New York Times

I'm thrilled to announce a story in today's New York Times, an article entitled A Scorpion From Iraq Trying to Sting in America. Its a review of a gig earlier this week, the first official show by Acrassicauda, Iraq's heavy metal band, now living as refugees in the US and whose upcoming EP I produced. It'll be released March 9th.

Times music writer Ben Ratliff, who is equally comfortable reviewing jazz and metal (my kind of guy), did a wonderful job reviewing the show and telling the story of my involvement with the band.

A couple small additions: it was actually a very socially aware friend, Nettie Hartsock, who first told me about the film "Heavy Metal In Baghdad." My parents had mentioned hearing of the film on NPR when I'd mentioned it to them. My point in relaying this story was that people like my parents, up on current events and politics, NPR listeners etc...had heard of the band, but not many metal fans or media organizations. I was determined to help change that. Also, I still play with the band Testament, as well as being 'once' of the band. Finally, there is a significance to the end of the story. When I said "Welcome to America," it was not only fitting for the moment, but that's also what James Hetfield wrote on the back of the ESP Guitar he handed to the band, which made it funnier to us. I might have forgotten to explain that to Ben backstage at the gig.

I want to thank Mr. Ratliff for this article. It's been an amazing experience working with this band and I'm honored to be sharing a story with them in the New York Times.

Random Thoughts During Turbulence

I'm trying to write in my journal. But right now the plane I'm on is going through violent bumps and an unexpected descent. It's scary. And gets me thinking.

Surviving modern life is very much a game of chance. How do I know this plane isn't going down?

Of course the reassuring voice in my head pats me on the back and let's me know it's just turbulence. Bit there's another part of me that says "You know...planes DO crash."

No it doesn't happen very often. In the grand scheme of things it's almost nonexistent. I've been flying all my life and have know thousands of people who fly, and have flown all there lives. It hasn't happened to anyone I know.

But it CAN happen. We've all seen it on the news:


A plane crash is like a tiny straw that gets drawn from a sea of straws. Or a gunshot in a Russian Roulette game where the weapon has a million empty chambers and one live bullet.

How does one know that the flight he or she is on is not that one in a million short straw or Russian roulette bullet?

You don't. Another reason to make the most of every day.

The plane settles down and the flight feels relaxed again. Seat-belt sign goes off. A flight attendant wheeling a cart say "Can I offer you something to drink?" I order sparkling water and lime. Let's see, what was I writing about earlier...

NAMM V (Girl Drama)

After a long, loud day on the NAMM showroom floor, my small group of friends and I were hungry. We kept running into others we knew and our group grew larger. Next thing you know, we were seated at a rectangular table stretching halfway across Morton’s Steak House. Shrimp cocktails, raw oysters, fresh crab and steaks seemed to magically appear. Cocktails and wine were flowing like a stream.

The restaurant was filled with faces, overhead music and chatter. It was like an upscale, toned down, elegant version of the convention scene earlier that day. A couple tables over, I noticed one of my jazz guitar heroes, George Benson, dining with a group of reps. At our table, we had over a dozen guys and girls, mainly hard rock and metal musicians. Some of us knew each other, while many were introduced for the first time. One guy, who everyone kept calling ‘Whit,' turned out to be Whitfield Crane, singer of the band “Ugly Kid Joe." It was his fortieth birthday and as his friends kept buying him drinks, by the end of the dinner, he tipped his chair too far back and fell over. The night was just beginning.

Since I’d been put up at the Marriott, right on the grounds of the convention, I invited everyone up to my room, along with other friends who were texting asking what I was up to. It quickly turned into a full on party (amazing how that happens). As the iPod speakers blasted, much more alcohol was consumed and the door was knocked on again and again. As more and more musicians and friends showed up, the room began to resemble a night club.

I noticed that two of those present were these attractive young women I knew who didn’t know each other. Each was somewhat glamorous and sophisticated and both were very petite. One of them was barely five feet tall, the other one only about four foot '7. But what they lacked in height, they more than made up for in attitude.

