so I stayed behind. After awhile, I got bored and left. I remember it was really hot that day and my car didn't have AC. I went home - no big deal.

The next day, I went back to the studio/garage. All the guys were there with some girlfriends and other friends. My friends were there. Everyone there was a friend. My only friends, really.
I walked up to the garage door. All the guys were inside sitting kind of quiet looking somewhat morose. The 40something neighbor who'd lent all the gear was standing in front of me with his back turned. I think I said "hello" and as soon as I said a word, the neighbor man spun around and punched me in the face. Square. Nice hit. Rocked me. Punched me perfectly in the face.
There was a small hill to the right of the garage door. I fell down the hill, my sandals fell off, and I was completely dizzy and confused. I had no idea what happened. My head was spinning and my face had that deep numbing pain that only a good punch to the face can emit.

From what I remember, a couple of my "friends" started laughing. The neighbor started screaming, calling me names, saying "get the fuck out of here!".
I only remember saying "Let me just get my sandals and I'll leave!".... That sentence provoked more laughter from my friends. I got in my car and went home. I called later and asked why the fuck I was suckerpunched down a hill. I was told it was because I was alone at the studio the day before and I left without locking up - as though it was my house.
I went home to my Dad's house bloodied and embarrassed. I was a kid. I was a kid and I'd just been beaten by a 40something year old bald, fat guy. What kind of an adult beats up a kid for any reason - let alone THAT reason, I thought.
I don't know why to this day but I think I continued to hang out with those guys for awhile.
Maybe it was self unawareness, self pity, self esteem, the fact that I didn't have any other friends, who knows? But I stayed in that group of people which makes me sick to my stomach to this day.
I only remembered this incident a couple years ago.
It fell into the file of things that I've just blocked out completely. It's a really big file. I remember very little of my high school years.
I've been told I was everything from a loser, to a nice guy, to a nerd, to a non, to a liar, to an idiot, to a theater geek, to a pothead, to an asshole, to an angel and everywhere in between. I really had no idea who I was or why I was.

When I think about that day now, I cringe in horror.
I don't hold a grudge towards my "friends" as much as pity over that day.
Every time I was laughed at or put down or treated like I was the fat idiot friend is just a past blotted memory. Once in awhile shit like this pops in my head and I have to write it out.
I'd still like to delve more into that day to get some more information about what happened but then I think, "eh... fuck it".
I'm me. It is what it is. We all have fucked up memories. That's just one of mine.
Thanks for listening. I feel better.

-Gino

Fresh Cut Grass Makes Me Feel Like a Man

Jade and I spent part of the evening tonight (last night for all you early birds) sitting on our patio smoking, drinking diet cream soda and reminiscing. We talked about everything from the mundane to the anvil heavy. We spoke briefly about how certain smells take you back in life.

I have two smells that bring me back. 

One is the smell of moss. It makes me think about time spent with my sister Kelly hiking and camping or hanging out with her at the nursery she worked at when I was a kid. I don't remember anything specifically.... A bad memory is a sad side effect to my raging Synesthesia. Either that or I'm so self unaware... Probably both. All I know is if I get a whiff of moss, I instantly feel happy and adventurous even though I've heard that during those hiking trips I was a fucking wuss who couldn't cross a log laid over a two inch stream without thinking I was going to drown. I've been told I was a very skittish, assholian kid. Sorry to whoever was unfortunate enough to be around me from the ages 1 to 25... My sincerest apologies.

The other smell that brings me back is the smell of fresh cut grass and morning dew. It instantly brings me back to playing golf with my dad as a kid. I remember one time in particular when I was visiting him in Riverside, CA over a weekend. We went to play golf at the Indian Hill Country Club.

I remember we got up before the sun did. It was cold and wet but it was set to be a gorgeous day. We got to the golf course about a half hour before our tee time. We unloaded our golf bags from the trunk of the car and walked towards the clubhouse. We walked in unison carrying our bags and for some reason, this sticks out to me as a moment of manhood. 

We walked into the diner of the clubhouse and sat down. My dad ordered a coffee and I got an orange juice. The sun had just come up. He ordered bacon, eggs and pancakes. I ordered the same and felt like a man for some reason. We went out onto the first tee. It was a Par 3 with a tee box high above the green. That's one thing I remember liking about Indian Hill is that it was so hilly. I was glad we had a golf cart though. I don't remember anything about the round of golf exactly but I remember that day as being a rare bonding occasion. It was awesome. 

Fresh cut grass always makes me feel like a man. 

