The good room

Ron the Drummer and I gathered our equipment as quickly as we could and moved it indoors. Tonight's Creative Chaos gig, benefitting the homeless, was supposed to take place in the patio area of downtown Tucson's Z Mansion. However, the wind had kicked up something fierce and it looked as though it would rain any second. Volunteers brought in chairs from the outside and lined them up in rows.

I was bummed. Audiences can be, for lack of a better word, fragile. Give them any excuse to leave and they often will. Wind and possible showers aside, the weather had been perfect for an outdoor concert. I imagined that people would end up hanging out on the patio or just going home.

But they didn't. Coming off of a great performance from Black Man Clay, many of them gravitated indoors, where the rest of the music would be.

Next up was Thomas and Davis. Cathy Thomas sang. Doug (I think it was Doug) Davis played keyboard. Ron, who had set up his kit to the side of the makeshift stage, spontaneously accompanied them on drums, sounding as though he'd been rehearsing with their band from the beginning. They did high-energy, heartfelt covers of songs in a bunch of different genres.

The crowd ate it up. I ate it up. I also attempted not to let the duo intimidate me. We've performed after extremely talented musicians plenty of times, but most of them play guitar and don't invite direct comparison. Fortunately, it was pretty easy to lose myself in their music. At one point, some of the audience were literally dancing in the aisles. I know "literally" is a much-abused word these days, but literally literally. They were out of their seats and bopping around the room.

Then it was our turn. My fears about not measuring up began to dissipate with the first song. The crowd was into it. They were looking at us, some intently, smiling, swaying. They liked everything we did.

Everything.

After so many atmosphere gigs, feeding off that energy, pouring it back into the music, and giving it back was such a treat.

Afterwards, we didn't just get compliments. People HUGGED us. I had forgotten to bring our big stash of CDs, but we sold out the two I carried around in my purse for just such emergencies.

As an added bonus, the musicians who had played before us said they enjoyed us a lot. When people whose music you groove on like you, it's something special.

The event was running late because of the move indoors. But when Amber Gaia's band began, people didn't trickle out. They stayed, listened, sang along. We hung out and did the same.

I got to chat a little with the event's organizers. They were pleased with the way the whole thing had come off. I kept saying how great the energy was. One of them replied, "Yeah. It's a good room."

Exactly right. It was a good room. Every gig should be like this.

RIP, Michael Jackson

"Oh my god," a coworker yelled from down the hall. "Michael Jackson died."

Really? Michael Jackson? I thought. Huh ... Weird. Huh.

Since hearing the news I've been keeping tabs on people's responses. I expected jokes and I've seen a couple, but mostly people have been respectful and sad. A couple of DJs at KRQ, the local top-40 station, referred to him without irony as the pop musician of the century.

Me, I wasn't as overwhelmed by sentiment. What I felt, mainly, was discomfitted. And not quite able to articulate why.

But listening to Michael Jackson songs in the car, it struck me how intertwined music is with our own lives. I heard Vincent Price's cackle, and I didn't just think, Oh, that's "Thriller." I thought, I'm 13 years old, watching MTV at my grandparents' house. I heard the opening strains of "Man in the Mirror" and they transported me back to the cafeteria at Indiana University, where I carried my tray to the dinner table as his voice came through the PA.

I wasn't his biggest fan. Some of his songs I liked a lot. Others I didn't. If I were to compile a list of musicians I felt a real connection with, he wouldn't be on it.

Still, the whole thing feels weird. He was here, and now he isn't, and something is missing.

Happy Father's Day

When I called my dad today, he launched into a story he'd been saving for me.

He'd called AT&T because he needed to change something or other in his account. The friendly customer service rep took his information, then got to the obligatory identity-confirmation question.

"Oh, this should be easy for you," she said.

Instead of the usual query about his mother's maiden name, his favorite pet's name, or the street where he grew up, she asked: "Who is your favorite singer?"

My dad thought about it. Who would he have put down? Ray Charles, maybe? Norah Jones?

"Um, try someone a little closer to home," the CSR said.

"Oh! Susan Wenger!"

Heh. Happy Father's Day, Dad. If I'm not your favorite singer, I hope I'm still one of your two favorite daughters.

Likeness

The other day a Disc Makers newsletter found its way to my inbox. We used Disc Makers to get our album into CD form when it was ready for release, and now the company sends helpful tips on how to sell those CDs, presumably in the hopes that we'll be wildly successful and pay them to print more.

Anyway, this issue of the newsletter contained advice I'd heard many times before: list your "like bands":

Listing your “like” bands (the bands that you sound most [like]) will further help to define your musical category and sound. This will enable you to attract new fans via print media and the Internet, prepare you to respond to requests from "music users," and open you up to a variety of marketing strategies based on the successes of other artists and bands

In other words, "Our band sounds like They Might Be Giants and Elvis Costello." Or, more creatively, "If Britney Spears ate Metallica, she'd sound like us."^*

It's solid advice. The problem is that we're too close to our own sound to figure out who we're like, or who's like us. When asked, we fall back on comparisons other people have made throughout the years. According to spontaneous feedback from the fans, we are reminiscent of:

Carole King
Tori Amos
Janis Joplin
Early Billy Joel

None of these people sound anything like each other, but whatevs.

Does Cinder Bridge remind YOU of anyone else? Leave us your comments.

* I have no idea how Britney Spears would sound if she ate Metallica. If you're a musician and you think this describes your sound, feel free to steal it.

I want a new drug

According to new research, people respond to emotionally powerful music in the same way they do to addictive drugs.

Using a PET scan, the researchers showed that music that caused chills led to a release of dopamine in the reward centers of the brain (mesolimbic striatum) ... Music, a mere sequence of notes arranged in time, can activate the same reward centers in the brain as drugs such as cocaine.

