Day 2 – The Wake Breaks Swiftly

Today would have been much easier if I had started writing earlier in the day. First there was work, then I loaded up the car to drive out and play a show in Anacortes, then back to Burlington to see John VanDeusen play a solo show (and catching a spectacular song and a half of Noah Gundersen as well), then back to my house (at about 10pm?) to get crackin on the song.

Tonight is when I run into the first of unforeseen challenges: getting a good live take on a new song finished within the last hour or two. I’ve chosen to do a simple set up for recording: using the built in mic and camera in my macbook. I have pro tools set up, but you can’t run video and record audio separately. What I’ve done in the past is capture video with an external camera, and a higher quality mic, then sync them up later…  but in the efforts of keeping things simple and not wanting to create a bottle neck in the process, I’m just using the video capture in iMovie.

This is all well and good if I can get a good take. I think it took a few hours after the song was done to get a take I could live with.

Stress Level: 7… After starting late in the day, it took a few hours to get a good single take. (On the final take, it’s a bit obvious I was trying not to wake the roommates).  Audio/Video: just used the video capture in iMovie.

Bon Voyage: Day 1

Day one! Here we go! Today was a spectacular birthday. I woke up n’ drove to Bellingham to have brunch with friends, then went golfing with Grant, my brother and my dad. When we were on hole 6, I found out that Michael Jackson died. Sad! After golfing, I went back to Grant’s house, and set up the laptop in Garrett’s old bedroom. With the window and the hardwood floors, it made for a great space. After 5 or 6 takes, I had something I could live with. Ok, so here’s the kind of songwriter I am… The difference between the words “tell” and “say” are immense. On verse two, “tell” is a flub that changes the whole lyric. Dang. Oh well, no time to have my inner editor seize the cogs of creativity. I’ve got too much writing ahead of me to get tripped up on the details… 

Stress level: 1… this song fell out of the guitar. Video set up: just sat in front of the computer.

Listen to Bon Voyage at www.corbinw.com

30 songs in 30 days…

“Make Voyages! Attempt them! There is nothing else.” -Tennessee Williams

 
To celebrate my birthday tomorrow, I’ve decided to write 30 songs in 30 days. I know what you’re thinking, because I’m thinking it too. This is and incredibly stupid undertaking destined to end in total mediocrity or horrific embarrassment. Well, to that I say, “Bring it on!”

The method I’ve chosen for the journey is to write a fictional story from start to finish. A concept album, if you will. And the rule will be, no old material allowed. I’ll only used what comes to me this month, so that means I’ll be leaning heavily into the winds of inspiration (hoping they keep blowing through the month).

 

Use the force, Luke...

Because I’ve chosen to basically write a musical novel, I’ve been drawing from the spectacular advise of my friend Chris Baty, author of No Plot? No Problem! He is the founder of Write A Novel In A Month (and only my friend, cause I’ve read his book over and over). The book (and subsequent novel writing toolkit) have some of the best advice for writing that I’ve found. I’ve drawn from and adapted things in his book to help in my songwriting before, but this month I’ll be referencing it extensively to keep the momentum going. 

 

So here’s to voyages, adventures, journeys, victories, expeditions, triumphs & conquests!

Photographs from the City

Here’s a link to some photos from our time in the city of Kampala, Uganda:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=8636&l=c9655&id=1351050033

For The Kids, Live in Africa

Whenever I pulled the guitar out, the kids started dancing. This is a new song, “Coastline”.

“Oceans”:

“Antibodies”:

Bad Plot Twists

 

This is a Rwandan dance they honored us with at a big party:

So I’m sitting in the theatre a couple years ago, mad as all get out cause all I wanted to see was Joaquin Phoenix kick some serious monster butt, and what does M. Knight Shama-llama-ding-dong do? He pulls a really cheap twilight zone surprise ending… with a really bad cameo appearance. 

 

4.5 pounds lighter, sucka!