The first presented the aura of a cover girl from Cosmopolitan or some other women's magazine. She acted as if everyone else should know and respect her. The other was like a character from the girlie TV drama "Sex And The City." She spoke as if scripted from that show and I wouldn't be surprised if she lifted quotes from it.

Meanwhile, the drinks continued to pour. And as each girl talked to me, she would draw hostile glares from the other. Awkwardness had decided to crash the party.

The truth was, both of these were girls with whom I’d had brief but passionate romantic affairs with earlier in the year. One of them would still occasionally 'drunk dial' me and profess her love. The other continued to hint that I was a fool for letting her go, but if I played my cards right, the door might still be open.

There had been reasons I'd been interested. Each could be described upon first glance as 'sexy.' And in addition to their pretty faces and nice bodies, both were charming, talented artistically and very good at their jobs. One worked in finance and photography, while the other was in the music industry. But there were reasons I'd lost interest.

The first girl had wit and intelligence but with painful acerbity. She would insult everyone around, act like it was funny and just didn't know when to quit. It become a chore keeping up with her routine. Whenever I tried to gently let her know this, she'd pull a superiority complex and a guilt trip at the same time. "You're like the rest" she'd say with a laugh. "You just can't handle me."

The other one seemed to think I might be her future husband, despite not knowing me on a deep level. She was also someone I could never trust. I'd listen as she'd call and lie to her long distance boyfriend as we were spending the evening together. She was also attempting this new 'rocker chick' persona which was nothing like the girl I'd met, who'd seemed nice and normal. She was trying too hard to have rock hair and clothes and was slowly turning into one of those NAMM freaks.


Both suffered from a sense of self importance on the outside that probably stemmed from a deep insecurity within. They had personalities that seemed forced and put on. In each case, I'd hoped to cut through this insecurity with trust and open communication, coaxing each girl to level with me and creating a safe place where she could be honest about who she really was. But in the end, both were trapped in these characters they'd created for themselves, like little female Frankensteins. Frakenstina's.

Now they'd both shown up my impromptu hotel room party. I hadn't want to ignore them, so I'd answered each of their texts and gave them my hotel room number, certain each would be hurt if I ignored them. Suddenly I realized I had lead them on, which was worse. It was my fault for not anticipating this. And they each seemed convinced that the only thing keeping them from having a night and possible relationship with me was the other girl.

I tried to walk around and go talk to others for a while, hoping that each would leave on her own accord. But whenever I came back to the other side of the room, there they were with competing glares, subtle remarks and smirks.

Meanwhile there was a third attractive girl, even more picturesque but not compelled to prove her own self importance. She’d been drinking too, but instead of becoming overly talkative like everyone else (myself included), she just rested quietly, observing the whole drama with the first two girls. She had relaxed energy, wasn’t competitive or bitchy towards any other women and lacked that strange exaggerated persona of the other two. The next day, we'd laugh about the night's 'girl drama.' And about a year or so later, her and I would end up dating.

Now before I go any further here, let me say one thing: I’ve avoided writing about this type of personal stuff so far and have no desire to be like radio star Howard Stern, a favorite entertainer of mine who is comfortable revealing how he trims his pubic hair. But in the last few years, I’ve had some really interesting relationships with women. And as someone who used to be terribly insecure and even afraid around them, I feel like to not share any of these stories would be to sell you short as my reader and sell me short as a writer.

So anyway, the first girl, Carrie*, who looks a model but has a personality like right wing conservative nut Anne Coulter, becomes semi annoyed, not just with the other girls, but with me for not paying enough attention to her. She starts to aggressively make jokes about me, like a bad comedy roast. Most in the room are oblivious, caught in their own loud conversations, but the few who hear are all giving looks of discomfort as she lampoons my taste in music, accuses me of knowing ‘nothing’ about wine and rips into my choice of clothes.

