Jon

Rob in da house

2012-02-04T01:58:00.000-05:00

So I'm sitting here quietly at the back desk of the hotel I work at and I'm pretty bored. I was flicking through old blog posts looking for some sort of inspiration to write about when I stumbled upon a comment regarding a post I made in 2009. A guy named Rob moseyed on up to the comment section almost a year after I posted the words and decided to pursue an act of persuasive propaganda. His post has merit and gusto and validity at times. His post is written with a confident knowledge. His post is the type of shit that makes me want to barf. I'm sorry to say that Rob, but it's true. When a man is just riffin' don't bombard him with know-it-all obvious fidelity and greed sentences that have been reiterated in every argument on the subject since 1999. Speak loudly and confidently and often, but when you speak please do so with the slight idea that maybe what you are saying isn't the word of our savior. Speak with humility and just because your brother owns a studio in Santa-Fe, doesn't mean you are an expert in audio. First off, why aren't you collecting vinyl records instead of CDs Rob? They have a higher level of fidelity, everyone knows that. Secondly, why are you making a point about fidelity when I was trying to make a point on ownership? Owning a bunch of mp3s is not much different than streaming a bunch of mp3s if you are looking for high quality jams to pump out of your Bang and Olafsun tweeters. Shit Rob! you gone and made me upset for some reason. Don't be a know-it-all-my-word-is-the-smart-word-trust-me kind of dude in a blog comment thread. No one wants to read paragraphs upon paragraphs (so many that you had to fit the second half into a separate comment) about that. Wait- hold up! Maybe people do want to read that. What am I saying? What am I writing right now? Rob won't see this. Am I picking on Rob? shoot! What has come over me? I was in a good mood twenty minutes ago. I had just re-read my adventures with the spirit-beast which always puts me in a good mood and then I kept rolling all the way back to 2009 and then Rob came and all of a sudden I had to start up some kind of tiff for him voicing an opinion. Come on Jon! rise up above that petty nonsense! The internet has a lot to offer, and Rob's opinion is just one of the many peppercorns that spice its salad. Quit being a dick!

without further ado, my inspiration for the night:

Anonymous said... First let me say you have a cool blog and some great links. Second I want to make clear I am not trying to rip on you imply you are not smart. In fact all you are is a bit younger. My name is Rob and I am in my late 30s and here is the evolution of how you are thinking about this. While I am not anti-biz, there are plenty of shitty greedy business men who would gladly serve you less for more as a general rule. Music in the day used to be considered of great value for obvious reasons but mainly because it was the one thing one could not simply buy on the cheap and reproduce to make a party. keep in mind this is pre- much tech. When the ability to give people high quality musical reproduction came into being, the focus for years was on making and getting good gear that could both record and then reproduce the music. WIth the music being so obviously valued and with people not wanting to play just one thing all the time, so was variety. But starting around the computer era is when things began to take a big turn. While on one hand people liked surround sound as it was the logical continuation of the previous trend of making the musical reproduction as real as possible and a new trend, adapt it for big budget action of special effects movies. There was this New thing called digital music. The CD was great because it focused on debugging recording digitally and reproducing in great fidelity. IN fact they were about to leap beyond CD into the next level of fidelity when.... DUN DUN DUN.... Broad band internet caught on and you had things like Napster -- with a new format called mp3 which whlie not even being remotely close to great music quality, it was good enough for many to want it and grab it up for free. since then as you know digital music is the thing. and of course music education being in the toilet like it is and half of the pop music being rap, (nothing against it just saying it not that musical in and of itself) so bad music education, and rap -- and free digital music and broad band and the music executives saw this and thought -- subscriptions -- but of course they jumped the gun -- because I was not a child when edward scissor hands came out and I already could see he was a bit pretentious -- creative and detailed sure -- but not god. Ok so, they tried to get people like me who have a huge CD collection to give that up for what -- and MP3 subscription? thats a laugh. And it really was in those days the quality of even the best mp3 were not as good as todays common ones -- which by the way are still not great -- on a CD you could get great speakers and hear the full musical sound. -- unfortunately most folks have shitty speakers or something in between and very little music background and even less audio background. Also you have people who a now motivated to get you to rent what you should own. -- I think its great to have an mp3 subscription -- I even have a really cheap one to preview songs on although now LaLa is almost good enough for free. Bottom line -- an mp3 is not real music reproduction and if you put it a good speaker set up -- it would sound like shit. -- to further complicate this mess -- you have two main sampling rates -- 44.1 for stereo and and 48.2 or whatnot for surround sound. -- they are making chips now so that the up or down converting is good but the point is -- right now -- people are no longer being sold on high quality music. instead they are being told not to buy just rent a low quality recording of all music and you can whatever you want -- until you really listen or have the ears to hear now that you are missing a ton of detail and feel. -- at least apples Itunes has a format that is of a much much higher quality then mp3 and yet there is still no DRM -- the point is, do not be fooled -- you did not make a mistake -- insist on owning high quality copies of the musicians you really like and pay for it and then use the other to just check stuff out and explore -- and do not kid yourself -- the only thing that is losing money in music right now are all the old school middle men who did coke, banged models and never wrote a lick of music. -- insist on ownership do not trust collective to do right by you because by the time you realize because its full of greedy humans and therefore flawed -- it will be too late to change it. -- that is the lesson of america -- never ever give up the sacred rights that allow individuals freedom and limit the power of government -- then let the greedy folks fight it out in the market to see who will offer what to you at what price and quality. -- its not a nanny state -- but it is most successful system so far. do not let music be taken from you because you are too young to remember when they knew you would only buy a high quality recording -- to see examples of the the almost dead next level of fidelity for the CD -- google SACD. and read up on what will go the way of the laser disc. -- cheers and I hope I was interesting to you after the rum hang over. -- ps -- sorry I did not have time to make my text very pretty or grammatical but I am sure its readable and the content is spot on. check out my brothers studio in NM -- www.santafecenterstudios.com peace and do not let the fool you -- never give up ownership of things that define you

