Chris Wesley in 360 Degrees

It’s never an easy thing finding out that someone you trusted and cared about gave you the appearance that everything was cool to your face while betraying you behind your back. It doesn’t really matter much either, whether it is a friend or a family member secretly working against you, discovery can change everything.

The question then becomes how much are you going to let that person or those people take from you? I mean, after all, there is always that temptation to become as evil as the perpetrator and get the next person before they can get you. I don’t know about you, but to me that’s giving up on everything. Yes, it’s wise to learn from mistakes, but beyond that, I still believe it is the betrayer that needs to change. Not the betrayed.

Roused wound up being about more than just the latest song I’ve written though. It is the song that pulled me out of a six month bout with writer’s block characterized by quotes from the most spirited of my detractors kicking around in my head. It was quite a fight. Roused by the nature of the environment it was written in became a reminder that so long as we have some fight left in us, regardless of the present circumstances, we still have hope.

So, if you are brave enough to trust and work to not lose who you are in spite of what life may have shown you, then Roused is for you. If you are on the fence or have fallen, I hope you find something you can relate to in the song’s journey so that you too can one day understand in earnest the phrase “when the night sky shares the shade of my mood, hope punctures like stars through the pall of the gloom”. 

 ”Roused” (Demo)  
 (All instruments and voice – Chris Wesley)

Like
stepping into my own house
for the ten thousandth time
and noticing for the first
that the walls are eggshell
not white.

I awaken into my life
notice simple things I never saw before
then
wonder how did I sleep through so much
and how does one acquire
an insomniac’s touch

Because I don’t know
which door closed
that would inspire both friends and family to
become foes
A new pang
my hearts changed
now that every eye I meet has suddenly gone strange

Feels like
My Hero was conceived but died in the womb
a Villain was received and built His throne on the tomb
demanding I believe that I should bend at knee
defile my temple in an effort to please
I turned to that with which most I love
costing me flesh, costing blood
I needed support, kept coming up hollow
The advice that I got was to flee or to follow
That’s when I saw that woman hung from a tree
a ghostly apparition who kept haunting my dreams
she said “The opinions you seek won’t make you a man,
it’s whether you lie or whether you’ll stand.”

The hills glow gold against the press of the night
Sentries guard sleeping soldiers from the fringes of the firelight
One last rest before we clash for the cause
I hold the lower ground and gather strength for their charge
My breath seems relaxed, making mist in the air
But all that I am is at stake and I’m scared
Till the hills silhouette, Doubt’s army clears the rise
Focus shrinks down to the need to survive
 
(The battle is represented musically.)

Cut my way through the elephant grass
A somber sun illuminates my path
And I am he of the single discipline and toil
Whose blood births mud as it hits the soil
Now it’s two score and no slumber comes
In the distance I can still hear battle drums
While throughout the fields my good deeds lie
Rotting, fetid and drawing flies
 
Right here is where momentum likes to slow down
But this is just the beginning of the throw down
When the night sky shares the shade of my mood
Hope punctures like stars through the pall of the gloom
I can feel the weight lift with the insistence of a slow jam
Exposing new layers, new plans
Tectonic plates move beneath my chest
Quake shaking the fear, the stress

To hear a rough mix of Roused here.

Posted in Attitude, CDs, Like Clutching Faith
Tags: betrayal, Chris Wesley, Like Clutching Faith, new music, Roused

Sometimes what you need to hear winds up being what you didn’t know you wanted to hear. But with life being messy and unpredictable, those moments seem to come at odd angles—Not to mention times.

After all, this was a breakup, and I wasn’t the one giving the speech. She didn’t have the time she needed to put into this. She wished she did and that things were different, but they weren’t. I’m still waiting for the person who will step up and say “It’s you. Not me.” 
 
