Did I Build This Ship To Wreck?

In the middle of a rare night's sleep back in late February, I woke myself up crying from a dream I couldn't remember. That's unusual, because I have excellent dream recall. But back in February, I wasn't remembering very many dreams; probably because I wasn't dreaming; probably because I wasn't sleeping. Immediately restless, I jumped out of bed and made my way into the bathroom.

The first thing I did was I look in the mirror. Now, at that time, like Dracula, I was avoiding mirrors. The Prince of Darkness stays away from mirrors because he doesn't cast a reflection, so anybody who saw that would become......a little suspicious. Well I avoided mirrors out of fear as well. Not the fear that there wouldn't be anything staring back at me (although at that point, given my nocturnal preponderance, I couldn't say for sure that I hadn't turned into Nosferatu). No. I avoided mirrors because I was afraid of what would be staring back at me.

Well now, there I was. Staring at myself. In the dreaded mirror. And I was fuckin' horrified.

My eyes: The same ones that lit up like Christmas bulbs when they saw you. The same ones that lovers would stare into. The same ones that wanted to peer into your heart and soul. The same ones that used to be a vibrant shade of green that shifted hues depending on the light. Those same eyes had lost their sparkle. They had lost their shine. They had lost their color. Well, that's not completely true. They did have color. They were red. As in bloodshot.

They were also sunken. Sunken into a gaunt, grey face. A face that had also lost its color and vibrancy. A face still showing the many tracks of my recent tears. A face I really didn't recognize.

And my hair. Jesus. It was past "bed head". It was more like "dead head". And not the kind that's into that wacky band from Haight-Ashbury. 

For the first time in my life, I had absolutely no idea who the man staring back at me was. I had absolutely no idea of who I had become. Not only did that scare the crap out of me, but it broke my heart. Shattered it, really. And I didn't think my heart could get any more fractured. Shit, was I wrong.

Standing in front of that mirror, with a shattered body and a shattered heart, I lost it. Again. And again, it felt like a dream. A bad one. The worst kind. The kind you have when you're awake. I put my head in my hands, dropped to my knees, fell down, went into the fetal position, and balled my eyes out, right there on the bathroom floor. 

After a few minutes of that, I got up and looked at myself in the mirror again. I stared at the reflection, long and hard. I don't know why. It was horrible. But I kept staring. Something in me wanted to burn the image and the feeling so far into my soul that I would never forget it. The last time I did that, I was looking at my father, as he lay dying in front of me in the hospital, the nurses trying to jolt his body to life with a defibrillator. I didn't have any control over the life and death of my dad. Watching him die was the worst experience of my life. Now, it felt like I was watching myself die. 

Except, I sure as shit had power over my life and death. I sure as shit had power over what to do next. And living the rest of my life "phoning it in" like I had been wasn't on the fuckin' menu.

Then, as is so often the case, who shows up but My Forever Love. And once again, she saves my ass. I was literally starving: physically, emotionally, spiritually. Outta nowhere, she flies in from beyond and feeds me; giving me her beautiful, succulent, sexy, nourishing tit on which to suck. She kissed me all the way to my soul. She wrapped herself around me. Most importantly, she loved me, unconditionally, regardless of what I had done. Once again, Mistress Music reached in, grabbed my heart, and pumped new life into me.

As I looked in the mirror, I started singing this song by Florence + The Machine, "Ship To Wreck", in my head. Now I love that tune, but I hadn't thought about it for months. Now, all of a sudden, in the middle of this identity crisis of the soul, it pops into my head. I didn't even know many words, but I knew the melody, and it was calling to me like The Sirens called to Odysseus. 

So I run from the bathroom, grab my iPhone, my headsets, and crank it up. I listen to the words, I mean really listen, for the first time. I play the song, over and over again, until I can sing it from memory. 

The poignancy and power of the lyrics sent chills up my spine, put tears in my eyes (yup, more of those fuckers), started a fire in my belly, and created a storm in my heart. And I began singing. Loud.

"Don't touch the sleepin' pills, they mess with my head

Dredging up Great White sharks, swimmin' in the bed

And here comes a Killer Whale, to sing me to sleep

Thrashing the covers off, it has me by it's teeth

And oh, my love remind me, what was it that I said?

I can't help but pull the earth around me, to make my bed

And oh, my love remind me, what was it that I did?

Did I drink too much? Am I losin' touch?

Did I build a ship to Wreck?

To Wreck, To wreck, to wreck

Did I build this ship to wreck?"