Then the other girl, Becky*, becomes threatened enough by the first girl and equally pissed off at me. She starts coming on to some guy in front of me, laughing at his jokes exaggeratingly and obviously out of desperation. Soon after, she’s sitting in his lap, glancing at me for a reaction.

Neither girl's behavior does anything to reignite my interest. In fact, it has the opposite effect. It's late at night after being at NAMM all day and drinking all night. I have nothing to say to either one. I can barely process a thought, only feelings of discomfort.

As Carrie hammers away with the insult humor, I absorb her verbal assault like light punches. Then Becky, still in this guys lap, starts massaging his shoulders. I flash back to a few months ago, when she was naked in my bed and am grossed out by this display. I have no interested in competing with this guy, but I’m not into watching her with him either.

Finally it all gets to be too much, the crowd, the noise, the drinking, the girl drama. A switch goes off in my head and I decide to kick everyone out of my hotel room.

“I’m sorry…” I declare in a loud slur. “But everyone has to leave now (hiccup!). It’s been great. Uh… goodnight (hic)! ” I’m like a cartoon of someone drunk, except it’s no exaggeration.

In less then five minutes, I’ve shaken hands and/or high-fived all the guys on their way out and hugged the girls, except for Becky, who ignores me and follows that guy.

The only one left is Carrie and her obnoxious mouth which deserves to get taped shut. She looks at me with kitten eyes as I point to the door. "Did I offend you?" Silence. "I did didn't I?"

“I think you should go.”

“So who was that girl? What was going on with her?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

"Are you really mad?"

"You offended everybody. You don’t know when to stop. Please leave?”

“ Who does she think she is, looking at me like that and then talking over me everytime I tried to talk to you?”

“You were worse. You think you're funny but you don’t recognize that others don’t get it.”

“That’s their problem if they don’t get it. I don’t care what they think. Are you sure you don't want me to stay?”

“I do care what they think. They’re my friends. And if you can't respect that then I can't respect you. And no, I don't want you to stay”

She looks down. “I’m sorry. Can we just sit and talk for a few?”

“No, you're leaving. Goodnight.”

“You’re kicking me out?" she says with a flirty look. "Do you know how many guys hit on me today and wish I was in their room?“

I suppose she's right. At one time I would have dreamed of someone so hot staying with me. But now I have other options. And I'm thinking about her behavior moments before.

“Well here's what I wish." I'm raising my voice now. " That you would get the fuck out of my room! Now!” I push her out the door.

It's almost 3am. In about six hours, I'll be waking up and warming up my fingers. I have an early solo acoustic performance at the Yamaha booth tomorrow.

It's been an interesting first day of NAMM.



*(Not her real name)

NAMM IV ('Namm At Night')

No treatise on NAMM would be complete without a description of the scene at night, when one truly realizes the density of this Mecca like musical pilgrimage. It’s a cross pollination of human clusters gathering in hotel bars, sidewalks, stores and local eateries. Like a warm weather, West Coast version of Times Square on New Years Eve, getting a drink, a bite to eat, a cup of coffee or a taxi becomes an ordeal that involves long lines and pushing through throngs of people. The hotel bars are so packed that your drink feels like a priceless commodity and in no time at all, you’ve sipped it away and it’s time to wait in line all over again.

While waiting in line at the bar, I’ve found myself talking to members of Heart, Journey, Night Ranger and countless other bands I’ve heard on classic rock radio for as long as I can remember. Standing side by side are members of Shadows Fall, Stone Sour, Death Angel and other heavy bands. Next to them are prog rock legends from 70’s bands like Brand X, Gentle Giant or Gong, along with musicians that are professional teachers or clinicians and others who are new and hoping for a break. Just as the Olympic Games causes athletes of different nations to gather in one common location, so it is with the NAMM show and musicians of different genres and eras.

The Hilton hotel bar, located directly alongside the convention center, is the epicenter of activity, along with the Marriott hotel bar directly across the street. Bleeding into the bars of both hotels is the sound of musicians playing in the lobbies on makeshift stages, adorned with logos from instrument sponsors like billboards on the LA freeway. Some of these lobby bands are good, some not so good, but even the good ones can sound bad when your ears have been subject to an all day barrage of white noise on the convention floor. This causes one to occasionally wonder why these bands are even there, playing for an audience that is engaged in conversations, not listening, forced to yell to be heard over the music.

