Hello, dear friends--

The pressure canner is chortling behind me as the first batch of my annual Christmas marinara cooks, hopefully playing its part perfectly so that after removal from the boiling bath I'll get to hear the satisfying 'pop' of the lids

as each jar seals. Sally reckons this is my 18th year of sauce-making. I just know that I'm much better at it, now that I've done it a few times.

I'm playing (and singing) this coming Friday evening at O'Connor's with the inimitable Jack McMahon, who leads the tight combo comprised of Ron Stephens, Rudy Battjes and myself. We'll start at 8 pm and continue, with only

a short break or two for brow-mopping and hydration, until 11. I mentioned singing because, as some of you know (and thank you very much, each and every one of you) from your presence at O'Connor's or The Trails End last

weekend, I had laryngitis and was unable to sing a note, with the exception Friday night of a sort of John Cale-type rendition of High-Heeled Sneakers. Other than that, zippo.

Speaking of the folks who come out to hear the bands I play with, an aside to the men on this list whom I don't see very often or at all, which may be due in part to the fact that you're happy just staying home and snuggling up

with the person of your choice, which is cool, but to those who don't have that luxury, take note: sometimes, a lot of fine women come to these gigs.

Since this is the very reason I started playing music in the first place, I'd have to say that my gigs have been excellent lately. For some reason, we seem to play better when there are members of the female persuasion in the audience,

and I'm being serious. Aside from the mindset we started out with when first getting into a band, ergo; 'with the help of this guitar I shall lay waste all women who have to this point spurned my bookish ass for lesser, non-musical

neanderthals who just happened, through no initiative of their own, to be born handsome and athletic and competitive'; our goal is to make good, honest, entertaining music every night.

Having said that, I defy any heterosexual musician (outside the classical realm) with a pair to tell me that it makes no difference at all to him if his audience is liberally populated with attractive women. It's biological. And having a shiny

guitar in your hands is even better than having a light saber when you're 5 years old.

A few years ago, there was a drummer in Rodney Crowell's band who, upon catching a comely female in the audience looking at him, would start hitting his cymbals a lot more and generally overplaying. We onstage with him would

smile knowingly at each other and give him a hard time about it later. This is a common syndrome. Any musician who sees or even thinks he sees a woman watching him as he plays, starts acting a little differently. I'll admit to it, and

I'm happily married. Makes no difference. And lest some might think that we're all just dogs with opposable thumbs, I beg to differ.

People who choose the arts as a way to live and make a living are clearly wired differently than most people. The need for attention present in most of us is exemplified by the exquisite satisfaction that results when someone from the

opposite sex (or whatever sex floats your boat) thinks that what you're doing is so cool that they want to interact with you. Many artists, after spending their formative years being dismissed as weird or otherwise undesirable by girls their

age, are flabbergasted at the attention they receive once they hold a guitar in front of them.

Why do you think that the bands you've seen in 1980s and 90s videos made those faces? OK, sometimes they are unconscious, which is obvious because those faces are the ones that you wouldn't make on purpose, unless you were trying

to attract the attention of another baboon during the rut. The faces I mean are contrived and practiced. The Sultry Stare, The Sultry Stare with Devilish, Cute, Inviting Little Smile. The Rock Grimace, which is supposed to let us know that the riff

being played is superhumanly difficult.

The coup de grace is the licking of the guitar's neck. Rudy Sarzo, a very cute, popular bass player during that era, did it to his bass in that Whitesnake video where Tawny Kitaen is crawling all over David Coverdale's car and then his body

and then apparently has a change of heart and wants to kill him, because she entwines him like a python and attempts to strangle him with her tongue. Maybe this is the action that Rudy was looking for, I don't know. It scared me.

I don't know why a guy would ever think that licking his guitar while looking into the camera with a steamy gaze is sexy to ANYONE. Most women I know would immediately question his hygiene. Although, I suppose it's like drugs--there's a

market for that shit. Well, there used to be. Now there's Emo. Kids looking like they're pissed off while getting rich selling their music to their peers. At least the rockers I'm poking fun at were obviously having a good time.

I got off track thinking about the extremes to which some guys go with the whole posing thing. I'm sure that there are musicians out there who don't think about the women. Ricky Skaggs.

So, if you'd like to witness this subtle phenomenon, come on out sometime, maybe even this Friday at O'Connor's. If, on the other hand, you're uncomfortable after this revealing exposee and would like to be removed from the list, simply

hire me to give you a bass or guitar lesson. I'll throw in a few faces, no extra charge. You'll see that, kidding aside, I can play the flubber out of either one of those things, which is a result of dedication and the very real need for musical

expression. I can communicate much better that way than by talking or writing. Even if I might be playing to the audience a little.

I appreciate you--

best,

d