When we hopped in the car last week and left Kampala for a 5 hour drive to Mbarara, I figured crossing the equator would be a cool novelty. A one of a kind attraction. It was really cool watching the water swirl down the drain clockwise 15 feet north of the equator, then counter clockwise 15 feet south of the equator and then straight down directly on the equator (and did you know that you weigh 3% lighter while standing directly on the equator?!). What a great way to distract you from the fact that the equator is a line in the sand. A line of demarcation. You leave one way of life behind and, though subtly at first, enter quite another way of life. 

We didn’t know what to expect in the village until we arrived. I had prepared myself for no wi-fi internet access. So when we first arrive in Mbarara, and we discover that there is no electricity or running water, this iPhone/digital camera/MacBook/iPod toting city kid starts looking over every wall and hedge to see if there’s actually a bustling, blissful pocket of civilization hidden from me as a test… as a joke. 

Ok, so I must be honest. My sense of adventure was through the roof, so really, I was up for pretty much anything. If our contact had told us of the conditions, we would have been prepared. Being unprepared made it difficult not to nervously laugh when we were shown our lantern, the outhouse on the edge of the banana orchard 50 yards from our door and our bathing facilities: a dark concrete room with a small window and a bucket of water. It’s very humbling to come to dinner and kneel down at a bucket while someone pours water over your hands while you wash them. All in all, it was like drinking water when you expected a big swig of Pepsi: once the initial shock of expectation was over, everything was just fine. 

The reason for our trip to the village was for a pastor’s conference that my dad was speaking at. Our mornings and afternoons were spent in a tin-roofed, dirt floored church with white board siding you could see through. The singing and music of the people were so wonderful to see and be apart of. During one song, the stage was full of the usual dancers and vocalists when Naboth leaned over and told us this song is a celebration of God delivering them from the genocide. That’s heavy. 

Being the token white guy is an interesting experience. The word they use is “mazungu”. Everywhere we went, the kids loved to wave and would come running to see me and shake my hand. Each one of them would say, “How are you?”, as it was most likely the only english they knew. Each time I broke my guitar out, they would dance to the music (more on that later). 

From our lodging, to our meals, to the plastic throne they brought in to set atop the squat hole, they gave us the very best of what they had. It’s very difficult not think about what we have in excess here in the states. It’s difficult not to be affected by the kindness of my new friends in Mbarara. I think there’s often a sentiment that we will be kind, giving or charitable out of our excess. “If and when we have that extra bit to give.” 

But if not now, when.

Some of the best things in life are those you didn’t see coming. Thank God for plot twists. 

5:00AM Courtesy Call

While we were still staying in the city of Kampala, we were awoken each morning at the crack of dark when the children next door sang their morning songs. At 5:00AM, I couldn’t help but feel like I’d been mauled by a hippo, but the singing is unforgettable. I’ve been home for a few days now and I miss hearing the kids sing every morning… and afternoon… and evening. Ok, so they sang all of the time, but it didn’t get old. If we made our kids here in the States wake up every morning at 5:00AM and sing together, who knows, maybe it would transform our education system.

Trapped In Paradise

 

Flat tires rule!

Our journey home has been a comedy of errors. It’s like the movie “Trapped In Paradise”. It’s one of my favorite Christmas movies! Nick Cage, Dana Carvey & John Luvetts rob a bank in some tiny town on Christmas weekend and get snowed in. If you haven’t seen it, then you’re all coming over to my house this holiday season for an egg nog drenched, festive-sweater-clad movie night.

Our trek home began at 6 A.M. Monday morning. Our driver was on time (can you believe it?!). We had brought a suitcase of clothes to give away and had left some clothes ourselves, so our bags were noticeably lighter as we flung them into the back of the truck. It was dark as we were rolling away from Pastor Naboth’s house where we had been staying this week. My dad said, “Just like that Robert Redford movie… ‘Out Of Africa’”. Just then, the truck spit and sputtered to a halt. At about $8 a gallon, they only put in a gallon and a half at a time. Just the day before, the truck had run out of gas at the same spot- 50 yards from the house… 15 minutes from the gas station.  They had sent a Boda Boda (motorcycle) into town to bring back gas for the truck. There’s no way they’d do it two days in a row!