I looked at my shallow face with the colorless eyes and my emaciated body. I had lost almost 20 pounds of muscle. What the fuck? I had spent most of my life taking great care of myself. Eating right. Exercising, as in religiously. I had gone from fat kid to fitness freak. I was a man who did the outer, and inner, work. Personal Growth was my middle name. Workshops. Books. Seminars. Kripalu. Omega. Emotional work. Spiritual work. Intellectual work. My entire life, I had continuously educated myself. I knew a lot, about a lot. I had my MBA, for Christ-sakes. Was I really OK with pissing it all away?

I kept looking at myself in the mirror. And it hit me. This was MY ship. MY Fuckin' Ship. I built this ship. Me. Me and the divine. And we didn't fuckin' build it to fuckin' wreck. 

We built it to sail. We built it to live. We built it to love. We built it to touch, and to be touched. We built it to laugh, to cry, to feel; we built it to drum, to create, to express; we built it to work, to play, to make love, to fall in love. We built it to learn, to grow. We built it to do all those delicious things that My Ship could do. 

No. I did not build this ship to wreck. 

©2017 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

She Was My Music

        Music ignites some mystical, sacred flame inside of me; something that nothing else could spark. More like a force of nature, music has been able to access an energy within me that other wise could not be liberated.
       For most of my life, the right song touches a place in me that nothing else could touch. Music reaches me at a depth of being that is completely mysterious, completely unknowable, and yet, as familiar to me as my own face.
       Only music could do all of that for me.
       Until I met a woman who could do all of that for me, too.
       Since I hit my mid-thirties, I had been unconsciously seeking a woman who could reach that sacred part of me previously available only to music. I didn’t know it, but what I was looking for was a woman who could create the same feeling in me as my most beloved songs. I was looking for a woman who’s Song was as beautiful and magical and evocative to me as my favorite music; a woman who’s own song stirred my very soul. I wanted a woman who could somehow release all of that divine passion, love, awe, sense of beauty, and magic, that until then could only be accessed by the songs I most cherished.
       And what do you know. I found that woman. Without even looking. Without even knowing I was looking.
       So you can imagine how hard it was for me to have to let her go.
       It doesn’t really feel like I’m letting go of a person. It’s almost like letting go of the most powerful, beautiful, emotionally evocative song of my life. It’s almost like letting go of music itself. Which seems unfathomable.
       What I found in this woman was my favorite song, in human form; in sweet, delicious, tactile, human form. I had found my human incarnation of music. I had found the female manifestation of music itself. And I never saw it coming.
       And, just like the music that touches me so deeply, some of how she moved me I can explain, and some of it I can’t. Some of it is simply beyond the realm of understanding or logic. Some of it is just the beautiful unknown, the sublime divine, the province of some realm beyond. Some of it is just magic. Some of it just is. True Love.  
       It wasn’t anything specific she did. It wasn’t anything about her in particular. It was just her. Something about her. Anymore than I can explain exactly what it is about a song that brings me to a different place inside, I can't tell you exactly what it was about her that did the same thing. Just being with her was like having one of my favorite songs playing in my head, in my heart, in my whole body, all the time.    
       Ironic. A few months ago, I wrote a poem called “She’s Your Favorite Song”.
       Well. She was mine. 



©2014 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

Play The Way You Love. Love The Way You Play.