How alarming. Conventional wisdom teaches us that listening to music is a wholesome activity as long as the music is innocent and upbeat and contains no adult language. But here we have the sinister truth. Any music, provided the listener finds it moving in some way, can trigger an addictive response.

Parents take heed: Hannah Montana is the gateway artist.

ME/CFS and the perils of ignorance, part II: When the authorities get involved

People with ME/CFS, fibromyalgia, chronic lyme, MCS, and other invisible illnesses tend to accumulate bad experiences with the medical establishment. Some doctors will tell them there's nothing wrong -- the symptoms are all in their head. Less forthright doctors will give them a placebo and send them on their way.

That sick people have to endure this kind of casual dismissal is bad enough. But the consequences of medical prejudice can be much, much scarier.

Here are a couple of recent examples.

Brian Nicholson

Brian Nicholson, who lives in the UK, has ME/CFS and postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome (POTS). He has been involuntarily committed to a mental hospital for "abnormal illness beliefs in relation to ME."

According to Simon Overton, who maintains a Facebook page about this, Nicholson was drinking a lot of water in an attempt to treat his POTS. Though he was monitoring his fluid intake/output and his sodium levels, those who committed him claim his water intake was excessive, and that he is a danger to himself.

Overton says he had been doing well back when he was on IV saline -- and not drinking too much water when he was on it.

You can read more about Nicholson here.

Ryan Baldwin

16-year-old Ryan Baldwin has ME/CFS, in addition to severe autonomic dysfunction, a progressive heart conduction system block (LBBB) with right axis deviation, and mitochondrial disease. The Department of Social Services in North Carolina removed him from his home, accusing his parents of "fictitious disorder by proxy."

Apparently the diagnoses Ryan received from Johns Hopkins, the Mayo Clinic, and other institutions didn't impress them much.

Ryan has been in foster care for four months. He isn't allowed to use his power wheelchair.

You can read more about Ryan Baldwin here and here and here.

ME/CFS and the perils of ignorance, part I: A trip to the emergency room

Think living with a debilitating, incurable disease is tough? Try living with a debilitating, incurable disease while dealing with people who don't believe you have one.

Myalgic encephalomyelitis, aka ME/CFS, causes considerable pain, post-exertional malaise, cognitive impairment, and crushing exhaustion that is not relieved by rest. Despite solid scientific evidence that this is a physiological condition, many continue to believe that it's hypochondria, a psychosomatic disorder, or just plain laziness.

A typical example: Someone I know with ME/CFS -- the guy who inspired my lyrics for Everybody Knows About Me -- developed a lung infection. After attempting to deal with it on his own for a few weeks, he called his doctor's office. They told him (rather forcefully) to haul ass to the emergency room.

Here's what happened, in his own words:

I went to the emergency room for a potentially quite serious bacterial infection. During intake, when they asked me to tell them what major diseases I had, I made the error of including "myalgic encephalomyelitis." I did so because it is a (possible) explanation for (some of) various health issues.

Many hours of waiting¹ later, it turned out that the doctor had never heard of the disease, and had looked it up on emedicine.com.

Those of you who have ME will be familiar with the results.

The slightly suppressed smirk and the leaning-to-one-side posture that says, "I should really be doing important things, but this is slightly amusing, so I will waste a few minutes here before getting back to doing them." Upon being told that one is essentially bedbound on every day except for emergencies, the accusation of "you were able to make it here with no problem, weren't you? [So therefore you can go anywhere you need to anytime]" The visible show of patience while refusing to take strong suggestions of a staph aureus infection seriously. The suggestion that it might be a cold. And of course the "you look fine."

The self-criticism for making the mistakes one makes, due to the fog, to the toxic environment, to being vertical for that long for the first time in more than a year. Mistakes like forgetting to point out stupid defensive facts like "I had to take stimulants to be here and my body will be paying for this." Yet knowing that they still would not believe.

The self-criticism for mentioning the disease.² The well-founded concern that the permanent computer record will now poison future emergency room visits. The futile, desperate wondering whether it's possible to expunge that stigma after the fact, now that it has been proven how prejudiced people can be.

The wondering what to do about the infection now.

And, above all, the well-founded concern that the X-rays, taken at great personal and financial cost, received no more than a cursory glance.³

A cursory glance.

[1] Often with no place to lie down provided. This is extremely difficult for somebody who can realistically be vertical only for the length of time it takes to go to the bathroom. If you were an unrealistic idealist, you might harbor the ridiculous notion that a hospital would understand this.

[2] If they have not heard of it, knowing it won't help them treat you. If they have heard of it, they have heard harmful misinformation. Nearly zero chance of the information being used wisely to heal you.

[3] This doctor casually told us a story about how those in his sub-field often just (metaphorically) kick positive X-ray/CT/MRI results "under the table" if they are not relevant to what they are asked to report on. It was clear that this was his own attitude.

* * *

Me again.

Those of you who have never dealt with unbelieving medical staff might be skeptical. "Maybe he saw what he expected to see," I hear you cry.

I was there. I took a vacation day to drive him to the hospital and stay with him while he talked to various medical professionals, including the doctor he spoke of. He didn't imagine it.

The doctor wasn't mean. He didn't come right out and proclaim ME/CFS was psychological. He didn't point and laugh. But his body language had changed. His tone suggested ... not a sneer, exactly, but a "you can't put anything over on me" cockiness.

Oh, and he said that sending us to the emergency room was an "abuse of the system."

Sadly, this was a typical ER visit for someone with ME/CFS, fibromyalgia, or other invisible illness. Even more sadly, it was a trip to Disneyland compared to what some sufferers face. Next up: ME/CFS and the perils of ignorance, part II: When the authorities get involved.