Fight Cancer. Headbang For Health.

Cancer is a capricious killer.

It holds no regard for age, gender, race, or geographical location.

Practically everyone I know has a loved one who has died of cancer.

My uncle Bob passed away a couple years ago from malignant melanoma that metastasized.

I've had precancerous moles removed from my back.

Sure, we eat our antioxidants, we wear our sunblock, we quit smoking, we even stop re-using plastic bottles, in the hopes that we don't become a statistic. But is that all that we can do?

In 2008, there were 19,230 new cancer cases reported in Oregon alone. 7,450 people in Oregon died of cancer last year. In the US, 565,000 people died from cancer in 2008. To put this in perspective, that's just higher than the population of Portland, and just less than the population of Seattle. That's an astonishing figure.

Let's say Portland gets wiped out this year. Whether through a terrorist attack, through a natural disaster, or through some other means, the entire population of America's 30th largest city is destroyed.

Think that would make the news? You bet.

However, cancer is almost taken for granted. It flies under the radar, a killer to be sure, but one that's accepted as a tragic mainstay of society. We're all immortal until it's our turn.

It's time to do something. Not just for ourselves, but for society as a whole.

The American Cancer Society has been fighting the good fight for years. I love this quote on their website:

"Eleven million cancer survivors will celebrate birthdays this year. That's a sign of progress, proof that a world with more birthdays is possible. Together we'll get well, stay well, find cures, and fight back."

I've been privileged to play at numerous Relay For Life events over the past few years, and dedicated each performance to my uncle Bob. This Wednesday, my band Silversafe and I, as well as Portland indie band Tea For Julie, will be playing a benefit show for the American Cancer Society. The show will be held at Hawthorne Theater, which is located at 3862 SE Hawthorne Blvd in Southeast Portland. Tickets are $8 at the door, and all proceeds from the door as well as from merchandise sales will benefit the American Cancer Society.

This is bigger than music, bigger than entertainment. It's about saving and improving thousands of lives. Sure, you could write a check and put in the mail. I encourage you to do this, too. But here's a chance for you to rock out in the process, to headbang for health. Yes, headbanging is perfectly non-carcinogenic, and the American Chiropractic Association thanks me for promoting it.

I'll also be playing at several other Relay For Life events around Portland this summer, including the June 27 Relay in Oregon City.

This is not an arbitrary cause that I've elected to attach myself to. Another uncle of mine was recently diagnosed with cancer. My grandma is a brain tumor survivor. My sister has already had a cancerous lesion removed from her foot.

For anyone whose lives have felt cancer's icy touch, whether upon themselves or one they love, do something about it! Get involved. Volunteer your time. Participate in events. Donate. I urge you not to wait around for someone else to make a difference.

As for me, I'll be headbanging. For health. I hope you join me.

Water Balloons Over Baghdad?

Yesterday, as I watched some kids run rampant through their lawn in search of those ubiquitous pastel candy-filled Easter eggs, I reached for a bag of Hershey's Kisses. The same candy that was inside the eggs, the same candy the kids were going crazy for. I was a grown-up, though, and I got to eat as much candy as I wanted without even having to look for it.

I got to thinking: when was the last time I hunted for Easter eggs? Was I eight? Nine?

Granted, I've had some fun hiding eggs for various kids over the years. What kid would ever think to look in the toilet? In the litter box? I was just trying to help these kids curtail their sugar intake, after all.

So why don't we adults hunt for Easter eggs anymore? Perhaps the eggs wouldn't meet any need in our life, and the hunt wouldn't fit into our schedule. "If these Easter eggs don't come with 370 HD channels, a lottery ticket, and a weight-loss pill, then I'm not gonna waste my time looking."

What is it about growing older that makes us unable to experience the joy we once found in simple things? Why does everything have to have a reason? When did childish fun lose its appeal? Why don't we adults have pillow fights? Or play freeze tag? Or 'doctor?' Okay, perhaps we still play doctor, but simply call it something else.

Instead, we adults spend our time slaving away at jobs we never wanted, saving up for the vacation that never turns out the way we hoped it would. We fight wars, we fight at home, we fight at work. What if every disagreement were settled with water guns? What if every war were waged with Super Soakers? What if these deranged individuals I can't stop hearing about on the news stormed into churches and retirement homes and schools and office buildings, twin CPS 4100s in hand, and opened fire, simply drenching hordes of innocent people? What if CNN was full of reports of American planes dropping thousands of water balloons upon unsuspecting Baghdad?

If children ruled the world..

