Mike Stern, Dennis Chambers, Richard Bona, and Bob Franceschini live at the Blues Alley, Washington D.C- Pre Gig Shock

Fresh in from the 3 mile cycle ride to score a ticket from Blues Alley in D.C.

The sweat is fresh and my legs are still shivering from shock.

When I stumbled upon fresh news indicating Dennis Chambers, Richard Bona, and Mike Stern were scheduled to play today at the Blues Alley in D.C and I the ubiquitous one in D.C realized my blind and psychotic luck of happening to be here, fear possessed me in a lunatic sort of way and I went crazy with the internet, scoping for any way to get tickets; any way, but please no online business.

For not having a credit card in the great America is a real bitch. Still, I haven't gotten mugged yet. I've mentally dealt with it; if you get mugged, you get mugged, nothing the f#$k you can do about it.

It's crazy when your friends suggest to you (for lack of tickets online) to "take the cycle, just drive down the road, two blocks here, two blocks there, everywhere a block block, and you will get to Wisconsin Avenue...I'm not sure where Blues Alley is, but if you just kind of hang out and keep cycling around and asking people, someone will guide you and then...and then....and then you can buy a ticket and watch this Mike dude."

I, who have not exercised at all in years (apart from the finger calisthenics of course which is my greatest form of amphetamine-ized like movement of fingers; basically sixteenth notes which is a real knuckle buster, let me tell you...) took my pal's bike, wasted, and started to ride downtown; the iPod was set; Future Proof by Massive Attack set the music scenes very clearly; (total electronica on the busy streets of D.C; shuffle mode by the way is very awesome, no plans, just listen, learn, absorb, go nuts); with the music grabbing me in the gut, I did something I've not done in a LONG time- I started to ride the cycle. I didn't think about having to encounter some dark alley with possibly big guys- real big- canning my scenes.

I don't remember how old I was, but the way I learned to ride a cycle was learning beyond the actual physical aspect of riding a cycle. It was the first time I think I admired my father and hated him at the same time because I just couldn't get past the learning curve of bipedally dealing with the cycle but HE was the one who was going to help me; the tri cycle concept was to be destroyed my Father said. It had to go because big boys ride on two wheels; they write with two hands, there are good people and bad people (throughout high school and early college, I always kept this close to my heart; the yin yang, the dual sides of things, the complementary forces that keep us imperfect and help us strive towards some form of perfection- I didn't know it was so many words, but I knew I believed in it), and with one push on a free of people street, I was riding. I was elated; I remember laughing like an insane lunatic and just enjoying the thrill of being able to ride a two wheeled cycle, and suddenly, I realized that he had pushed me and I wasn't thinking about riding the bike; I just got caught in the moment; if I knew it, it would have been a lightbulb moment, but being young and impressionable, it was easy for me to forget about everything and just experience it purely. It was an awakening for me because until then, all I did was sit on that tricycle, hang out in as many places as my mom and dad could take me for rides; it was an obsession for me to roam the streets and now I had a Magna Glacier; shining, gleaming, ready to go out into the park and experience the unknown. This love hate relationship I had with my father was slowly starting to make sense. That push was for me to gain a sense of balance; on my own.

Riding down Key Bridge, the car strangled banner, is amazing. With the music pumping, I started to once again enjoy the beauty of cycling; I think my nature of playing it safe, not trying to take too many risks that others take for granted (simply because they're good at them) had divorced me mentally from all kinds of sports. It was just that realizing I was on my own and I had to get these tickets, come what may, that spurred me on like a crazed horse...the only spanner in the whole process ready to screw me was that the handle bar and the front wheel where not exactly married...pretty scary down a new, unknown road, downtown, in the city, at 6.00pm; but I tried to enjoy the view of Potomac river flowing below me and soon ahead, the many, many clubs that lined the river with all their colored roofs and people. It was vibrant; the city was alive, things were happening, I was on the bridge and another two miles to ride before getting onto Wisconsin Avenue. The cars were slower than I was; people screaming at the each other; ‘passenger love’, and I take the turn to the right at M Street at the end of the bridge.