Meanwhile, there are special concert events in the hotel ballrooms, and other venues all over town featuring well-known bands and/or celebrity jam sessions. Entry requires a special flyer or laminate that is given out at the sponsors’ booths during the day. These passes tend to quickly run out, causing the jams to become ‘hot ticket’ events which are usually loud, crowded and overwhelming. I prefer to avoid them unless I’m one of the artists performing.

Last year at the Hilton, there was the “Wimbash,” hosted by Living Colour Bassist Doug Wimbish. It was sponsored by Peavey, Rockhouse, Guitar Player Magazine, Bass Player Magazine and others and featured Doug's funky group and several other instrumental rock artists. My jazz group, the Alex Skolnick Trio was also on the bill and being an improvisational group mostly focused on modern acoustic jazz guitar, we weren't sure how it would go. But as it turned out, the concert was packed wall to wall and the audience seemed to really be paying attention. They were able to connect with the music, despite being blasted by alcohol and an all day by a sonic assault. (video)

For me, this is one of the biggest challenges of performing at NAMM, whether on the convention floor or in the hotel ballrooms: creating sound that reaches out to people, wakes them up, taps them on the shoulder and gently reminds them that true music is an expression of life experiences and emotions. Being at NAMM, where the focus is so directed on gear, technique, appearance and endorsements, it’s easy to forget this.

These nighttime hotel bar gatherings, concerts, private parties, and jam sessions, are as much a part of the NAMM experience as networking and checking out the latest gear during the day. Attendees can let loose and many end up drunk and somewhat disorderly (note: the author admits to taking part in much drunk and disorderly behavior during NAMM). For the most part, there seems to be an unwritten rule of sobriety during the day and anything goes at night. But of course,there are some who don’t abide by this rule and still somehow manage to function.

For example, at last year’s NAMM, guitarist Alexi Laiho (of Children Of Bodom) and I were promoting our upcoming instruction videos through Rockhouse (my first, which is called “Jazz Guitar With Alex Skolnick" is due next month). We were taking pictures for the cover of "UpBeat" which is like the NAMM news, placed outside everyone's hotel doors. It was only noon and Alexi was on his third or fourth drink, alternating between JagerMeister and beer. But he still managed to keep it together and go to all his signings on time, buzzed, but totally coherent. There are others like him, guys that are able to party during the day just enough to keep things together, then descending into drunken oblivion at night. "Professional drinkers" if you will.

On the flipside was the 2003 NAMM, where I witnessed the legendary Eddie Van Halen, one of my favorite guitarists of all time and biggest early influences, show up hours late and falling down drunk. It was the middle of the afternoon. It was painful to see someone I admire so much setting such a bad example and upsetting a lot of people.

I figure if you like to drink, and I certainly do, then fine. Just don't do it in a way that causes damage to your goals and reputation. Problem drinking defeats the purpose and does not look fun. If it causes you to be late, not on your game and disappointing to those who are sponsoring you and waiting to hear you, it’s not worth it. Like other areas of life, it’s up to each individual to decide which course of action works for him or her when it comes to alcohol, a place many of us arrive at through trial and error. For example, I know how to pace myself, which involves no drinking while it's still daylight and knowing which alcohol not to mix. Wine and scotch? No problem. Beer and vodka? No problem. Vodka and Scotch? Big problem!

Of course, if you have an addictive personality, you should avoid alcohol altogether. But if not, there is nothing wrong with a little fun as long as it doesn’t get in the way of your goals and take care of your business during the day. Life gets a little more interesting when you let loose and allow crazy things happen at night, and nowhere has this been more true for me than at NAMM. So, on that note, I’m going to close this series by describing one such crazy night that happened to me a few years ago at NAMM... (To be continued in part V, final installment)

NAMM Part III

We've just said goodbye to the folks at the Seymour Duncan booth. With that signing done and the Heritage jam this morning, I have one more official appearance to make today. As my manager and I navigate towards the Peavey/Budda booth through the thick crowd and overwhelming noise, I think to myself:

Describing NAMM as ‘sensory overload,’ is like describing the Sears Tower as ‘tall.’