So with the gas gauge on Elvis, our driver tries to turn the engine over. It takes a minute, but it rumbles to a start, and we head off into the dark. Another 50 yards, and the truck stalls out again. Again, our driver revives the truck, kicks it in gear and floors it to get as far as he can on the gas fumes we have left. A few more times, and we’re rolling up to his friend’s house who meets us with a cell phone. It seems like he called a Boda Boda to bring fuel,  then runs down the dark road with a canister in his hand leaving us sitting in the rain.

45 minutes later, the Boda Boda brings a can of gas and we’re rumbling down the road in no time. Arriving at the gas station, there proceeds to be a rather lengthy discussion that I can’t make out, and before I know it, Our driver is gone. Apparently, he left the gas money we gave Naboth back at his house. Really? Another thirty minutes and he’s back. As they proceed to fill the tank, I proceed to visit the little general’s room. While in the village this week, our hosts were kind enough to buy a plastic toilet throne that sits on top of their squat hole. For this, I give them 4 gold stars, two thumbs up and 100 points! On the other hand, I don’t know if you really experience Africa unless you use a traditional toilet. Thanks for the experience, gas station!

Once the truck was filled up, it turned out they put in 10,000 shillings too much (that’s about $6). The driver didn’t have any money and we had given all of our local money away. Just then I remembered the 10,000 shilling bill I taped into my travel journal. Corbin saves the day once again!

I slept in the backseat for most of the drive home. I wish I would have been awake when we hit one of the huge stork-like birds walking on the road. These birds are monstrous! They’re all over the city and countryside. The slaying of the bird blended into the never ending pot holes… one of which tore our tire open. I bought a bottle of warm Coke while our driver changed the tire.

Returning to Kampala was a relief! What was a shock to the senses a week ago was a welcome sight. We had time enough to shower, grab lunch with our cousin, pack our bags and drive to the airport.

 It would have all worked out perfectly if KLM hadn’t printed the wrong date on  tickets. All I can think of is Nicklause Cage saying, “Four lefts is is circle, you idiot!”

Stranded at the Entebbe Airport

So there I was, sitting on the curb at the Entebbe Airport listening to Bon Iver. I was waiting for our driving to pick us up and take us back to the guest house. I was waiting for… well, I guess I was waiting for whatever comes next. My friend Lisa spent a few months working at an orphanage in Tanzania. She says they have a saying here in Africa: “You westerners have your watches… We have the time”. Let me tell you, it’s not just a saying, it’s a way of life.

 

 

Best of Both Worlds

What we found in the village:
Bananna trees
Fire flies
Dirt roads
Lanterns
No electricity
Mosquito nets
Instant powder coffee
Squat hole toilets
No running water
Mopeds
Children
Goats
Longhorn cattle
Warm Coca-Cola
Biblical thunder showers
Toads lizards n frogs
Slaugtered goats
Water pumps
Flies
More flies
$8 per gallon of gas
Flat tires
Tribal dances

We just returned from Embarara. It’s a five-hour, pot-hole filled drive through the countryside to the middle of nowhere. We spent five days there, just two hours away from the border of the Congo and a million miles away from anything familiar or comfortable.

There’s so much more to say, but my driver just came to take us to catch a plane to Amsterdam. This time I’ll give A-Town a roundhouse kick to the head!

While You Were Voting…

While you were going to the election polls…

I was riding in a van through the rough roads of Uganda, Africa.

I stood on the edge of Lake Victoria:

Then I visited a woman’s prison:

I also visited the school next door full of children that wake me up every morning at 5am with their singing:

Now we’re off to spend five days in a remote village. It could be pretty rough. My ride is waiting… i have to run!

Oh, what a wonderful world!

