Common Rotation Newsletter: Things have Changed

My friends,

So there I was waiting to vote on Election Day. The line I was forced to stand in extended out of the Korean church and down Fairfax Ave. Everyone I spoke to seemed to be overwhelmed by the moment. In line for over an hour, I got the sense from most of the determined people around me that if it took all day to get their ballot counted, they would wait. This displayed, in my mind, a desire for a better world and made for a symbolic gesture of immense proportion.

After voting, I walked past the people lined up around the block to where I had parked. Getting in, I put the key in the ignition, started the car and leaned back for a moment, tuning out the chatter of the progressive talk radio. The whole voting experience conjured memories that peeled backwards chronologically. It was a daydream that only lasted a few minutes but it seemed to provide enough material to stretch out for this newsletter.

Of course, the first stop on my trip down memory lane was the disastrous and heartbreaking presidential campaign of 2004 but then abruptly, as if to avoid that feeling, to the year before it. This was when our band, Common Rotation, decided to stop waiting for a record contract, a booking agent, or any other miracle to solve our problems. We crafted the idea of a living room tour and it was exciting. It was righteous in all of its independent spirit. The concept was a brilliant plan of efficiency that allowed us to make money or at least break even while bringing our music directly to our fans spreading our music at a grassroots level. The actual touring part of the living room tour idea proved to be more difficult than expected and we were shortly in the hole. Hey, Alan Greenspan was promising that the market would regulate itself since as far back as the Reagan era and now look at the state of the economy. What I'm saying is even the greatest minds make mistakes.

Drifting back even further in this daydream to about a year before the 2000 presidential recount, I thought of a band meeting in a diner on Long Island to vote on whether or not we should re-locate to Los Angeles. This vote was one that would seriously alter the course of our lives whether we were ready or not. Some of us were not...but within a year - a year of intense planning and fearless sacrifice - we made the move.

The last random memory that came to mind was of a defining moment in my life. A year after graduating high school, I took a cross-country trip from NY to LA with my two best friends. At the time I was attending college while working fulltime at a flower shop. My parents had impressed upon me a dire need to get a college degree and to pursue a career in teaching, preferably on Long Island. When I told them about this trip I remember they said that I was old enough to spend my time and money however I chose. Neither of them had ever traveled further than the Amish country in Pennsylvania where we took a family vacation once. I refused to have that be my fate.

The prime reason for the trip was to drive my friend's car out to Hollywood so he could take a stab at becoming a big movie star. After we reached California my other friend and I flew home to our lives as college students in NY but...

The ten-day drive was geared for that post-adolescent in search of a catharsis of sorts. Reading nothing but Kerouac, listening to nothing but 50's jazz and Bob Dylan, I was ready for that quintessential coming of age American experience. I was Dean Moriarty, Sal Paradise, Woody Guthrie, and a spoiled middle-class white kid from the suburbs all in one.

In fact we were three young men, three best friends held together by the intoxication of all that road before us. We were so excited that we planned nothing and let most of the journey dictate itself to us. There were specific cities we wanted to pass through so we mapped a route through them and went without much of an itinerary. Aside from one stop at the Grand Canyon, there were no scheduled sites to see.

Each of us had never seen the middle of the country before and this is apparent whenever I look at the hundreds of blurry photos, taken from the car. I keep them in a stack in one of my desk drawers. One of the photos that was in focus that I have always left on top, to glance at from time to time, is of me out on a ledge, fifty feet down from a lip of the Grand Canyon extending out at least a few hundred feet into it. I don't remember much about Grand Canyon State Park except that we arrived at night fall, checked into our hotel, shared a Jacuzzi with a bunch of screaming kids, and walked out on the check at the buffet breakfast in the morning. I do remember that next day distinctly. We drove through the park in the late morning. When we reached the enormous hole that is the Canyon, there weren't many tourists standing at the particular overlook we chose to stop at. I recall that brief feeling of awe one feels when first setting eyes on a natural phenomenon, but then a second feeling intervened shortly after. I felt like a man in a museum admiring a famous work of art. Strickened with almost an instant dissatisfaction I peered down over the safety railing into the canyon and saw what was the "real view," the one the tourists couldn't get. I wanted better for myself, I wanted better for the world. I said to Adam, "I think I can get down to that ledge." In all his faux beatnik glory his exact words were "Make it!" but I could tell he was doubting if it was the right thing to say as he said it. I jumped the railing as easy as a NYC subway turnstile and shuffled sideways cautiously down the rocky incline to this hundreds-of-thousands-year-old protrusion. As I walked out into the Grand Canyon on what felt like a walk out on ledge as wide as diving board at the public pool, I could see hawks swooping no more than a few feet above my head. Adam must have snapped the photo right before I sat down near the outer edge. With deadly drops on three sides of me I kneeled and took a few deep breaths with my eyes tearing either from the dry wind swirling in the canyon or just the magnitude of my present position. I was too small and insignificant to be afraid of anything anymore at least for that moment. The fears of my parents and their generation were their own. I didn't have to live the life I'd been living anymore. How could I, if I knew that there was all of this out there beyond my island?