If you’ve ever been to a Guitar Center or Sam Ash music store on a Saturday morning, imagine that white noise rumble multiplied indefinitely. Every type of instrument being tuned simultaneously over thousands of people talking, electric guitars squealing, drums pounding, cymbals crashing, acoustic guitars strumming, bases thumping, violins screeching, people singing, keyboards clashing, saxes and trumpets screaming, trombones farting.

At one booth, I notice a high school age kid bashing sound out of a guitar and it sounds painful. I can't wait to get away. At the next is a duet with two master electric bassists, Victor Wooten (of Bela Flek & The Flektones) and Matt Garrison (of John McLaughlin, Joe Zawinul and Herbie Hancock). It sounds amazing. I stop and watch for a second but we have no time, I have to be signing for Peavey/Budda amps in ten minutes. If I stop and watch every cool jam and try out every piece of gear I like, I'll never make it.

Meanwhile I'm getting stopped several times a minute to sign autographs and pose for photos. This will happen all day today and tomorrow. Soon, my fingers will hurt from writing, my eyes will get sore from flash photography, my face will hurt from smiling, my hand from shaking, my ears from the noise, my throat from the dry air and my voice from talking above the din.

I’m not complaining. It’s part of a job I'm very lucky to have. I enjoy meeting all these people who are eager to meet me.

While I'm no 'household name' like Bono or Stevie Wonder, both of whom have attended NAMM shows from time to time (I once saw Stevie walking around, it was exciting), in this environment, where guitar enthusiasts are a sizeable portion of the crowd, I get a glimpse into what that kind of fame must be like. You want to pay attention to everyone and be nice to all. But it’s hard when you’re constantly distracted, running late to your next signing/performance, and getting texted by your buddies.

As someone who grew up feeling ‘invisible,’ I wonder if there is some deep-rooted psychological ‘corrective experience’ at play here (what would Mr. Freud say?). And I like being 'this guy' much better then the first few times I came to here.

At the first few NAMM shows I attended, I was awkward, shy, overwhelmed and feeling like a 'nobody." A young kid completely out of his element, I didn’t know what to say to anyone. I remember going up to booths and just getting a strange attitude from the people there. They didn’t want to talk to me. I was just another kid playing music they didn't get, 'thrash,' which they equated to 'trash.' And I didn’t have the social skills to talk to anyone effectively, gear reps, guitar mags or anyone else. Indeed there were so many times that I’d felt I’d said something wrong, was caught off guard, was distracted, unable to stay focused. I'd leave the convention feeling terrible.

While these early experiences were difficult, a couple very positive things happened as a result. For one thing, I eventually learned to handle it. Like a lot of things in life, you get better with practice and perseverance. By focusing on all the positive elements, I'm really able to enjoy it now. In fact, I feel that in these last few years especially, very positive developments have come out of it on friendship and business levels.

I don't blame myself for having a hard time with it, early on. I recognize that it is a cesspool, an intense social experiment.

Another positive effect of NAMM was that it helped solidify my musical direction. I can remember hearing musicians like Chick Corea, Mike Stern, John Pattituci, Joey Defrancesco up close. Master musicians who were there for the music, not the imagery. It strengthened my resolve to be someone that was about the music. I felt like these artists were like sacred trees unspoiled by the surrounding pollution of those vying to prove they can play the fastest or dress the loudest.

Today, I'm able to enjoy NAMM largely because I feel I've been able to follow that path. Along the way, I feel I've become 'image conscious' without becoming a caricature of a metal or jazz musician or any other type. I'm so grateful to have come to a place where I can be here and have fun, feel good about who I am, play some good music, hang with some great friends and not feel sorry for myself.

