I don't feel so good today. You know how when you take a shit after eating corn, the undigested corn comes out in your shit? Well, I feel like that corn.
More specifically, I am experiencing "flu-like symptoms" - I'm tired and achy, with a headache and stomach cramps that come and go. But we're on deadline, so I'm at the office. And of course, the next week involves running a gauntlet of magazine work, guests from out of town, rehearsal, travel and recording. Funny how all the heavy stuff sort of clots together... it's how I got pneumonia a couple years ago, so I had better be careful.
Still, just thinking about this coming weekend in Chicago is almost enervating enough to, uh, make lifting my head possible. This session has been booked for several months now and I'm so psyched that it's finally here. 14 songs recorded live to tape (under the watchful eye of Steve Albini!) in three days. And I mean it's the performance that's to be recorded live - instruments and vocals in one take. I have been practicing non-stop. There's no digital safety net here; if I fuck up I can't punch in. I have to start from the beginning. Joe Abba is coming with me to play percussion on a few tunes, but for the most part it's all about the piano.
Joe and I still have two rehearsals to go, which I need to somehow squeeze in between magazine pages, and I'm finishing up one last song called "We're Both Wrong But You're Also A Dick". One more verse and that'll be all set, but I'm not gonna force it - I'd be perfectly satisfied with 10-12 good-sounding tracks. One of the songs is only about 15 seconds long, so it doesn't much count anyway.
I'm also looking forward to being in Chicago, a city that I find slightly superior to New York (if only because I haven't been there enough to know better). Chicago has cooler architecture, cleaner streets and happier people. Ironically, though, I do believe that the original Pizzeria Uno is inferior to the national chain version.
Anyway, I suddenly have a craving for a Wendy's hamburger but I'm pretty sure that if I ate one I would puke it up. That's all for now!
A sou chef at the end of his shift sobs into a warm wet dance floor choked with drugged slow sweaty tall dancers soured about an improperly segued Meg Loratz cut from her gurgling avant-pop 12 inch ‘Sup Ass Morn Sheet?’
Now I go out with the night shift Manager
Her ear lobes are pineapple trees confused by storm shamans alone on man made islands
I have cut my day shift manager ties
Now I sleep in a frozen bed of Kale trashed after my assault during dream 17 of the summer season
Night shift girlfriend understands where to hide the knives
And bandages my wounds
Carries a voodoo doll of the sleepy haughty hostess
in her international black bra museum
known as her bra
I am a black bra painter
I need you to turn around and curse the sun and wither me with the shape you must make
I sleep in a bed of kale filled with non-food trash
I’m attacked by dancers who don’t appreciate my knife work
It’s worth crying about
Worth it
Worth it...
Keep saying that and it mutates into?
I throw myself into walls where the paint retreats
A cottage cheese scooper scintillating in a white breast pocket gives me away
The record skips and the emergency exit hole has been sprinkled with a bluish dust this angers the platter jockey into an apoplectic fit
2.
Oh no, not now, not me, me, now!
Earth is on alert
The twice left back eighth grade of planets
With dulcet blue eyes and shy dance moves
Hands on hips
running from slick haired bullies
magic macho soft cheeked tan bravado
they would kill their grandmother to save ten minutes on a meaningless trip back to their house so they can wait for nothing to happen as quickly as possible
This magic tastes like doctored old bathroom speed
Why aren’t we disappearing?
Earth asks the escape Jackal twiddling with some nagging loose thread on a trouser leg as he paints his cheap binoculars a Dutch Red
Our leaders are all hanging out at Doug’s Nasty Anchovy Roof Trattoria
& Dub Reggae Parlor
A scare-mob of sycophants rolling up their sleeves and pulling down your pants
More napkins you sonofabitch!
Our three pointed itinerant
Cry baby Cyclops engineer walking out to the streets
Passing a construction site
Rock spitting exercise fanatic’s lip synching their lunch breaks away
Ducking all those lip cutting questions during the Q/A
after the numbness recedes
I should have done the same
This nightclub slops on its decoy clothes
A black bra painter
A slouchy hostess
A crying sou chef
An emergency spray painted on an imaginary exit
Greetings, Eschavites.
