Early 00's, NYC

At that point in my life I was still freelancing as an Audio Engineer in the Corporate Events sector. I had already traded an apartment and NYC full time for a life in the van. I kept a small client list of production companies who needed extra bodies during peak seasons so I could return any time I needed an influx of cash.

It was dry stuff. Banking and press conferences, Fashion Week, corporate holiday parties.

It wasn’t missed on me that the cream of the corporate high dollar universe, responsible for so much evil in the world, was exactly the thing making my commitment to living beyond that value system possible. I had it down to the point where I could work 6 weeks (30 jobs in 45 days) and pay for a whole year of my artist/activist/seeker lifestyle.

This particular visit, I was staying at Imani Coppola’s place in Bushwick taking care of her turtle, while she was on tour in Italy. At the time I referred to this seasonal work in NYC as going back to the "money farm". Normally I did it while camping in the van right in NYC, so having Imani’s place to house sit (complete with her recording studio), was quite a luxury.

The place oozed that good creative energy. Imani is a songwriting singer, multi-instrumentalist, performance artist, painter. I met her thru our work with the band Dufus. She had a hit on MTV when she was studying at Purchase in the early 90’s. That was another thing we had in common, Purchase (not the hit in the 90’s).

Back when I was living in town and wanting to be a performer, I couldn’t get my head around obligating my friends to come see me play shows. The open mic was where I got to work on stage craft. Most young artists who move to big towns like NYC will tell you about how important it is to the artistic community. The energy around almost any particular scene is invigorating, and some of my best friendships started in those rooms.

At the time of this story, Joe Driscoll was hosting one at a Bklyn bar called Artland.  On this particular night he decided to rename all the performers. Me he called “jose indigo”. I probably would have never remembered if it weren’t for what happened over the course of the week following.

During the show I had met this woman who I’d never seen around before. She was very attractive to me, masculine in a feminine way. During the mic, we sat in that back by the door in a picture window alcove thing. The type that you typically find in old storefronts in Brooklyn. There was a group of about 5 of my friends with us sitting in a circle, around a coffee table.

I do my performance when my new name is called and she keys into it.  It wasn’t often, but every once in a while someone would be in the room who could see exactly what i was doing.  Like when you see the magician and you watch him do his trick instead of being tricked by it.

I came back to our table and we started talking in earnest. I was hoping she was flirting with me. We were eating up each other’s words about culture, politics, sexuality.

At one point she came out to my van with me, which was parked just outside. We were smoking a joint, and moving in a sort of sexual direction. At some point my alarms started to go off a little, and then there was something in the way the energy shifted.  

It was aggressive, and I didn’t really understand where it was coming from. It could have just been her way of flirting, or revealing to me her Dom side. I just didn’t trust how it felt so I redirected us out of the van and back into the club.

I wasn’t comfortable at all, and pretty soon I started making preparations to go. She teased me about my hasty retreat from the van, and told me about a weekly party if I changed my mind. Inviting me to come and perform. She gave me her number.

-=-=-=-

I was headed to a new open mic across town. The Host was the Brooklyn poet Mike Whalen, who I’d met the last time I’d been back to the farm. The Mic was still so new that you could show up at 11:00 and if it was still going on you could get to play. I was thinking about her, and looking at the strong feeling that forced me to bolt.

When I arrived the Mic was over, and the TV was on. There were still some folks hanging out. I sat next to Mike at the bar and ordered a drink. They were watching an MTV show about Drag Kings in NYC… And there she was… that same girl from Artland who invited me to the party… The host of the episode.

-=-==-=-

At this point it’s important to try and explain what it is i was doing artistically at that time, and knowing what she and I connected on, how this all seemed to tie in. I love my songs, and playing my music, but I figured out quite early I wasn’t the type of person who was likely to become a TV star.

My interests were more towards an holistic approach to ego. I was imagining a world a lot like the world presented in Star Trek’s Next Generation. A world where people felt secure enough to be whole, and within themselves. Where we’d no longer volunteer for lives of suffering so others could live lives of comfort. To the degree I believe we have the power to manifest our reality, I believe we give this power away consensually.

In the late 90’s I had read a book called the Artist’s Way, by Julia Cameron. The van life I was currently living grew out of the lessons I took from doing that program. Basically, it’s a 12 step for unblocking your creative. There was a particular anecdote she shared that really took hold of my imagination.

The idea being, that by telling stories we (the story tellers) are invited into the consciousness of our audience. That by planting ideas (like seeds) inside stories, we can do our part to encourage an evolutionary change in culture.

She spoke about George Lucas’ conscious choice to use Ayurvedic concepts in the arts of the Jedi. His hope; By attaching it to the American consciousness thru his movies, the ideas would propagate an appreciation for the Eastern Spiritual practices in the West. I’d like to think this has been proven out in our culture over the last 50 years, but there’s nothing scientific in my assertion.

Her anecdote was about how Spielberg, Jim Hensen and Lucas were interested in opening the minds of the American public to new spiritual practices and thought structures, which they hoped would help move American society away from greed and towards generosity.

This became for me, my Life in the Van.

Going around randomly, connection to connection. Stringing everything together roughly around my interest in the various accents of Americana music of the continental US. I was acting on the belief that no matter how we talk to ourselves about it, we all want the same thing… Which is to live a safe, happy and fruitful life.

Everything we do, good or bad is an outcome originating from this core desire.

