‘Shreddin’ at Sweetwater’ thrashes the bullshit into oblivion

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Marbin gets satisfaction in their second live album. “Shreddin’ at Sweetwater” is a sampling of some of their best, “recorded live for a streaming show at Sweetwater Studios” — hence the name — released Feb. 5, 2021.

Marbin’s second live album, Shreddin’ at Sweetwater, is just the kind of music you crank up after one of those “got out of the wrong side of…


Jazz Pianist Lisa Hilton rolls out the answer to COVID-19’s dark, turbulent times

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“I have always turned to my creativity in difficult times. I think it’s how I process what is happening in our world.” Her creativity is our enjoyment. “More Than Another Day” [Ruby Slippers Productions], out since Dec. 4, 2020, will help you forget your troubles. PHOTO CREDIT: Aaron Regan

Wonderful music flowed out of Lisa Hilton despite the COVID-19 lockdown last spring, cutting her Chalkboard Destiny 2020 tour short, halfway through. A loved one in Italy had also fallen ill. The whole world was falling apart, thrust into turbulent, dark times.

Compelled to create something out of nothing, the jazz…


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Photo by Fabrizio Verrecchia on Unsplash

in my dreams
I look for a key
already in my front right pocket
next to the plane ticket
and a taped picture of you
and I, together in one of those funny
yearbook poses of the ‘70s

a window is always open to the other side storms and dinosaurs, seas and ice caps, happy, shiny people in Eddie Bauer ads sipping lattes in gleaming white cups, their eyes peering over designer glasses - celebrities, elusive, vibrant, and slightly vacant when you ask them for the time - as if they’ve seen a ghost, pass the scones, darling, where was…


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Photo by Liam Shaw on Unsplash

Oh, we’re back to this again? Sigh.

Apparently. Look…an(other) alarming spike in hate crimes against elderly Asians in polite Canada and Seattle society, cosmopolitan Manhattan and Chinese-intensive San Francisco.

Dammit.

I spent my entire life trying not to get singled out, get my ass beat, prove myself to white (and black) people, even other Asians, that I’m okay, I mean well, I don’t mean any harm.

You haven’t lived until a Japanese- and Polynesian-American gang up to throw out racial slurs that have been thrown at them.

Just a few short years ago, I was getting off a bus in…


Who do I have to #%$! to get gyoza around here?!!

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All I want is a plate of simple dumplings. Is that so hard to understand, people?! Photo by Charles Deluvio on Unsplash

For the past week or so, I haven’t been able to get what I really wanted to eat.

I went off my diet back in early Feb. to get a writing assignment done in record time. Several writing assignments.

We’re moving in a few days. So that too.

Nothing I have eaten has been remotely good: bland, dish watery tofu soup, shitty basil-intensive voodoo fries to go with revolting cadaver wings, and now, this.

All of a sudden I have to turn around an entire magazine layout in PDF form without any ability to comment on or edit it from…


Be More like Jesus.

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Photo by Mark Chan on Unsplash

I’m really bad at this. Making lists.

“Wake up.” Indeed.

One of the first lists I ever made and tried to take seriously was the kind of man I wanted to marry. Of course, when you’re seven years old, you don’t realize that you can’t conjure up a dreamboat based on a *Top 10 list.

Love doesn’t work like that…I’m assuming.

And men, are notoriously stubborn.

Whittling down the important, biological task of pair-bonding to a list is especially futile when you’re picky as hell — and generally can’t stand people for any length of time.

Also, fun fact: I…


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Photo by Michal Matlon on Unsplash

I’m fairly certain everyone’s high. On something. But me. I’m standing in the middle of a football field, after rumors of a lone gunman send crowds streaming towards the exits.

Clues drop like shots in the dark. My heart races. I go blind for a few seconds, gather my thoughts. I would rather die here, as an open target, than go down with the ship of fools stampeding over their friends and family.

To live one more day.

Get high.

There is bread to bake, and mouths to feed. I am neither young nor beautiful enough to stand onstage and…


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Photo by Krisztian Matyas on Unsplash

Coke times, and summer block parties. My dad’s best barbecue chicken. I miss those days, when all I had to think about was whether the boy across the street liked me. (Answer: he did. Until he didn’t. Because you’re a whore, like your mother.)

We are debris, washed up underneath their beautiful Japanese glass floats, starfish, and black pearls. The invisible players behind this screen, writing awful movies and that insipid apple.com commercial interrupting Lady Gaga all the time on YouTube.

We’ve been made. In the image of the next “It” couple. But somehow, I slipped through the cracks. Rippling…

Carol Banks Weber

Jazz Medium©: Feeling the music, one review at a time.

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