Another pointless blog, 

-Gino

The Genesis, The Remembrance, and The Education

I was sitting in my smoke infested man cavern a little while ago playing guitar.
Something hit me like a ton of bricks.... I LOVE my guitar. I love it as much as you could love just about anything. So often being a working musician, you forget to take moments to remember why you do it.
Some musicians will tell you that the reason they picked up an instrument is to get girls. I've heard hundreds of musicians claim that to be the genesis of their musicianship. I can honestly say that thought never crossed my mind. I've been ridiculed on occasion and called naive but it doesn't change the fact that the real and honest reason I became a musician was because I genuinely love my instrument. I love it so much. I can't even explain it.
It was never about women. Perhaps it was about acceptance to some degree.
I'm the youngest of all my siblings. Of which all are half brothers and sisters. I have a different father than my brothers and sisters. In some ways, I've felt like an outsider because of that my entire life.
I've chased acceptance my whole existence. Acceptance by family, friends, whoever. I craved it to be honest. I remember the first time I made someone smile with a guitar. It was my brother-in-law Ron. My sister Kelly's husband. He'd taught me a simple blues phrase that I picked up on pretty quick. The next week, I had something else to go with it. I started to see the branches of the trees, so to speak.
I showed him and he smiled, if I remember correctly. I was hooked.

I also loved the comradery of being in a band. I didn't feel it with my first band as much because we didn't really have any gigs. My second "band" was more of an extended awkward audition of sorts... Went nowhere.
My first taste of musician comradery came when I was recruited to play guitar for Thee Rhythm Kings by Mario Lobato, who's now passed on unfortunately. Mario decided he wanted to put a band together. He'd been as I had been playing with East LA Top 40 bands and decided he wanted to start a blues band. He asked me to play guitar, Chris White to play bass, Mo Beeks to play keyboards, and Eric Tice to play drums. I was around 17 or 18 and they were in their 40's or 50's. I was excited but more terrified.
I remember during our first gig at Steve's BBQ in Whittier, I would stare at Chris and Mo all night in fear for fucking up. At the time, for me, these two men were Gods. They'd toured, recorded, lived, and played tight as a drum longer than I'd been alive. Clearly, they were my barometer for fucking up. If they weren't happy with my playing, I'd try to read them and alter what I was doing to suit the band. I wanted this gig.
The comradery came. I loved it. It got so I knew what they were going to do before they did, and vice versa. Then it became stale, so we switched it up. Fun, stale, fun stale, fun stale.
It was a blast to learn with these cats and they taught me right early on, heavy hand, iron fist and all. I woodshedded, I was making a little money, and I was gaining brotherhood amongst the players.
I felt accepted. I never really was as it turns out but at that time in my youth, I felt accepted.

The other reason for starting playing may be insecurity. I've been insecure my entire life. I still am.
Insecure about my weight, my thoughts, my teeth, my humor, my face, my playing, my tone, my life.
Just plain old insecure.
Perhaps the insecurity ties into the acceptance. I don't know. That's a conundrum for smarter heads, I suppose.

The acceptance with Chris, Mo, anyone else, ect. Came and went on a regular basis. Looking back, I never realized that. It's only now that I realize most of the acceptance was superficial. I was on the bandstand with them, I was the one paying them, I was in whatever band with them, whatever it was, in the end, it wasn't acceptance. It was more tolerance.
And that's ok. There's plenty of cats I've worked for that I mostly just tolerated to get the money. I get it. I'm not hurt by it anymore and I love those two guys. I wish em' the best.
Playing with Thee Rhythm Kings was some of the best days of my life.

I remember my first road trip with them. We got asked to play a club in Pueblo, CO called the Tantric Club or something like that. We flew to Colorado and I hadn't been on a plane in forever. Mario and Chris were making fun of me but in the end, Mario held my hand on takeoff and I knew we were gonna have an awesome weekend.
The gig was a two nighter and it was sold out both nights if I remember correctly. I drank A LOT that weekend but not on the gig.
I remember the opening band asked us if we smoked weed. Being an avid fan of herbal pleasantries at the time, I joyously said yes along with another band member who I roomed with who will go nameless. The opening band gave us a copious amount of weed and we had a blast.
The night before we left, after the gig, we were in the hotel room with the round dining table covered in weed like we were doing some elaborate marijuana jigsaw puzzle. I remember asking "what are we gonna do with all this weed? We have to be on a plane home in four hours".
We both looked at one another and said in unison "LET'S SMOKE IT!"
So we did. We smoked an amazing amount of weed, then stumbled through the airport confused. Thank God Mario knew where we were going and led the way. We would've been fucked.

