ith tryin’ ter follow the Biblical scale exodus over ter Facebook that the online populace done seems ter have been makin’ over the past year I been a right busy bee. It were a downright pain in the hind end ter figger out even the most basic Facebook ins an’ outs, not the least difficulty of which were the fact that relyin’ on a fan page ter give an online presence ter yer musical entity done robs ya of any proactive behavior. An’ then there were the lack of a suitable bloggin’ element on Facebook, an’ we’s all know how much I likes ter use a blog ter vent my negative worldly perceptions.So’s the GRIT myspace (www.myspace.com/gritthemusic) done found itself reasonably neglected in the past few months, but low an’ behold I done went rootin’ ‘round there recently an’ lo an’ behold if it weren’t apparent that myspace, in its foolish attempts ter align itself with the supposed preferred Facebook format, has become downright un-navigable. Apparently them morons figger that if they somehow mimic Facebook it’ll bring back their straying flocks. But in the words of Lisa Simpson: “Piggy ain’t comin’ back.”
An’ that’s the tale ‘bout how I find myself here. Lil ole Squeezebox Sam (or big fat ole Squeezebox Sam, ‘pendin’ on how you choose ter look at it) done saw the need ter move up in the world an’ establish GRIT its own blog. That’s why yer here. Ter read the GRIT blog. I wanner remind ya that anything I pontificate on here is perty much my own runaway train an’ ought not ter reflect on the other members of the GRIT musical enclave none, so’s don’t hold my rantin’ an’ ravin’ against none of them.
Thusly, here’s we go with the first official GRIT blog blog. An’ here’s the words I done gotter say first:
“Farewell, Finger Pickin’ Lickin’ Mike Dill.”
A long time ago in the wood-floored livin’ room of a little house on Kingsbury Street in Granada Hills, a neighborhood in Los Angeles’ suburbanite San Fernando Valley, Mike Dill used his resonator ter breathe some life inter some live recordin’s that Aaron “Stringmeister” Miranda an’ I wuz makin’ of the now venerable tunes “Mark of Cain” an’ “Coupe DeVille.” Aaron an’ Mike an’ I knew each other from the now-long-defunct Cafe Perk’s open mic (but that’s a story fer some other time), so’s we wuz no strangers ter makin’ music tergether, but that afternoon of foolin’ paved the way fer some grandiose bits o’ life ter foller. I used them recordin’s ter hustle a Squeezebox Sam solo endeavor, but then I got mixed up in some bizness called “Squeezebox Sam an’ the Men With No Name” ‘fore Mike an’ Aaron an’ I would ever do somethin’ more together than some occasional back porchin’.
Well, as most things do, that there Men With No Name bizness came ter an abrupt end (that’s a story fer another time as well), an’ I wuz close ter hangin’ up the windbag. In fact, I did hang it up fer awhile. But that there Aaron wouldn’t let me quit. He wuz always hastlin’ an’ hustlin’ me ter squeeze out this tune er that tune with him, an’ finally he had me playin’ with him over coffee a few nights a week.
Then, in the wee hours of the night in a Denny’s, The Omen O’Brien (another feller who wouldn’t let me quit nuthin’) hatched GRIT on a paper napkin. We’s drew out a funny lookin’ logo where’s the “G” in GRIT were a skull an’ we wuz right pleased with ourselves. Then we’s deemed that GRIT would be a collaborative effort ‘tween he an’ I an’ Aaron an’ long-time pard Jimmy Lugosi (of Drop Dead Beats notoriety). Then we’s enlisted Corissa Dill ter balance out the testosterone.
Now, Corissa weren’t no stranger ter us. Bein’ Mike Dill’s daughter Aaron an’ I had encountered her perty regular through our associations with Mike, an’ then when I wuz foolin’ with that there Men With No Name stuff I asked her ter come around an’ flesh out some duet-ish type visions an’ narrative role-reversal idears I wuz concoctin’. I ain’t so sure the Men With No Name project ever truly melded with what I was imaginin’, but the boys an’ I just plain sorter fashioned GRIT ‘round the premise that she’d be comin’ along fer the ride an’ we’d make them idears we wuz foolin’ with inter a reality of some sorts er another.