You. Happier.

Location: Kampala, Uganda

Soundtrack: Artist: Beck, Album: Guero

Time: 2:44pm, Uganda time, or T Minus 24 hours till the election polls open on the East Coast.

This is the little girl I’m adopting. Her name is Anna:

I made up that last part. I had various friends ask how long I would spend in Uganda, and I replied with confidence, “Six Months. I’m going to adopt a child. My dad will be coming with me to pick out the cutest one.” I guess I expected a good laugh with my friends who ought to have known I’m not married and not in the stage of life to care for children. Instead, I was surprised to find many stared at me in amazement and wide-eyed belief. It goes to show you that you can say pretty much anything with confidence and a straight face, and most people will believe you.

I can’t help but think of this as I sit on the other side of the globe on the eve of the most exciting presidential race our nation has seen in some time. The candidates have promised a lot. Tax cuts, energy plans, foreign policy, social security, the economy, health care… the list goes on and on. With so many issues, it becomes necessary to express the message in one’s campaign with the tried and true Campaign Slogan. “Country First”. “Change We Can Believe In”. “Yes We Can.” “The Right Kind of Change”. With an unprecedented amount of money spent on the campaign trail for this election (one candidate spent about a half a billion…), there’s only one slogan that truly hits the mark: “You. Happier.” That’s what the poster said. Black ink on light pastels of yellow and blue. Stark. Direct. Impossible to miss. But it wasn’t a campaign slogan. It was a friggin’ Best Buy sign. Whoever decided to make this Best Buy’s current slogan gets a gold star for knowing the hearts and minds of the American people. Though I must say, I give them an “F” for tact ( good thing they’re not in the business of politics).

If you think about it, isn’t that what the candidates are promising? Isn’t that what people want? Isn’t that what I want? Now when I first saw the sign, I was doing last minute shopping for my trip to Africa. I was struck with disbelief at the bluntness of the message Best Buy had posted on the front door. “You’re Not Happy. If You Buy Things, These Things Will Make You Happy.” As simple and straight forward as it is, “You. Happier.” speaks to the part of me that says, “I’ll be happy when (__fill_in_the_blank___).” When I get this car, when I get this phone, when my political party gets voted in, when I have a girlfriend, when I get that promotion, when I get that house, when I get married, when I have kids, when I finish school, etc. etc. etc.

When will I be satisfied? What will make me happy? When I fill in the blank, will it make me happy? These are good questions to ask.

I’m wishing I could walk into the voting booth, pull the curtain closed, unfold my ballot and fulfill my civic duty as I join with millions voting for (__fill_in_the_blank___), then proudly wear the red, white & blue “I Voted” sticker on my cardigan for the rest of the day! Instead, I filled out my absentee ballot on October 25th, signed it, sealed it and mailed it with the hope that it wouldn’t get lost in the mail.

With that same hope, I believe that when I wake up to watch the African sunrise, I will pour a cup of coffee, log onto the internet and find that our next American President is exactly what our country needs… whether or not he is the man I voted for.

Grasshoppers taste like chicken… & bug juice.

There was a big, fat, green grasshopper crawling on the platform of one of the churches I visited today. I touched it, and it didn’t move an inch. They told me grasshoppers are good to eat. “Fry them up and they taste like french fries”. “No thank you,” I said graciously with a big smile. What I meant to say was “Are you freakin’ kidding me?!”

So here’s a photograph of the grasshopper I ate. They were right… it was just like getting friench fries stuck between my teeth.

Kampala Car Wrecks!

Scary is: a) seeing all the trashy outfits people choose to wear to the Halloween party… whether they have what it takes to pull off the “slutty” look or not. (Jeremiah, cue the Love Lights song about all the slutty costumes!) b) getting into a car wreck in a foreign country.  