Some of you know that I recently became a father. Yay me for having sex.
Owen Devalera Keaney was born on July 5th at 2:54 in the AM. We're all relieved that he missed the 4th 'cause who wants to share a birthday with an entire country? That's some cake.
Happily he does share a birthday week with both Jed and Alex (7 and 8 respectively). Rounding out the month is daddy dearest on the 20th which makes July even cooler than it already was.
Come on! America, 3/4's of the rebellion and now one of their progeny? You other months can suck it.
Spots spots spots
Spots spots
An album called Spots
Track lisko
1.spot
2.spots
3.spot
4.spots
5. spotty
What do we need? What do we need? HELP ME! Stop touching me Randy!
What do we need for this album? (harmonium..cliff notes, magnetic operations, confessions of audiologists, motivated grass stains on new shin guards peeled off a young leg quickly, sons or daughters, people go swimming, 30 slingshots simultaneous strike of ll balloons harboring horse radish product anthems concealed in flakey pastry technology clustos tin whistle, auction wind down gavel robe flapping)
My mouth is all sick with words. I've chided the so called G8 nations from my mansion made of recycled matchbox cars located in the slippery rubber mountain ski BBQ town of Penklemmy, Japan. My throat is hoarse with railing against pollution. I can't stop flossing in public, smacking young police people in training with my beautifully hand colored placards fumigating against the toxic attitudes that threaten Penklemmy's sweet black lemonade spirit, that spirit which wafts and wends and woos and whips you're little shrinking human asses with it's natural ummpph nomma noony, or pulchritude if you wish master Ricky Ice Cake.
I do sincerely hope that the jeely zipperslut suits of power humping nations, are visited by my powerful thoughtfriends (The Dinty-Mokks), agents of real change, painters of real near or immanent ruin-lashing, and earth lacerating to come and come and come, a mother-father treated as harlot-rag for the benefit of a gaggle of condom wrapper twisters.
Just a quick disclaimer. I'm throwing this up as a test. It's a video edit I eeked out at too-late-o'clock last night. I'll be cleaning this thing up and adding a few more over the next few days, so please stick with me.
This is a live performance of my song Too Seriously captured at a show in Kingsand Cornwall UK, at a place called The Institute. This is not spectacular video, but you get a sense of the night. Jed Davis opened up, and we came on later. It's an acoustic performance, so I'm singing without a mic. The bass was amplified and a very slight push for the acoustic guitar through my AER Domino. Off to your left side, hiding from the camera is violinist Eleanor Davis. You can see bassist Ben Grubb on stage to my right.
Because it's an acoustic performance, you'll hear a lot of room sounds too (audience noise etc).
Next up for live video land, I have a solo version of my song Exchange live in performance, which might make a nice contrast to the arranged version which opens my forthcoming record Soft Verges.
In any case, I hope you enjoy it and are patient with this sketchy video and very badly thrown together edit!
I don't know what's better than listening to Roy Orbison on vinyl. My turntable had a weird vibration that prevented me from turning the volume up to where it should be, so this afternoon I moved it to a more stable surface further from the speaker, and now we're cookin. I can also keep the top open when it's playing - before, it was crammed into a shelf space too small for that. The sound is a zillion times better.
I finally put some new tunes up - all stuff nobody's heard before. The new mix of "The Bowery Electric" was done by Tchad Blake about two weeks ago. It sounds amazing (even better when it's not being squeezed out of the fuckin MySpace player). "My Brother's On A One-Way Flight To Heaven" features Dicky Barrett singing over the original We're All Going To Jail! track - even though it's just a rough mix, he sounds so much better than I did singing that song. And the version of "Pop" I've uploaded is even nastier than the one that came out on the Rebellion's Deli Of Life EP. Why didn't we use it? Because the band is nicer than I am alone.
On Wednesday night, I played at the Colony Cafe in Woodstock. Awesome night. First of all, I got to see Brian Dewan and Bryan Thomas play. Brian with an "i" did a ton of stuff I haven't heard in forever, accompanied by Julian Koster on the singing saw. Julian is the mind behind The Music Tapes and he played that haunting musical saw (and other stuff) on Neutral Milk Hotel's In The Aeroplane Over The Sea. His saw playing lent an ethereal air to the proceedings - really beautiful. Then, Bryan with a "y" got up and scorched the stage, with a set that featured two personal favorites - "Anymore" and his new track "Light". I added the harmonies in my head on that last one.