I'm not trying to trivialize the world's problems. I'm just saying that maybe if we learned to stop once in awhile, put away our 401k's and our Blackberries, and enjoyed an Easter egg hunt, the world might be a better place.

Life: It's Way Too Short.

Yesterday afternoon, as I headed home through the last gasps of rush-hour traffic on I-84 East in Portland, I popped in a Thrice CD. Yeah, I know. CDs are so 2002, but I haven't caved in to the XM oligarchy yet.

Halfway through rocking out to "Image Of The Invisible," a semi pulled into the fast lane. Into the exact spot that my car had been occupying until I slammed on the brakes and veered onto the shoulder. I stopped on the side of the freeway for a minute to hyperventilate.

At 5:45 AM this morning, I woke up suddenly to a stabbing pain in my chest. I couldn't breathe. I checked my pulse; it was normal. I've lost two family members to heart attacks, so I knew the symptoms, and I knew I wasn't having one.

I grabbed my laptop and went to WebMD.com. 14 seemingly life-threatening conditions matched my symptoms, and I was instructed to call 911.

I didn't.

My mind was full of thoughts of my own mortality. Somehow I knew that this pain would subside, but these two incidents left me thinking about my last day of life. What if this were it? How had I spent my time? Had I made anyone else's life better, or just my own?

Whatever your religious affiliation, or lack thereof, you cannot help but agree that life is precious. At 26, I've already lost six high school and college friends. Three to car accidents, three to suicide. I've been to ten funerals in my life. I tried singing at one of them, but couldn't get through the song without breaking down in tears.

What am I doing with these days and years that I still have?

I don't want to be remembered as just another entertainer, a guy with a good voice who put on a good show.

I want to leave a legacy; to use my time wisely; to contribute to the good of mankind. To have my music make a palpable difference in people's lives. To make them happy, to make them think about what's important. I want to break the cycle of self-gratification and use my talents for other people.

Am I tangibly putting these thoughts into practice? Am I living up to these ideals? Sometimes, but not often. It's so much easier to take the other route. In the words of a song you might recognize: "I can't buy a minute; maybe you'll get it figured out on your own."

I'm determined to deny my lyrics the right to become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

SXSW 2009: Cliff Note Edition

I spent parts of the last seven days in Austin, Texas, for SXSW 2009. I played four shows, met hundreds of people, went to tens of concerts and parties. A comprehensive blog post would end up being about as long as Ron Jeremy's, uh, career. Instead, I'll just focus on one day: Friday.

Tyler, Mandy and I woke up early for the second day in a row. 9:30 really gets to ya after awhile. We took the bus down to the Four Seasons hotel where the BMI Breakfast was taking place. I'm not even a member of BMI; ASCAP is my PRO, but their breakfast didn't offer free mimosas. We ate with some advertising executives and a couple of pompous, obese attorneys.

I was asked to do a TV interview with ME Television's All Access Live. I was scheduled for 4:30, so I hung around the TV studios all day. ME Television not only provided free drinks, but also live, televised, intimate concerts featuring artists from Kanye West to Portland's own M. Ward. 4:30 rolled around, and suddenly Miguel, the VJ who was slated to interview me, ran out of the room to take a phone call. Metallica's management was on the phone. My interview had to be pushed back to 5:45. I can think of worse things than getting your TV interview bumped for Metallica. Maybe next year it'll be the other way around. I did have some friends offer to punk Metallica for taking my slot. Be careful, Mikey. Lars is a pretty bad dude.

In the meantime, I went out to a wine tasting bus that had pulled up, where members of the San Francisco band Scissors For Lefty, who just got off a tour with Smashing Pumpkins, were holding an impromptu jam session. I chipped in with an acoustic version of "To Forget."

Friday night found me at the Vintage Lounge, one of Austin's most upscale venues. Tyler and Simon from The Slants rounded out my band, and we rocked that classy house. After my set, we stuck around for The Massacoustics, a two-piece pop band from Boston featuring one guy playing both drums and bass simultaneously, as well as patting his head and rubbing his stomach.

All in all, my first SXSW was a memorable experience. From Sammy Hagar to Lone Star to Zone Bars to Peter, Bjorn and John, it's definitely a week neither I nor my liver will soon forget.

Spring Tour Days 13 & 14: Spokane & Eugene

As I write this, I'm sitting in Denver International Airport, on my way to Austin to play four shows at SXSW. I'm staring out at a beautiful sunset juxtaposed with the barren landscape of eastern Colorado, and something about this view is stirring my soul. It's just a small glimpse of peace amidst these nonstop last few weeks.