I watched the sun rise over the valley this morning. The view from the porch here at the bible school guest house is unbelievable. Sitting atop the hill, you can see Lake Victoria to the right, and to the left, the city of Kampala. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were overlooking Monaco. It is truly a different story when you walk down the hillside toward the only roadway into the city. The “road” leading up the hillside to the campus is hands down the most extreme 4×4 driving experience I’ve had in a residential area. It’s Disneyland’s Indiana Jones Ride without the smoke and lights. Riding in the van and feeling like the whole thing’s going to tip over at any point of the 34degree angle ride is terrifying (totally awesome!). Just walking on the road is an undertaking.

It just so happens that my cousin who lives with his family here in Kampala as he is building an orphanage lives just across the valley not 5 minutes from us. As we waited for him to pick us up by the road way, my dad snapped a shot of me with his camera. A guy passing by offered to take a shot of the two of us, so without hesitation, my dad handed over his new shinny camera to this gentleman who was taller, stronger and obviously faster than the both of us. I thought, “If this guy wants our camera, Godspeed!”

The great thing about Uganda is that most everyone speaks English, and are for the most part open and friendly to foreigners. I started working on learning some basic Swahili before coming just to find out Luganda is the native tongue. You should have seen the old man I first greeted with “Mambo!” That didn’t work all that well. Thanks a lot, Lisa. Thanks a lot.

As long as I live, I will always be thankful that Seattle traffic, as bad as it may seem, is nothing compared to the traffic here. It’s just jam packed with cars, motor cycles and pedestrians. Sure, Seattle may have a lot of cars, but at least they stay in the lanes and at least you don’t have people walking through traffic with babies strapped to their backs on I-5. This one gal was riding side-saddle on the back of a taxi bike weaving through grid locked cars with her baby sitting on her lap. Eat your heart out, Brittany Spears.

As crazy as the city seems to these western eyes, it really is a chaotic symphony of beauty. I wish I had a better camera so I could hop out of the car and SMASH!!!… Our driver suddenly hits the truck in front of us. We were only doing 4-5 miles an hour. It didn’t seem like much of a jolt, but a hit is a hit. The menacing passenger slowly got out of the pickup to asses the damage. He wasn’t all that big, but he looked like he could kill me.  The driver got out in full camo uniform. Our driver stepped out to meet them leaving my dad and I in the car. The entire bustling street slowly turned it’s attention like a wave toward us. A hundred movie scenes of innocent victims getting pulled from their automobiles and brutalized by an angry mob rushed through my head. Getting eaten by a lion in the bush, I can deal with that. That sounds cool. That’s eternal street cred. But not this.

After a few tension filled minutes, Mr. Menacing got into the car to accompany us to the insurance company. My fears subsided, I held back the tears and recanted all of the promises to God I made if he would get me out of this alive. It wasn’t too long before we were sipping coffee in the cool shade at the local café.

I’ll be cursing Seattle traffic in no time.

Africa On Demand

The 8 hour flight from Amsterdam to Entebbe, Uganda went by in a flash. I was supposed to stay awake on the flight because we would arrive at 9 in the evening, but I could not. Sleeping made the the hours click by. What else made the hours click by? Movies On Demand. Each seat had it’s own TV screen and remote control. A couple of movies and a couple of naps, and bam! Hello Africa.

  I couldn’t help but think about all of this this morning as I was bouncing up and down in the van. One moment I have entertainment convenience at my fingertips, the next moment, we’re careening down Ugandan highways littered on each side with countless shacks that wouldn’t pass for much in the U.S., but here they are the markets and businesses of the locals. I woke up this morning at 4 A.M. to be ready for our driver, Moses, to come pick us up. Our destination was a local prison a few hours away. After a grueling drive in the dark down roads that most U.S. cars wouldn’t make it a half mile, we arrived at the secluded prison.