This was the end of a creative partnership, but still. Plans that had been made were now suddenly open spaces in my calendar and I sat pondering how this latest disappointment affected the larger picture of my life and the options open to me. The library was silent for a few moments except for the low hush of breathing and the central air system regulating the temperature in the room. We had been using the library after closing for the past few months for rehearsals and meetings. My thoughts were punctured however with a comment so random to our discussion I had to ask her to repeat herself because I didn’t think I heard her correctly.
 
“Whatever you do, don’t stop playing the guitar.”
 
Where the hell did that come from? I thought to myself, but the question escaped my lips with more tact. I haven’t played the guitar for anyone in years, so I had no idea what would inspire such a remark. My severe lack of a poker face exposed my confusion.
 
Her explanation revealed that the randomness began when I had given her a copy of a DVD that had a couple music videos with performance footage of me playing guitar on it. What she saw of me in that footage prompted her request and caused me to consider how with the crash of that project, I had given up on something so ingrained in who I am. I had traded the guitar in favor of poetry. I had less baggage there. Ironic that it would be a poet that would inadvertently bring this to my attention.
 
Reminded of the video, I thought back to the shoot and more specifically to one of the breaks for a setup change. One of the crew asked me what I thought when on stage because I tend towards the explosive when performing with an electric guitar in my hands. I sidestepped the question with a witty answer because I didn’t feel like going into it at the time, but what the hell? I’ll go into it now since my friend made a good point that you might be able to relate to on some level. The truth is, I don’t think while performing, I feel and it feels a lot like the poem below. If the poem resonates with anything in your life, I recommend taking the advice given to me and don’t stop doing it. If you already have, perhaps, like with me, it’s time to give it another go.

Dragon

I breathe fire
as I take flight,
a leathery dart
pushing into the sky,
picking up speed
with every
beat of my wings.
 
I relish the resistance
of gravity
even as I defy it
with muscles and wind
furnishing my freedom.
 
Finally,
I soar to where
the air
is only barely dense enough
to carry my weight,
and briefly gaze at
the stars
hidden by daylight and atmosphere
from lesser altitudes
before plunging back down
to an age of darkness.
 
With one last scorching
exhale
I put my guitar away.

Posted in Attitude, Music

What do you think the importance of experiences is that we remember, but can’t possibly change? Do you think there is some benefit to them?
 
Obviously, some events like the poem Chamber Music are remembered with joy, but what about the dark memories? Do you think there is anything to be gained by going back to those on occasion?
 
For me personally, memories like the one that made up Chamber Music carry the appreciation they do because of memories like those in The Illusion of Bravery? below.
 
I remain curious though. What are your thoughts on this?

Posted in Attitude, Outliving Emotional Ghettos Wielding a Tec-9 Heart, Previews
Tags: Bravery, Chris Wesley, Memoir, past experiences

I’ve heard it said that the most important thing as a musician is what you don’t play. The weight of the meaning and the genius is carried by the spaces in between what you play. I’m beginning to look at life this way as well. To be more specific, some of the most important moments in my personal life seem to happen in between the events that turn into the stories I tell to entertain people. To drive this notion to its finest point though, is a poem I wrote about one of those moments that for all intents and purposes should have been anonymous, but became in its quiet, important to me.

This brief stretch of time was courtesy of a break while working with the artist Molly Zenobia in her home studio in West Lake Village, California. I took a seat on a bench swing looking out picture windows over Lake Sherwood and behind me, Molly sat back down at her grand piano and made this moment what it is. The poem is called Chamber Music.

“Chamber Music”

The keys to my soul found
not on a ring
but attached to a mechanism
throwing hammers at strings
whose vibration
moves through the soundboard
as amplified warmth.

The heat escapes the piano’s cabinet
Turns tumblers in my right atrium
slides back the bolt
then slips inside heart

Though welcome,
the frequencies
seep thinly grasping and gasping
for the attention of oxygen
into my right ventricle
before being
pushed into my lungs

There, the musical phrasings
find their breath
expand in breadth
I open like air.