All you have is a number; the signboards are incredibly and stupidly small. My eyes scope the street for 1073 Wisconsin Avenue. My legs are very tired; I realize that I'm on the street and not knowing which way to turn; I ride to the side and see a cop. He looks at me piercingly and I ask him where Blues Alley is; he looks into my glazed eyes and tells me to just turn right around the block. I don't realize he's asking me to take a right turn because the phrase right around the block when said casually doesn't indicate whether you take a right or a left. He also gave me a sideways glance; not that it mattered.

He gave me let's say, a detailed explanation.

I look across the street.

Dennis Chambers is standing outside Blues Alley, at 6.45pm dressed in a swathe of colors; I cannot make out if it's a robe or a t-shirt but nevertheless he's alone. Mr. Chambers, one of the finest drummers in the world standing across the street, pensive, leaning against a Georgeville T-shirt boutique pole and smoking this massive cigar; the smoke just hanging around him.

Chambers is alone and unmugged.

I had to dash; traffic rules completely eluded me. He was right across the street. Why the hell did I have to wait on the other side when there were no cars coming from either side looking at him dumbly?

I started to cross the road and then I saw the cars; they were coming at me like hornets. I lost all control and just crossed; next thing I know, I'm looking at Dennis and he's looking at me as if I'm a spastic. I tell him my legs are shivering like crazy and that he's DENNIS CHAMBERS, MAN! He acknowledges and we have a very regular conversation. He was exactly like I expected he'd be. Looks at you like he owns you. But inside all that, he was just a very regular guy standing outside the seediest bar ever.

Dennis was very surprised that there were musicians in India who held a lot of respect for him "You've got all these crazy percussionists in India and I just don't get what they dig in me, man"; needless to say, I explained to him exactly why people liked him and pointed out seminal albums etc, the usual small talk, and he just looked at me like he got shot. "You're crazy man; you're one crazy dude.” all I could muster up to say was "Can I have an autograph?" to which he laughed and signed a card that I had just violently found from my bag. See, I was expecting top security; I mean this is Dennis; P-Funk property; has to be protected and all; national freaking institution but we casually talked about music and all I can say now is that it was simply amazing to be able to stand next to the man.

I cursed myself a hundred times for not carrying a camera and told him I was going in to buy a ticket so I could catch the 10pm gig. I waited in the bar for a while hoping to maybe catch Richard Bona and Mike Stern; but it was not to be; my luck wasn't all that great; I got out of the bar and removed the cycle from the pole and looked down the alley; Chamber's broad back covered one half of it; I laughed maniacally, rode up to him and told him I'd be getting in my DVD of their Paris gig for more autographs. Then, I just left him; last glance was that massive cigar...burning.

Next entry will be a post-gig (if I aurally survive the onslaught of course); I can't wait! Blues Alley is exactly the kind of club where you have no place to stand, forget sitting; but it's worth it; I'm going to have to wait in line because you get to see the band so upfront even when you're near the exit; it's the smallest club you can imagine...

The fact that I got to meet Dennis upfront and share a few ideas including a discussion about Boston T-Party, the album with Jeff Berlin, T Lavitz, and Dave Fiuczynski and the benefits of listening to it in a closed room, alone, etc were pretty interesting. I asked about Gary Grainger and he smiled and mentioned they would do something soon; he had been way too busy and couldn’t even remember some of the albums he had played on!

The pre-gig shock exists; the strangeness is always thrown at you and dealing with it is the most interesting part of being in a new city. I also came to realize that I was such a fan of music even before considering the interest in wanting to play bass all my life. Talking with Dennis was a breeze of fresh air and cigar smoke.

Just an hour more and it's back to the same cycle ride to the show. Who knows what I'm going to witness?