We're gonna do it again on the regular, I think. I hope, anyway. It's a great room and even better company.
Jerry Marotta was in attendance; he was kind enough to let LB and me crash at his place after the show... and then, in the morning, to bring us over to Dreamland Studio, which he's helping to resurrect after it spent several years in mothballs. This is the room where those great mid-90's Suzanne Vega albums were recorded - a gorgeous studio built into an old church. It's got me thinking about musical projects, and lots of 'em. Many of the musicians I'm currently collaborating with via Internet live in that area... maybe the next record should be done with everyone in the same room.
More important than any of this, by the way: I'm posting on Sunday because Monday is my birthday. Blogging on your birthday is so lame.
And finally, more important than even that: Welcome to the world, Owen Keaney... we'll say a prayer for ya. A Prayer for Owen Keaney, get it? Ouch. Congratulations to Mike and Becky!
One day in early May, I spent a huge majority of the day ordering a flight case for my acoustic guitar amp, and then making phone calls to the amp manufacturer to find out how to switch the power in the amp from European power supply to US. Once I got technical instructions from Andreus at AER in Germany, I had to run up to the technical unit at the college. Nick, the electrical guy was a real saviour. Not only did he help out, he made it so that switching back and forth between the different power supplies would be quick and easy.
All I have to do is pull the control panel off the amp...
switch the wires and fuse...
...and close it back up. And, Hurray! I'm inter-fucking-national!
Now I can take my not-so-little fight case and amp all over the globe and power up just fine.
Also, I have to say that AER is one of the most organized and prepared companies I've ever had to deal with. Their technical guys knew exactly what to do to switch the amp (change wires from the toriodal transformer in back of the amp to the mains connector, then switch from a 1.6 fuse to a 2.5). Also, on an even more organized level, the wires in the back of the amp were all numbered very clearly and it made the switch extremely easy. The damn amp left the factory with pre-planning for my circumstance designed into it. Eff! I wish I were as organized and forward thinking as AER!!! That company is effing awesome (not to mention they make fantastic acoustic guitar amps)!
By the way, in order to get the amp to the states, I also contracted a company here in the UK to produce a custom built flight case for the amp. The company is called The Flight Case Warehouse and their guy Jase is good stuff.
I whipped up a quick diagram of the case...
...exchanged a few messages, and the case arrived within a week!
So, I designed the flight case to serve as my suitcase as well! There is a bit of room left once the amp is inserted, where I can put important stuff I need to take on the road.
I'm sure it doesn't appear as such from the outside... but holy shit, things are moving fast around here.
I keep an iTunes playlist on my home computer called "current roughs", which is just what it sounds like - the latest rough mixes of songs in progress. Right now I can't update it fast enough.
Some of its contents are done, fully-mixed and ready to go. In a few days, the new Eschatone online store opens, and shortly after that you'll get a better idea of why I've been holding back things like the Skyscape Band Of The Week 15th Anniversary remixes and the Hanslick Rebellion "Let's Get To The Fucking" single. We have a very specific idea of how to release this stuff, which we hope will make people happier than they currently are with the idea of paying for music.
Right now I'm downloading Tchad Blake's finished mix of "The Bowery Electric". It gleams with pure majesty. Dweezil Zappa just sent over guitar tracks for four Failing Upwards songs - parts so cool and out of left field, they blew my mind. More bass and guitar are being tracked as I type this; yesterday Maryann Fennimore recorded some of her gorgeous vocals on tunes new ("She Loves You NO NO NO") and old ("The Breeze"); and we have a mix session coming up for a classic Skyscape song and some Amy Willey tracks. All the while, I'm counting down the days until our trip to Chicago and Electrical Audio.
Rare glimpse into personal life:
This past weekend I found myself upstate, picking strawberries. I took home half of an 11-pound haul with all these crazy plans for baking, garnishing and, uh, preservifying. But for some reason I thought that if you leave strawberries out on the counter, they become "more ripe". Apparently this is not the case; now I have 5 1/2 pounds of rotting strawberries in my apartment and trash can't go out until tomorrow night. Where the hell did I get the idea that you can leave berries lying around in 90-degree heat?