The world illuminates.
A Nineteenth Century Bible
where every nerve ending is distinct with the weight
of colors.

I saturate in the emotional emulsion
of the moment
layering like on film
a double-exposed-entendre
seeking wild introspective affairs
illicit creative acts that lack domestication
but still as yet my fancies have no flight
they merely wade

on cue
a mallard glides into a window’s moving picture frame
before me
the causation of gentle ripples
cascading across the smooth surface
of Lake Sherwood
famed for the setting of one of Hollywood’s Robin Hoods

I wonder
how brave, how bold
how BIG
must your heart be
to beat with a need so strong
for the benefit of strangers?
The answer tugs the depth of field into focus
with the ease of a fluid motion camera tilt
falling upon ascending ending credits
the notes read like a long letter of love
and acceptance
the denouement
of a sustained courtship
towards one’s self

Behind me a blue-eyed Angel
serenades with an almost painful tenderness
“I reckon this’ll be
a good day for me-ee
I reckon this’ll be
a good day for me-ee”

I feel more than hear
the descent of the dampeners
halting the voice of the piano’s strings
in time
to the contraction
of my left atrium

song
passing like a train
through a town with no station
the sounds track
through my left ventricle
to the cadence of a chanteuse
lifting off to herself
giving the beast inside her wings
but it is I
who finally flies.

***The End***

Find out more about the incredible Molly Zenobia at http://www.mollyzenobia.com.

Posted in Artists, Attitude, Molly Zenobia, Poem, Uncategorized

Is the mere accusation of rape a pronouncement of guilt? Doesn’t the character of the accuser factor into a valid attempt to prove or disprove guilt just as the character of the defendant does? These questions became a nice heated debate during the Happy Hour pre-show hookup for fans of comedian Chris Valenti last night at The Comedy Store in Hollywood. As for the outcome of the debate? It was like talking about abortion, no one changed from there original stance, but at least we had a night of comedy to look forward to, right?

Right. The host, Bethany, after announcing that there were height requirements to ride her, made it a point to flaunt what shorter men weren’t gonna get amidst a fairly polished MC set throughout the night. She rarely missed on any jokes and the couple of times the jokes fell a bit flat, she recovered quickly and adeptly. Of the standout standups that I wasn’t there to specifically see, was Vargas and a dude whose name I can’t remember that was a Persian transplant raised in London. Vargas put together a piece on the sperm’s journey to fertilizing the egg that was so funny, it was all I could do to not fall out of my seat.

Chris Valenti, my reason for being there. This was the first time I’ve seen his act without his guitar and dude did not disappoint. Fresh off a breakup, he educated the crowd on the pains of being a comedian and a guitar player in the dating scene while in his thirties. If you have any questions about how a man copes with his pubes, and the challenges they impose, then you MUST see Valenti live. In the meantime, you can get the 411 on him at www.chrisvalentimusic.com.

Posted in Chris Valenti, The Comedy Store
Tags: Chris Wesley, The Comedy Store

I got the Black Eyed Peas new CD partially based on Mos Def saying that it is currently one of his favorite albums out right now.

Somewhere in there someone lied, got paid, something because try as I might, I couldn’t find the redeeming value of the disk. The lyrics make 50 Cent sound like Hemingway and the music and melodies come off like so many undeveloped ideas. With that said, I ended up also buying Mos Def’s CD as well and was at least rewarded with that purchase. Mos Def climbs aboard the beats with the verbal skill you expect just as the Black Eyed Peas left me wondering if perhaps will.i.am was rushed on this release because the consistent misfires here are uncharacteristic of him. I know he has spent some time absorbing what European dance culture has been up to, but I don’t get where the breakdown happened. I’m hoping this si an anomoly and that will.i.am will bounce back. We’re running out of solid ground breaking producers on the Major Label stage. As for Mos Def’s endorsement of this hot mess? I don’t believe it.

Posted in Black Eyed Peas, Mos Def
Tags: Black Eyed Peas, Mos Def