All I remember about that morning is what I wore to the Denver airport.
I wore a straw cowboy hat that I to this day have no idea where it came from, cutoff frayed jean shorts, aviator sunglasses, and flip flops..... I was 21 years old.
The promoter was pissed. He told us to dress inconspicuous at the airport.... I forgot.
I got home and the post tour depression immediately set in. I sat in my Baldwin Park apartment sad and stoned. So I smoked more weed and went to the gig. We had a show that night.

Again, not sure of the point of this blog. Just writing what comes to mind.
Mario Lobato would've been 60 years old today, his birthday.

L to R: Mario Lobato, Mo Beeks (top) Rudi Petronio (bottom), Me, Chris White

Happy Birthday, Mario. We had head butts and arguments and great laughs alike. I miss you. I loved you. I'll see you someday again. Thank you for giving me my first gig, firing me from my first gig, showing me how to do my job and how not to do my job and thank you for initially showing me what my job really was. There isn't much more to say.
Let's close that chapter. All the tears, and the joy, all the poverty, all the sadness, all the education, all the heaven sent notes, and all the backbreakers. I loved it all.

Letting go but not forgetting,
-Gino

Eyes Wide Open Again

I'm still awake. It's 6:17am. I go through phases like this. I'll sleep normally for months on end and then spend a few weeks completely off the rails- going to bed at 9 or 10am and waking up at 3 or 4pm.
It's odd that I can't sleep considering I've all but given up caffeine, a vice that's held me close for as long as I can remember and probably will again.... Hopefully.
I sit up and watch YouTube, play guitar, smoke, listen to music, write, ect.
Over the past couple days I've become entrenched and fascinated with the Westboro Baptist Church, watching several documentaries online. It's beyond sickening to be honest. I don't know. I guess I enjoy a good train wreck.
Jade's passed out in the bedroom and I'm in my "office" of sorts writing this, eyes not yet heavy. It's strange that I seem to be more concerned with making drastic grammatical errors here than sleeping a few hours. I'm sure I've made plenty and that I've gone the "Yoda" route linguistically thus far.
I'm certainly not intelligent. I know that. I'm sharp enough to get by but not a brainiac by any stretch of the imagination.
When I'm left to my own devices for too long, I dwell on unhealthy things. I think about how far I've come in life and how far I have to go. I'm up for the challenge, I think.
I ran into a member of the Family Phunk band I had for years a few weeks ago at a gig in LA. He was playing with another band on the bill and I was playing with Jason Ricci. It was awkward at first considering I still feel greatly betrayed and misunderstood. We smiled cordially but certainly not like two people who had spent over a decade playing music together. I decided the bad blood needed to end. I took him aside and spoke to him. I told him that I was sorry for having to let the guys go but I had felt betrayed and treated unfairly in a disloyal manner.
He didn't seem to care. That's fine. I got it off my chest. He still didn't understand. No worries. It was clear he'd drank the Kool-Aid steeped in lies and misunderstandings. I hold no hard feelings for any of those guys. I wish them the best.
To be honest, I can't believe how much better off I am in the end. Losing the Family Phunk was a complete and total blessing in disguise. God closed a door and opened an airplane hangar.

It's clear there really may be no point to this blog aside from the random and occasional therapy.
I've decided not to censor myself on this thing and just say what comes to mind in the way and order it spills out. Unfiltered madness. Fun.
The sun is almost up now. I feel I may be nearing the end of this morning/night's diatribe.

I think too much, I joke to much, and I play too many notes... Still.

I'm going to go sleep with Jade now. I love crawling in bed with her.
Goodnight, readers... Whoever you may be :)

Streaming live from the Pit,

-Gino

Hello everyone (whoever that may be),
My reason for having this blog may branch into everything from therapy to the mundane nonsense that may float through my brain from minute to minute. Apparently, I need yet another outlet. So here I am.
I live in Redlands, CA with my angel and fiance Jade Bennett. At the moment, my life is pretty amazing. There's not a ton to complain about. I live in a beautiful home with the woman of my dreams and my job is my hobby. I do what I love for a living. Who gets to say that?
There are hard times of course, but all they do is make the good times sweeter.
I'm not sure what I should be writing about here. Just general stream of consciousness bullshit, I suppose.
I'll write more as thoughts arise. But for now, hello!
And thanks for stopping by....
More to follow

-Gino