I don’t know if I can ever fully explain the range of emotions I felt as we met the 160 prisoners. I have never seen or felt anything like it. At night, these men are locked into three rooms inside the main building. Each room, no larger than a small living room, holding more than 50 inmates with no beds, no mats, no blankets… just cold concrete. None of the inmates had shoes, some had yellow inmate shirts, but most wore only tattered pants that hung loose from undernourishment. Each day the prisoners labor in the field to harvest lettuce and other crops to be sold in the city, only to be fed one bowl of porridge themselves.The filth and squalor is commonplace to Ugandan prisons. The inmates wear mistreatment and hopelessness on their faces, in their eyes and in their body language. The guards seem friendly enough, smiling for photographs they allow us to take. I have no doubt they would use the beat up AK47s slung at their side in a heartbeat.  

The group I went with visits this prison twice a month. It’s one of 65 prisons that they bring food, medicine and bibles to. The prisoners have no other source of aid as no one else visits them. It seems that no one cares. If not for the medicine, prisoners commonly die of malaria, dysentery and other diseases. Moses, our driver and translator, spent nearly a year in one of the local prisons years ago and sympathizes with the inmates having been where they are now. It is moving to see he and his team work and humbling to have, though insignificant as it seems, a small part in bringing aid to those who desperately need it.

Bouncing up and down again in the truck, we rolled through a different world full of color and life. The children walking on the road waving as we passed, the mud dwellings alive with morning activity. The sun now lit the countryside that was a dark mystery hours earlier. All I could think about were the men at the prison waking up and coming into the muddy courtyard, huddling together to keep warm, clutching containers for their food and water for the day, lining up for bread and arguing for any extra rations.

I sat silently, fingering the buttons on my iPhone while I listened to Paul Simon’s “Graceland” album for the first time as I watched the country, then the city pass by. “Where are we going?”… “We’re going to the mall.”

Amsterdam! You win again.

(Amsterdam soundtrack- Artist: The Notwist. Album: The Devil, You + Me)

   So, the first time I was in Amsterdam, I was 14 years old. The second time, I was 15. That’s because I spent my birthday in Poland and Prague, Czech Republic. Both times in Amsterdam were layovers spent staring out the windows of the airport wishing we could explore. Here again I sit, wishing I could go to the old part of town, but alas, it’s time to hop another plane. This one is almost nine hours into Uganda. I’m really tired of flying, but super energized now that I’ve spent some time in the airport trying on wooden clogs.

Sardines

There is a book you simply must read; “How The Irish Saved Civilization”. It’s a powerful book of the rich, little known history of Saint Patrick and the Irish monks that came after him. One of my favorite sayings refers to what thy called white martyrdom. Red martyrdom involved death. Green martyrdom involved seclusion. White martyrdom involved leaving your home country which you love with the possibility or prabability of never returning:

“They change their skies but not there souls, those who cross the ocean.”

Seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright position. The cabin is secure. We are cleared for flight!
(Cue the music, Andrew Bird.)

Christmas Night

 

I had coffee at the Penguin for the second time this week.

   When I was a kid, we used to roll our sleeping bags out by the tree a few nights before Christmas. These days, I sleep in my snowboard pants and jacket the night before the Mountain opens. Well it might be time for a new tradition, because after a long arduous packing process, I’m ready to hop the plane for Uganda tomorrow morning, and I just can’t sleep. I think I’ll sleep with my backpack on.

   It will take about 18 albums to get to Uganda. 10 to Amsterdam, then another 8 to Kampala. The book I’m bringing for the plane is “What’s So Great About America”  and a new copy of Digital Handcuffs Magazine. As the plane is taking off, I’ll secretly grab my iPod and listen to Andrew Bird’s “Fiery Crash”, and later when we’re over the Atlantic, I’ll spin Deathcab For Cutie’s “Transatlantisism”, though, there’s a good chance we’ll be flying over the arctic circle instead of the Atlantic. Other than that, I’ll be checking out the band Ladyhawk that I just downloaded today.

   Jet lag, here I come…

Kampala, Uganda

I leave on Monday to fly to the capital city of Uganda for two weeks. Kampala has a population of 1,208,544… and I’m going to give high fives to everybody.