       When I worked at Guitar Center in the drum department, I came across a lot of drummers who had, years ago, stopped playing. Just as bad, they had sold their kits. Now, they were in the market for new equipment. From a strictly selfish standpoint, that was okay with me, because I loved helping them choose new gear, and it put money in my pocket. But from a humane perspective, it made me sad that they had stopped playing music, and even taken it so far as having gotten rid of their tools. I could feel the pain of that.
       As a musician, it’s important to keep playing, no matter what. And not just any music, but the music that stirs your soul. At least some of the time. Why? Because that’s why you started playing in the first place (I mean, after you realized that playing in a band was a way to meet girls….or boys). Something long ago got stirred in you, and you discovered that it gave you something you couldn’t get anywhere else. You brought to life an energy within. If you stop playing, or if you stop playing the music that moves you, that energy inside diminishes. It can even die.
       The good news is, you get to play Dr. Frankenstein any time you want. You get to raise the dead. You get to bring that unique energy within back to life, no matter how long it’s been dead. And you don’t have to rob any graves to do it (but if you play an electric instrument, you do get to fuck around with electricity, just like Dr. Frankenstein did). All you’ve got to do is start playing again. And start playing music that moves you.   
       I’m not sure if it’s worse to play music you don’t like, or worse to just stop playing. But I do know that going through the motions playing music is like going through the motions when you’re having sex. In the long run, it can actually make it worse.
       Think about it. If you have sex, without passion, without fire, without feeling, for long periods of time, what happens to your interest, to your desire, to your fire, for sex? It evaporates, slowly but surely. Now, what if you don’t have sex for a long period of time? That void actually creates desire. And that desire can spur you to action to seek what you want. As opposed to just being on auto pilot, which usually has the opposite effect.
       Playing music is the same way. Because it’s from deep inside. You can’t fool your heart. At least not for long. If you keep trying to kid yourself at that level, you get soul rebellion.
       Whatever you like to play, at whatever age, play it. Find a way and play it. Don’t waste time playing shit you don’t like. Don’t waste time jerking off. I don’t care how old you are. If punk or metal or disco does it for you, find people who are into it too and play it. Nobody but you and your band has to hear it (although I also strongly urge you to perform live, but that’s another blog). But you need to play it. And when you play it, you need to bring it.
       Play the music you love the way you make love. Make love the way you play music you love. Find your flame, stoke it, and let it burn. Play and fuck with passion, with fire, with reckless abandonment, with red hot love. Throw all of yourself into it. At once harness, and surrender to, its beautiful power.   

Photography courtesy of Pedro Blanco Photography

©2014 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

She's Your Favorite Song

Tonight
She’s your favorite song
Tonight
She’s the music that sets your soul ablaze, whenever you feel it
Tonight
Feel her that way
All the way down to your bones

She’s the painting you can’t take your eyes off of
She’s the movie you can’t watch enough
She’s the car you covet
With every primal, lustful cell in your body
She’s the taste of something
You lick your lips for

She’s the feel of passion
Rubbing up against your naked heart

Make love to her
Make love with her
Make love about her

Create a fire
And let it burn
Don’t dare try to control it
Be of it
And just surrender
It’s more powerful than you are
It's more powerful than she is
It's more powerful than either of you are
Without it

©2014 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved

Linebackers Drummers And Love (part 2)

 To get more from this writing, please read part 1, Linebackers Drummer and Love     

       Try this at home, kids. Put on a great guitar solo. Eddie Van Halen is my favorite. He’s amazing to listen to. Admire the virtuosity, the skill, the speed, the melodic forays, the originality, the feeling in his soloing. But try dancing to it. Try banging your head to it. Try moving to it. Good luck.
       Now, put on a great drum solo. And when I say great, I don’t mean one where a dude just wows you with his speed and technical ability. I’m talking about a solo where the drummer lays something down; like a killer groove that your body feels compelled to move to. Where you can’t help but shake and shiver and bounce. Now tell me, which solo evokes something more primal? Which solo packs more of an emotional wallop? It could be that I’m totally biased, because I’m a drummer. But I don’t think so. I’ve seen this for myself a million and one times. At gigs. At concerts. And in my own home.      
       The whole point is emotional content. Now again, I’m talking in the context of rock music and football (which actually have a lot in common). I’m not talking about a solo performer playing an acoustic guitar and singing. There can be shitloads of emotional content in that. But that type of performance has got very little in common with football. If I’m looking for high energy, body moving, balls to the wall feeling, I look to rock music. And football.    
        In football, a linebacker who nails somebody so hard they see stars is equivalent to a rock song that makes you want to bang your head, shake your booty, or fuck your girlfriend. And the root of that energy in song form is the drummer.
        A linebacker who attacks a ball carrier is like a man grabbing his woman, throwing her on the bed, and positively ravishing her. At least metaphorically (I’m not referring to imposing your will against a person who wants something you don’t. I’m referring to consensual adults). Again, it’s about setting the emotional tone. It’s about bringing a certain energy to something that creates real fire. This particular fire is aggressive. Passionate. Powerful. And beautiful. It really is. All true fire is.
       One of my goals moving forward is to assist people, both men and women, in BRINGING IT more to their lives. To their loves. There is a beautiful, primal, animalistic, passionate, fiery fury that is missing from a lot of lives out there. From a lot of lovemaking out there. From a lot of relationships out there. Both men and women are responsible. I get that many of us are afraid to let ourselves go. But we can all learn a lot from drummers and from linebackers. Because both breeds know how to bring a passion and a fury and a primal force and a love to what they do. Both breeds know how to bring it.
       Don’t you want to see that in a drummer? Don’t you want to see that in a band? Don’t you want to see that in your lover?
    Yeah. I thought so.

©2104 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.