DAY 13

Last Friday, I woke up early to drive to Spokane for a photoshoot. Spencer of Dummy Boy Records Dummy Boy Records set me up with Patrick Brown-Hayes, a photography and design guru, to take the pictures. I received a touch of eye makeup courtesy of Leah at Nordstrom, and we were ready to go. During the course of the shoot, I changed outfits several times, and Pat, for comedic effect or blackmail, kept shooting. If and when these pictures surface on the internet, I'd like to make it clear that I am not responsible for their content. Except for the one on the bridge over Spokane Falls.

That night, I played a show at Mootsy's downtown. The show was booked last-minute and as a result wasn't afforded a lot of promotion; nevertheless, I played for an hour and then hit the road for Portland.

At 3 AM, I had to pull over and take a nap at a rest area somewhere on I-84. At 4:30 AM, I ate an Egg McMuffin for the first time in ten years. If it weren't for ketchup, no one would order those rubbery things.

DAY 14

Ah, day 14. Saturday found me driving the last of the 5300 miles of my spring tour to Eugene to play at Luckey's. Played some pool before the show, and was reminded of why I'm not a professional pool player.

My boys in The Misery Science played after me. These guys will be playing a stripped-down acoustic set with me at Macadam's in Portland March 28. Check 'em.

My flight to Austin is boarding. I gotta cut this one short. Truncate it. Castrate it. Amputate it.

I'll write more from SXSW!

Spring Tour Days 11 & 12: Billings and Bozeman

DAY 11

There's not a lot going on between Rapid City and Billings, Montana. There's snow, for one. You'll also find Gillette, Wyoming, or the Razor City as its seventeen residents affectionately call it. I stopped there for a quick car wash to get the mud off of my undercarriage. Chicks generally don't dig soiled undercarriages.

You'll also encounter a slew of billboards. My favorite one was for a local auto body shop. Underneath the name of the shop, which I can't remember, was the following: "24 HOUR TOE SERVICE." I can only hope that this was a misprint, although who knows what kind of freaky fetishes these northeast Wyoming residents get into to pass the time during those desolate winter months. Honestly, after weeks on the road, my toes could've used a good servicing. Don't judge me! Unfortunately, I was running behind schedule.

After an interview with KPLN 106.7 FM The Planet, Billings' top AC station, I headed to Bones Brewing, a year-old venue boasting a great stage and a dinosaur theme, including beer taps with velociraptor claws on them. I played for an hour, then ended up going out to a dive bar with some fans I'd just met. This dive, the 90 Club, had a bartender named Jesus. Unfortunately for the 90 Club's liquor costs, this Jesus wasn't able to turn water into, well, much of anything. He was a pretty nice guy, though, but the advantage still goes to my man JC.

DAY 12

Rapid City, Billings, Bozeman.

Everywhere I went, people would tell me how it had just been sixty degrees a couple days prior, and how the 12-degree weather shouldn't scare me out of coming back. In Bozeman, the thermometer finally rose above the freezing point. It's funny how on a day that's warmer than the days preceding it, people will do warm-weather stuff, even when it's still 45 degrees out. All of Bozeman's bikers, skaters, and joggers wearing those short, swishy shorts came out to play.
45 degrees is not warm enough to justify those shorts. Come to think of it, no temperature is warm enough to justify those shorts.

I stopped in at the studios of 95.1 KMMS The Moose, Bozeman's premier adult rock station, for an interview with the esteemed Kim Rossi. I ended up playing "Going Home" live on the air, and did about a fifteen-minute interview with Kim. I didn't even swear. You're welcome, FCC.

Kim was awesome. She regaled me with tales of the famous people that had graced her studio, including Hootie, Toad the Wet Sprocket, and more. Her wall was laden with autographs of famous musicians, and she offered to let me sign it. You know you've arrived when you start signing walls. We talked for a few minutes more, and I took off. Unfortunately, I forgot to sign the wall! Kim, if you're reading this, forge my signature, please! It's just a bunch of squiggles with a dot on top towards the right.

After kicking it at the Leaf & Bean and browsing a 25 cent T-shirt bin at a thrift shop, I ended up hitting up the Bozeman Mall to buy some T-shirts. Rockstars don't do laundry; they buy new shirts. Or just don't wear them at all. Anthony Kiedis, if only you could get that guy from Bowling For Soup to follow your lead.

Thursday night found me at the Filling Station, opening for hardworking local band Ten Foot Tall and 80 Proof. After discussing the relative merits of taking a mannequin on the road with you as opposed to an actual roadie with Ten Foot Tall's frontman Kris Clone, I took the stage and played my little heart out. Ten Foot Tall played an energetic set, blending country and classic rock sounds seamlessly.