Things went perty well when I look back at it (there’s some whiskey an’ beer haze involved in them recollections), but as fate would have it, one night we needed ter do a show without our Lugosi backbone an’ we’s asked that there incorrigible Mike Dill ter fill Jimmy’s small (literally) boots. Har har har. But somethin’ happened after that. Mike Dill just kept comin’ back fer more, an’ we certainly didn’t complain none. An’ then when Jimmy retired ter focusin’ on his own band an’ fatherhood, Mike laid the steam on.
The man is a veritable cornucopia of musical knowledge, lore, style, technique, an’ he’s got some perty good stories to tell, too. Ever’thing from blues ter country ter ragtime ter rock ‘n roll ter popular song ter novelty ter rap an’ hip hop ter new wave ter the rankest hippie wretchedness an’ ever’thing inbetween done comes outter that man’s guitar an’ accompanying vocals I do believe I’ve come ter the conclusion that the man may very well be musically unfathomable.
Anyhow’s, it should be right clear that our beloved Finger Pickin’ Lickin’ Mike Dill done became perty much undeniably a damnable pillar o’ possibility fer GRIT ter move forward with musically. An’ then, as if his right eloquent git-tar an’ resonator additions ter the music weren’t enuff, the feller goes an’ learns, perty much overnight, ter play banjo! An’ ever’thing the man did kept contributin’ ter makin’ GRIT better an’ better.
An’ that’s just the music, an’ Mike Dill had far more ter contribute ter makin’ GRIT the great experience it is than just the music. On the record, I gotter say that Mike Dill is, next ter my Daddy, prolly one of the most even-keeled, rational, sense-makin’ fellers I done ever had the pleasure of rubbin’ shoulders with. As far as I can tell, the man’s accounts are always in order, what needs ter get done gets done, an’ he seems ter always take care of bizness ‘fore it’s time ter play… which is sayin’ somethin’ seein’ as how the man always seems ter have the time ter play. Maybe a perty good model fer sanity in today’s world where yer time seems ter always be monopolized by shit that doesn’t seem should be all that important in the long run.
GRIT even owes it ter Mike fer settin’ up a spot fer us to busk at the Newhall Farmer’s Market, an’ without that income we’d have never gotten past producin’ just the first four tracks of our forthcomin’ CD (those first four tracks were monied by Mr. Cathedral an’ Rum hisself, Chris Hartford, by the way).
All in all, I am hopin’ ter have made it perty obvious just what an invaluable entity Mr. Dill done been in not only GRIT’s life, but my life personally as well, over the past few years. An’ that said, I guess as I mentioned before, all things come ter some end er another an’ this end just happens ter be Finger Pickin’ Lickin’ Mike Dill headin’ off ter fulfill his dream of livin’ in the bluesy south, New Orleans ter be exact. An’ that said, I guess I feel GRIT’s been left with a big gapin’ hole in it. Sure, the Dill’s ain’t completely absent. Corissa will still be cooing an’ strummin’ with us an’ Mike’s son Stuart has done picked up acoustic bass to lay down that necessary bottom end fer us all ter follow. But Mike’s absence is gonner be almost too much ter bear.
I keep getting’ asked the question, “What’s gonner happen ter GRIT now that Mike is goin’ ter live in New Orleans
Well… I don’t rightly have an answer fer that one. It ain’t like we’s gonner quit an’ fold up our lawnchairs er nuthin’, but I can honestly say that it ain’t gonner be the same none. Mike promises ter come back an’ visit perty regularly, his first such venture bein’ planned fer Thanksgivin’ time. He intends to finish the recordin’ ‘round that time and we’re hopin’ to wrangle up a show so’s we can muster a feelin’ of togetherness an’ all, but just the same it’s still hard to get one’s mind ‘round.
Anyhow, I guess my point behind all this ramblin’ is essentially that you are goin’ to be missed, Mike Dill. I fer one hope you have a grand ole time foolin’ ‘round them streets of New Orleans an’ soakin’ up all the flavor you can from yer new home. But never think fer a moment that there ain’t some part of me that’s not gonna miss ya an’ wish makin’ music with ya weren’t just a phone call an’ a few mile drive away. You’s been a pillar of inspiration, solidarity, an’ sensibility durin’ a crazy time of my life an’ I ain’t never gonna let that acknowledgment fade.
Thanks fer ever’thing, Finger Lickin’ Pickin’ Mike Dill.
- Squeezebox Sam
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