Word Cloud

2012-02-03T06:56:00.000-05:00

Here are the most commonly typed words on this blog. Thank you tagxedo

...Over the Sea

2012-01-27T16:14:00.001-05:00

I wanted to tell the folks that listen to this blog something important that happened to me the other night- something that reinvigorated me to live life fearlessly and full of fire; a magical event that helped prove that at the heart of the mysterious world is a pulsing soul that works towards the good. It works in ways that can perhaps be broken down and explained in a simple cause and effect manner, but more importantly works in ways that bring tears to your eyes and make the hairs on your arm stand up and shake.

Let me get to it:

In 1996 I was a curious lad. I didn't know what I liked or where to go. I suppose I am still a bit like this, but I have started to figure out (to some degree) what I like. Back then, I would devour anything and wait until someone nearby told me if I should like it or not. Luckily I had friends with good taste. They had taste that was not just fed to them by the television, but taste that was crafted by fingering through record collections and researching in books and magazines and on the relatively new device that would come to be known as Los Internet. These friends showed me why some things were good and others are less good. While I still try my hardest to love everything and avoid criticizing things people put effort into, I should say I have developed a taste all my own thanks, in part, to my dear friends.

In case you haven't figured it out yet, I am pretty much talking about music. I thought about being more broad, but lets just call a cow a cow for the rest of this post.

My dear friend T, was the first to introduce me to the elephant six collective. It was some weird funky shit that my Soundgarden and Dr. Dre record collection was having a hard time accepting into its fold. However, T's continued spinning of all things elephantine slowly drew me in to the odd world and I was soon yearning for weird Elf Power and Circulatory System albums alongside him (but not to the same degree). The greatest discovery to my ears was the classic Neutral Milk Hotel album, In an Aeroplane Over the Sea. T had won me over to the elephant 6 when I heard this album.

The funny thing is this isn't about me, its about T and his passion for the elephant six as can be seen on the worn green tshirt he regularly wears. His love of their music went from the headphones he wore in his bedroom, to the concert booking committee at his college, to a small venue in Athens. T met and befriended elephant 6 member Julian Koster over a few years by booking him to perform at his college, and then bumping into him at a performance in Athens. The two became friends which was crazy for all of us at home because Koster was a celebrity to us. He was the quirkiest of the collective.

But all this build up is getting drab. Long story short- T's friendship with Koster blossomed into a roll alongside Koster as a member of his band, The Music Tapes. Then The Music tapes became opener for Neutral Milk Hotel. Then T and the Music Tapes performing on stage with Jeff Mangum during one of the quintessential songs of our youth. T's love for music has grown into a career in music performance with the people who caused him to fall in love with music. It is indescribably crazy to me. T is one of my best buds and to see him on stage performing the songs of his heroes alongside those heroes is probably like what Lebron James's friends feel like when he slam dunks a basketball and wins a gold medal. It is undoubtedly what it is like when Saul Perlmutter's friends found out he won the nobel prize for his research in the expanding universe.

I must say, as I sat in the mezzanine of Irvine auditorium the other night and watched Thomas smile across the stage, I knew that I wanted everyone else to know that great things can happen in the world. Often times the world seems overwhelmingly out of hand. Actually though, I have proof that the world is within your hands. Although he might be a bit more modest, I feel as though the other night I saw a dream of 15 year old T come to life in front of three thousand people. It was pretty dang cool. He did not seek out the opportunity or apply for the job of Music Tapes band member, but he lived a dedicated life that was committed to being the best musician he could be and as a result, his 15 year old dream burst into reality. It was organic and honest and truly inspiring.