As I came to grips with this realization, I remember hearing Adam calling from the other end of the ledge. He must have climbed down shakily, as I had, to meet me out of friendship, envy, or stupidity, or all of the above. We were soldiers, brothers in arms, charging at the moment, without reason. We had orders. Jordan said we were just idiots. He had come out of the car to watch us make our wary ascent back to higher ground. He made note of the concerned tourists hanging around the safety railing and their remarks while keeping one eye out for any approaching park rangers. I remember him telling us when we were back in the car that they said we were crazy. Maybe we were, but looking back now I think we were just young, reckless, and a bit idealistic.

When I think back on that time, I've always convinced myself that something had changed in me, and in that moment suspended over the Grand Canyon, I decided to leave my school and my home to pursue the life of a folksinger. The truth is that my mind had been made up for a while. I was just afraid. This stunt was just a way of confronting my fear and it proved that I could have all of the experiences I wanted in life but...There was a lot of hard work between then and now. It continues for me, as well as my two best friends, and for all of us. I know I'm not perfect and everyday I have to fight to stave off a lot of the same old fears. Occasionally, though, I do seize a moment and that moment holds a mirror up to show me possibility. It gives me the hope that if I take measured action I can achieve most anything.

I truly believe we are sitting on the edge of another frontier. We've seen the view. Now let's climb down into it.


Come see Common Rotation on the "Yes We Did" Tour in November.

Please note that the November 16th date in Easton, Maryland has been cancelled.

11/17/2008 08:00 PM - Tin Angel
*This show will be without Adam Busch but please come anyway...please?
20 S Second St
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19106
w/ Peter Bradley Adams and David Berkeley


11/18/2008 08:00 PM - Club Passim
47 Palmer St
Cambridge, Massachusetts 02138
w/ Peter Bradley Adams & David Berkeley


11/19/2008 08:00 PM - Hooker-Dunham Theater
139 Main Street
Brattleboro, Vermont 05301
w/ David Berkeley


11/20/2008 08:00 PM - The Living Room
154 Ludlow St
New York City, New York 10002
w/ Peter Bradley Adams & David Berkeley

12/13/2008 09:00 PM - The M Bar
1253 North Vine Street
Hollywood, California 90038
Aftershow for The Thrilling Adventure and Supernatural Suspense Hour

There was a lot of hard work between then and now. It continues for me, as well as my two best friends, and for all of us. I know I'm not perfect and everyday I have to fight to stave off a lot of the same old fears. Occasionally, though, I do seize a moment and that moment holds a mirror up to show me possibility. It gives me the hope that if I take measured action I can achieve most anything.

You can. And I hope my hugs, applause and support will help.

11/17/2008 08:00 PM - Tin Angel
*This show will be without Adam Busch but please come anyway...please?

I would if I could.

Peace Love and Cheese

A cross country trip, a life changing moment. Thank you for sharing this very personal, thoughtful story with us, Eric. The future holds such possibilities.

Although the Living Room tour didn't work out financially for you, as a fan, I'm ever so grateful for your efforts. I cherish the memories of those intimate performances.

I'll be at the Philadelphia show. See you there!

Hey Eric,

Its the holiday season and I have to say I always miss you at family gatherings when your not there, but more than miss you I'm jealous. You're living my dream, so get it done!

I, myself, went the route of my parents wishing; went to college, got a few teaching jobs, and I hate it. I hope my misery helps validate your choice, if you needed any more validation at all. Rock on.


Love,

Mike Vicchiarelli