One of those things I've been saying I’ll discuss here…
First, a positive assertion: For the foreseeable future, I’ve decided to only play shows in art galleries, small theatre spaces and other non-traditional music venues. There may be exceptions here and there, but mainly, I intend to stick to this plan.
Shows I’ve played in these types of venues have been extremely rewarding (on every level) for my players, the other bands I’ve invited along and me too. Audiences appear to have a parallel experience of these shows; they love them! It’s not been so straight forward in pubs and bars. Based on this series of observations, I’ve come to the decision that, from this point forward, I’ll do my best to avoid playing in circumstances where the focal point of activity is on socializing and/or selling alcohol. In basic terms, this means skipping bars and pubs.
Music is everywhere. Recorded music is almost always played in pubs and bars. That’s fine. If someone wants to put my recorded music on in the background while they chat, that’s perfectly ok with me. But, that’s not a performance context.
Some musicians choose to play in places where music is meant to be a background element of a punter’s experience. That’s OK with me, but I don’t feel this is appropriate for my performances.
Let me state clearly; I’m all for having a few drinks and socializing. I enjoy both! However, my live performances are not meant for those circumstances.
Some bands are amazing for giving a crowd what is needed to dance, celebrate and/or party. As an example, I can cite a fantastic band I’m acquainted with through Dartignton; Sheelanagig.[1] Not only are these guys top notch players, they’re also incredibly successful in writing and performing music that fosters a perfect atmosphere for dancing and partying. I really suggest seeing them sometime, because they are tremendous on every level. They’re great original music for pubs, parties, festivals (and soon, probably any venue they choose). They’ve got it all and more! However, the circumstances where a band like this thrives are not the same as the ones where my music thrives.
Every time someone offers me a pub gig, they tell me “Michael, this place is different!” Some places are worse than others, but mainly the experience has been consistent. Performing my music in bars and pubs tends toward direct competition with the primary remit of these types of venues; fostering socializing and selling alcohol. My musical performance competes with the remit. It asks something of a listener, and socializing and drinking don’t mix well with it. If the music does not somehow help to foster these primary remits of the venue, there is guaranteed tension.
There are a lot of potential solutions to such tensions:
A musician could simply accept the situation and play on; keeping their heads down and muddling through performing in the face of an indifferent segment of crowd. This is not a solution I can accept.
Another potential solution is to turn up so loud that the crowd cannot possibly conduct a conversation (unless they are yelling at the top of their lungs).[2] I don’t find this solution acceptable. I could get a Marshall Stack and blast the conversation and eardrums of a room full of people to oblivion. There are reasons to play loud, but these are not the right ones.
Here’s another solution: I’ve asked people who are talking over the top of other musicians or myself to move their conversations beyond the performance space. This is always uncomfortable for all involved (the people talking, the people trying to listen to the music, the person asking for the talkers to move or quiet down and for the performers). This is not an acceptable solution (though potentially necessary).
Occasionally, someone suggests I take a macho attitude: "If you were tough enough, you could handle it." But, I’m not concerned with being tough. When I perform my songs, I’m not lifting weights or getting in the boxing ring.
I’ve had suggestions that it’s up to a performer to woo a crowd, trying to win them over. As far as I’m concerned, my music, words and performance is all the convincing required. It’s up to me to choose a time and place to create an atmosphere where the listening can be done. This entails selecting appropriate venues.
I’ve stated my solution to these problems above. Here it is again: I’m choosing to avoid playing in pubs and bars.
I guess the affirmative version of this is something like:
I am choosing appropriate venues for my shows. At the moment, these appear to be art galleries, small theatre spaces and other non-traditional venues for musical performance.
Hope to see you out there soon! I’ve got a new record coming out!
Michael b
PS. Bring your own wine and beer! ;)
[1] In fact, John Blakely, Sheelanagig’s drummer is one of the players on Soft Verges!
[2] And, as blood/alcohol levels increase, so does the likelihood of yelling to be heard over the top of music.
