"No Sense Fighting: An Appreciation of Carl William Thiel"
by Herb Kauderer
Carl Thiel graduated from my high school in my oldest sister’s class, better known as That 70’s Show. Despite this proximity, I had to wait more than twenty years, and drive hundreds of miles to hear him play for the first time. I had spent years trying to get to a FIBS concert in the Buffalo area, and by the time I had sufficient control of my life they weren’t playing often. And then, there they were, guests at Confluence 2003 near the Pittsburgh airport where I was also a guest.
The band was great, and after their performance most of the band disappeared to do obscure things best unknown to the DEA. But Carl showed up in the Con Suite. I started talking to him, and he started hedging his bets and making his excuses. He was happy to talk for hours, enjoying a rare opportunity to talk books and literature with his peers. And he was ready to leave at any moment. You see Carl is a hesitant filker and fan. He recognizes us as his own, and knows he belongs among us. But he has no desire to upset the delicate balance that allowed him to support himself playing rock and roll while obtaining a Master’s degree in library science.
If you’ll allow me a difficult metaphor, Carl is the absent-minded professor nee rock star of filkdom. How absent-minded? Since joining my writers group in 2003 he has met my sister in social situations about half a dozen times. He has yet to remember her from one time to another. How rock star? At any moment Carl is ready for us to stop acting like fen and start acting like rockers who are competent only when rocking. He has never come to peace with our common fannish ability to build handheld synthetic aperture radar out of beaver pelts and broken slate.
When you meet him, you’ll find Carl is charming, incisive, erudite and oblivious, all backed by a dazzling smile and a ready laugh. If you get to know him, you’ll also find that he’s brilliant, frustrating, generous, cautious, kind, and blunt. Oh, wait. I already said he’s one of us.
So what else do you need to know? The SOB plays brilliant guitar despite rarely practicing. Alright, maybe after enough years of supporting yourself you don’t need to practice. But Carl can pick up a guitar, his own or another’s, and fill in beautifully on a song he’s never heard before, or take lead in any musical genre. As if that ability alone weren’t enough, he’s hell on harmonica. I’ve spent most of my adult life chasing the blues, especially the harp and saxophone blues. Carl’s harmonica playing won’t erase the memory of Little Walter; but it’s among the best I’ve heard live and impromptu.
All this, and he sings and writes songs, too. Funny songs, sad songs, romantic songs. What else could he possibly do to make me hate him? Wait. I remember. I almost had it blocked out, but it’s come back again, dammit. My wife reports to me, that when Carl drops his middle-aged butt on a stool and weaves some music, he turns teen-aged rock star sexy again. I guess he can’t fight what he is. I hope you enjoy meeting him. But keep an eye on your wife, okay?
February 1, 2008
Carl Thiel graduated from my high school in my oldest sister’s class, better known as That 70’s Show. Despite this proximity, I had to wait more than twenty years, and drive hundreds of miles to hear him play for the first time. I had spent years trying to get to a FIBS concert in the Buffalo area, and by the time I had sufficient control of my life they weren’t playing often. And then, there they were, guests at Confluence 2003 near the Pittsburgh airport where I was also a guest.
The band was great, and after their performance most of the band disappeared to do obscure things best unknown to the DEA. But Carl showed up in the Con Suite. I started talking to him, and he started hedging his bets and making his excuses. He was happy to talk for hours, enjoying a rare opportunity to talk books and literature with his peers. And he was ready to leave at any moment. You see Carl is a hesitant filker and fan. He recognizes us as his own, and knows he belongs among us. But he has no desire to upset the delicate balance that allowed him to support himself playing rock and roll while obtaining a Master’s degree in library science.
If you’ll allow me a difficult metaphor, Carl is the absent-minded professor nee rock star of filkdom. How absent-minded? Since joining my writers group in 2003 he has met my sister in social situations about half a dozen times. He has yet to remember her from one time to another. How rock star? At any moment Carl is ready for us to stop acting like fen and start acting like rockers who are competent only when rocking. He has never come to peace with our common fannish ability to build handheld synthetic aperture radar out of beaver pelts and broken slate.
When you meet him, you’ll find Carl is charming, incisive, erudite and oblivious, all backed by a dazzling smile and a ready laugh. If you get to know him, you’ll also find that he’s brilliant, frustrating, generous, cautious, kind, and blunt. Oh, wait. I already said he’s one of us.
So what else do you need to know? The SOB plays brilliant guitar despite rarely practicing. Alright, maybe after enough years of supporting yourself you don’t need to practice. But Carl can pick up a guitar, his own or another’s, and fill in beautifully on a song he’s never heard before, or take lead in any musical genre. As if that ability alone weren’t enough, he’s hell on harmonica. I’ve spent most of my adult life chasing the blues, especially the harp and saxophone blues. Carl’s harmonica playing won’t erase the memory of Little Walter; but it’s among the best I’ve heard live and impromptu.
All this, and he sings and writes songs, too. Funny songs, sad songs, romantic songs. What else could he possibly do to make me hate him? Wait. I remember. I almost had it blocked out, but it’s come back again, dammit. My wife reports to me, that when Carl drops his middle-aged butt on a stool and weaves some music, he turns teen-aged rock star sexy again. I guess he can’t fight what he is. I hope you enjoy meeting him. But keep an eye on your wife, okay?
February 1, 2008