I was hoping to illustrate thru action a sort of radical kindness and selfless endeavor. My mischievous side called what I was doing Culture Busting, which I defined roughly like this:

As a stranger, entering into a social circle by invitation and attempting to politely shift comfort margins for contradictions in American society about race, equal rights, fear of the other, etc….

Through active listening and responding with my own ideas, spreading an experience of equinimity across culture barriers.

It was all about calling attention to our differences. and more importantly how easy it could be for us to get along if we allow it. The choice to support all people in society instead of ransoming some of us for the comfort of the few while the rest toil in between.

I attempted to encourage the idea it was a choice we each can, and do make daily, throughout our lives.

Since I was almost sure I’d never get on TV, or be a big rock star type, I decided the next best thing I could do was to simply get out there.

Everywhere and anywhere, anonymously travelling around, meeting people who would never leave their circles, becoming as close as a cousin without asking for anything in return. My financial independence provided by the Corporate Audio work helped this along greatly. I was able to provide for myself, while being available to give my time freely to any community that was inviting me in.

-=-=-=—=-=—-=-


Picking up where I left off in the story, on that night in Brooklyn, sometime in 2001 or 2002;

At that second bar, seeing her up on that screen, the spooky, yet incredibly sexy Dom woman I’d just met, I figured I had to go to that party. If i could get on TV, I was gonna get on TV. I had to try. I still had a really bad feeling about the party, but I put it aside and called.

She picks up, and without even saying hello says, "So you’re seeing the show". Of course she meant her show on MTV, and I was like, "Yeah". And she says, "So you’re coming to the party.", and I said, "Yep"

-=-=-=-=-

The party was later in the week, Thursday night. After hours, downstairs in the basement of a fancy Japanese Tea House in SoHo.

When I arrived the place was empty, except for one Caribbean man with dreadlocks, and a Japanese woman. They were sitting at a back table playing chess. I introduced myself and the man showed me downstairs to a basement room that was outfitted like a club. Lots of little tables with 2 or 3 chairs, and towards the front wall, a stage with a throne, pulpit and a candle altar.

He invited me to have a seat, gave me some tea and walked back upstairs, telling me that my friend would arrive soon, as well as the rest of the guests. He closed the door and left me there to look around. Funny enough, I had a bit of a deja vu, and I thought I remembered seeing the place as a kid on a public access show from the 80’s. A sort of weird psychedelic music show with a preacher on a pulpit and weird, trippy 80’s style VHS video effects.

About 20 minutes later my host arrived, with a girlfriend on her arm. They were dressed seductively and immediately started getting up on me. Getting me aroused, and offering a very strong joint. They also wanted me to start on alcohol, which thankfully I declined.

Maybe about 30 minutes after they arrived, just as the joint started to hit, all the men started showing up. They were Alpha Types, physically imposing, with a super aggressive energy. Well dressed, they were a mix of power brokers in Banking, Advertising, Entertainment. Everyone of Caribbean Decent. They said hello one by one, and then all proceeded to a back room and closed the door.

As the girls continued to feel me up and stroke my ego I could hear ruckus coming from behind the closed door. At times it sounded like Football players in a huddle. Group chanting and primal screams. Sounds of men beating their chests and laughing overly loud.

The Japanese woman stayed upstairs the whole time.

Eventually the Dreadlock fellow who first showed me in came back downstairs and moved to the throne. The men filed out of the back room and spread out amongst the tables. The girls got up and went from table to table sort of whispering with the guys, and a few of the guys came over to take their place next to me.

We started talking about Culture, the problems in society, the ways we’re all trying to make a better world… I had been invited there under the pretence that she found my music and message interesting, and I had something culturally valid to share. I was supposed to eventually play a bunch of songs for them.

But we never got there.

Everything set off when I suggested that outside of perception, and social acceptance, there might be no material difference between cult and culture... Suddenly it was that moment in the film where the guy bangs down on the table in the animated club and everyone stops in their tracks. In the silence everyone listens to him sort of lose control of his voice as he he says, "You telling me Black Culture is nothing more than a Cult?!?"

Things got heated very quickly. Before I knew it I was surrounded by a group of angry, gym-bro men standing over me in a huddle, and accusing me of being a racist. Saying they’d teach me a lesson about it.

This is when the Dreadlocks Guy intervenes, and now its clear he is the Authority, and this is a type of a community house. These guys each levelled invective, assigning negative connotation to my words, and he would ask me to answer each charge individually. It was for him to decide if what I was saying was true, or just me trying to save my skin.

If he gave me a thumbs down; anything the guys wanted to do, no one would help stop. Thumbs up and I can leave unharmed, exonerated.

-=-=-=-=

The whole process took a few hours. There were threats of gang rape, and other violences. By the time I got free I was exhausted, and completely wired. I ran to a pay phone and called a friend at 2AM who came to meet me right where I was standing in a phone shelter, and walk me home.

Talking myself down, and getting back to a sense of safety.

-=-=-=

The story told in The Ballad of Jose Indigo takes place during the party, the singer's words from my point of view.

Me and Gigi Cano (Drums) wrote the music, and Josh Gura rehearsed it with us on Bass while I learned the character's voice and tried to book a DIY punk venue tour for it.

I didn’t know what I was doing, so that didn’t work out so well. The tour got cancelled. Ironically, one of the only gigs I did get was for a bunch of real Nazi Skin Heads out somewhere in Utah. In the end we performed it once at the legendary CBGB’s on a Monday night to a crowd of regulars, my friends Noah and Tommy, and two Belgian tourists.

This recording is from that show. Live to minidisc with one of those cute little mini jack lapel stereo mics they used to sell for portable audio devices.