I had a hotel room waiting for me in Missoula. I got to it around 4:30 AM.

Spring Tour Days 9 & 10: Winona, MN and Rapid City, SD

Why does the change in Daylight Savings Time always happen on the most inopportune evenings? I think that we should just keep on gaining an hour twice a year, and never lose one, until our noon becomes midnight and our society is plunged into a swirling cesspool of confusion, misscheduling, and ruin.

In any case, I arrived in the bustling town of Caledonia, MN, around 2 AM after a day of driving on three hours' sleep. I crashed on the couch of Amanda, a fan I'd never met. Kudos to her for opening her home to me, and for grabbing friends and driving an hour to make it to my show the following evening. No kudos to her cat, who was in heat. Her yowling woke me up at 5 am. I threw a shoe at her, and missed. Not one to miss a golden opportunity, she proceeded to hump the shoe and caterwaul even louder.

DAY 9

I woke up early on Monday morning to drive to Decorah, IA, to the studios of 100.5 KDEC to record an ArtistDirect program with Jeni Grouws. The program is slated to air March 20 at 8:15 AM CST. Not only is Jeni the station manager, but she's a DJ and a talented musician. She also took me to lunch and tricked me into letting her pay. Support KDEC, folks. Their people rock, and they might even buy you lunch. But let's keep it nice and altruistic.

I stayed to chat a little too long, and found myself running late for my next radio interview in Winona, MN. My GPS unit thought it would be funny to take me on twenty miles of dirt roads. Dirt is the new asphalt, though, so I was hitting corners at sixty MPH. There wasn't a speed limit posted. Come to think of it, there weren't any signs at all.

Coming around one particularly sharp corner, I was surprised to see none other than an Amish guy and his buggy. He was a little more surprised to see me, though; I had airbags, and he didn't. Unless he'd recently been on an episode of Pimp My Buggy and gotten that thing tricked out. Wouldn't that be pimp? Lower it down, get some spinners, put a hood ornament on your horse.. Too bad nobody in his family would have been able to watch the episode.

Thankfully, we missed each other. The horse reared up a bit, and I swerved off the road. No harm, no foul. I wasn't looking forward to picking beard out of my grill. Although from what I hear (ok, maybe from what I saw in the movie Sex Drive), the Amish are so nice that he probably would've picked it out for me before being carried by four strapping young lads to the hospital.

I arrived at the studios of KAGE 95.3 FM in Winona only about five minutes late. Did an on-air interview with DJ Steve Walker, and grabbed my guitar and played "Going Home" and "Moribund Refrain" unplugged on-air. Steve is a hilarious guy who is more knowledgeable about a wide variety of music than pretty much anyone except for perhaps Weird Al.

Monday night, I played at the Draught Haus in Winona. First, I slept on a futon in a back room for an hour, then played three hours of music for everyone's aural pleasure. Dan, a fan who had chosen to spend his birthday at my show, got sung to and later joined me on stage for an impromptu rendition of Tonic's "If You Could Only See." Met some great people, and practically sold out of my women's merchandise.

DAY 10

I'm not gonna lie: Day 10 was rough. What should've been eight hours of driving alone turned into eleven due to a freak Minnesota ice storm. I guess no amount of cold weather is 'freak' in Minnesota, but in any case, traffic on I-90 westbound slowed to a crawl. To make matters worse, I couldn't find my case of CDs, so I was forced to listen to either the sound of my own voice or old-school country stations playing their typical Tuesday afternoon "Best of Charlie Daniels Hour" shows.

I had a lot of time to think. What makes me want to drive eleven hours alone to play in Rapid City, SD? What good is it going to do me, my career, or anyone? Of course, I already knew the answer to my own question: playing music is what I love doing most, and every rose has its thorn. (Those would make great song lyrics!) The musician's lifestyle is definitely not always one big, glamourous party. That's not what I'm about, anyway. My goal is simply to write and sing music from my heart that makes people think, smile, cry, love.

I made it to the 445 Lounge in Rapid City a half hour after the show was supposed to start. After loading in my entire PA in subzero temperatures, I had to run my hands under warm water for a few before I could even play. The weather kept a lot of fans at home, but though the crowd wasn't huge, they were awesome. Arguably some of the nicest people I'd met the entire tour. Plenty of girly raspberry and peach flavored shots to go around. Tastes like estrogen! Gary, the hardworking manager/promoter, took me on a scenic late-night tour of the city after the show, and then put me up in the Radisson Hotel. I ate some carrots and called it a night around 3:30 AM.