(To be continued)

NAMM Part II

Earlier that day:

Fri. Jan. 15, 2010 11:15am

It's starting.

Walking into convention center I hear a loud voice from above, it’s a giant image of a uniformed female, dressed like a cross between a flight attendant and news anchor. She's on a flat screen TV welcoming all of us to NAMM. Her message repeats. "Welcome to the 2010 Winter NAMM Show." It's so futuristic, reminds me Woody Allen’s ‘Sleeper’ where he's frozen in 1973, then wakes up two hundred years in the future.

People staring at me. I try not to stare back. Surreal experience. Constant distractions. Noise, noise, noise. Maneuvering through the sea of people. People I think I recognize and those who recognize me. A few try to get my attention. I hate to act like a rockstar, ignoring people, but the fact is I only have fifteen minutes before I have to demo my signature guitar at the Heritage booth. I still have to pick up my badge, locate the booth, it's five thousand four hundred and something I, I forget, and I'll be lucky if I get there on time.

Where do you get the badges? Downstairs, that's right, I remember. Whoa, just passed by John B Williams, from the Arsenio Hall Show on TV, the house bass player. Was on the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson too. That's really weird seeing him because I just heard his name mentioned this morning from Uriah.

Uriah had seen me in line at the airport gate at 7am, then saved a next to me on the plane (Southwest Airlines has open seating). Despite it being a painfully early hour for musicians, we totally hit it off, both involved in 'non-metal' projects professionally but can step into metal easily, like wearing a suit. He showed me a video of him in a blazer, hair tied back, backing an R&B singer on bass, followed by a picture of him, hair out, leather pants, playing with Whitesnake- they'd found him on the internet and despite him being more of a funk/soul player, they liked his look and sound. He's been playing with them for the last couple years. We took the same airport shuttle in, agreed to meet later and are telling everyone we're ‘BFF’s.’ (God, that sounds gay, lol).

Can't believe I have to play guitar for people in a few minutes. This is one of those times when one of the best skills I've ever learned, mental practicing, comes into effect. Right now I'm doing some guitar patterns in my head, imagining my fingers on the neck, ignoring all the oncoming noise as I enter the convention floor. This type of visualizing is essential and isn't easy. But I am hearing the notes in my head as if I was improvising with a guitar in my hands. With a 7:30am flight here from the Bay Area this morning and having only minutes to check into my hotel upon arrival, there was no way I could warm up properly.

Someone walking in a group says. “Hi Alex!” She stops, as does the whole group. “Hi!” I answer back. I forget her name. God, I’m such an asshole. I have to keep walking, no time to explain or chat. As I do so, someone else waves calls my name. I yell “How are you, Steve!” and by the time he's answered, I'm gone. Fortunately I had seen his name on his tag.

It's starting.


Ok, here I am, this should be the...Where the fuck is Heritage? They moved. They were always in this same spot every year. God dammit. I knew I should have grabbed one of those guidebooks with all the booth numbers.

Shit. Now it's 11:30, I'm supposed to be there right now, playing. I phone my rep at Heritage and my manager, I'm sure they're wondering where I am. Neither of them pick up, it's hard to do so at NAMM I understand, it's too loud and you're always in conversation. I leave voicemail for both saying I'm close, just lost.

"Excuse me" I'm saying to some random guy looking at the guidebook. "Can I borrow that for a second?"

"Sure" he says, handing it to me.

"Thanks so much."

He sees my name tag. "Alex Fucking Skolnick. No way. Can you sign that for me buddy?" I do so, head off to Heritage. Fortunately, it's close.

A crowd has gathered waiting. I arrive, apologize for being late, say hello to a few people, reps, my manager, some friends. David Becker, a great jazz guitarist and fellow Heritage player is there and we decide to play together.

Within minutes the guitar is in my hands, and the sounds are dialed in. Time to clear my head of the madness and make some music.

It's starting.

Minutes later...

To be continued...