When you put it that way it is a call to arms to just be a committed beast. Do what you love to do and trust your instincts and your dreams ~~might just~~ will burst into reality.

nanowrimo

2011-11-09T04:49:00.003-05:00

After reading a book last year that was written as a part of National Novel Writing Month, I became interested in the event. I navigated to the website linked above and while scopin', I found myself signing up for it. Next thing I knew it was November and I was sitting at the computer not really feeling like writing my daily words, so instead I started patrolling the forum.

""There are hundreds of people writing novels this month that none of us will probably ever read," thought the stranded sith as he awaited his execution," might be a line that is being written in a novel right now.

Anyway, as I struggled with what I guess is writer's block but felt more like a belly ache, I ditched the writing and decided to read some synopses of interesting looking profiles on the nanowrimo's forums. Then, I thought I would share a few of my favorites:

From MikeAlx's Tolombok trilogy, book 2:

Reen Trajen and Korbin Benvanine have escaped from their home planet Nilva and are now aboard a space station in low orbit above Prembis. Furnished with fake IDs, they are set to board a sleeper ship to distant Tolombek, in the hopes of finding Reen's long-lost brother. But, with Korbin wanted for a serious assault, and Reen still pursued by the secret organisation who call themselves "The Friends" (though they might not be), it's never going to be plain sailing. So what could possibly go wrong?
No, I haven't a clue either. Maybe I'll tell you in December.

From AlyRuth's Fountains of Green:

In 2061, the UN declared the current environmental state a global crisis. Scientists predicted that earth would be uninhabitable within thirty years without drastic changes. In 2063, a desperate decision was made. With no more time to 'innovate' new ideas, industrialization was declared the problem, and the global powers united to "de-industrialize" the world. Their plan was to revert people, over the course of 200 years, back to hunter-gatherer societies by force.
In 2282, after the last cities, factories, and plantations have fallen, this vision in almost Kiko's reality. Global Operations, the only populous society left, has been enforcing the transformation from cities to villages, from tribes to nomads. Living in a small tribe, Kiko must learn the ways of the nomadic hunter-gatherers in the wilderness, but while on his journey, Kiko realizes that Global Operations may not have the best intentions at heart for the people or the environment when he witnesses massive genocides against local tribes.
Kiko, while conflicted against societal life and a nomadic life, must stand up against the violence and discover exactly where Global Operations true ambitions lie.

From MCat's In a Bind:

When one of the teenage generation's most popular writers, Shanie Lennox, goes missing, it's up to Bree Michaels to find her. She's sure she can do it - of course - she's one of the CIA's most successful junior agents. But there's just one problem. No one seems to know what Shanie looks like, or where she lives! She's never used descriptive author bios, or pictures. She's never even had book signings. Come to find out, some say she's a recluse. Others claim that she actually lives on some remote mountain in China. Has Shanie been abducted? Will Bree be able to find her before it's too late?

From LousyWriter13's One Fine Day:

In the beginning, there was a day.
This, a careful study of history reveals, is when everything started going downhill. Fast.
That first day was followed by another day. Then another. And yet one more. The universe, being the creature of habit that it is, seemed to think it a good thing to have days fly by with regularity, and so it kept on with it, sending day after day after day.
This, a careful study of history reveals, was quite possibly a mistake.
Days simply became expected. Everyone started to assume that tomorrow, yes, tomorrow there would be another day. As a result, people stopped really paying attention.
Well, almost everyone stopped paying attention. And this... well, history hasn't made a public announcement of its opinion on this matter as of yet, but for those few who continued to pay attention, each passing day molded them, changed them, and made them into the angry, seething mass of unpleasant, war-mongering, monsters they are today.
This, history will surely reveal in time, might be a bad thing for at least some of the people who had stopped paying attention. And maybe for the universe. And, quite possibly, for history itself. For on this one fine day, the Fleglen Requiem of Flegola Five had a bone to pick with history, and the universe would never be the same.

All of these novels are being created right now as we speak. Some will be lost on hard drives, others will be published with full color illustrations. Think about it. It's so much fun to think that all these people with all these different ideas are all spending the month just spewing out 50,000 words for the fun of it. Who are all these people? Insomniacs? The unemployed? The beautiful foundation of culture? The dudes that hang out in coffee shops all day? Either way, reading some of these inspired me to get on my horse and work towards completion of my book and to track down the Tolombok trilogy some day.

Middle School

2011-11-02T03:00:00.001-04:00

I just finished the latest episode of This American Life. It's about middle school students and spends a lot of time discussing how stressful things can be for them. The stresses revolve around close friends growing apart, being made fun of for not bathing, or trying to find someone to slow dance with. It was great. It made me so thankful to not be in middle school anymore. I don't want to know what it's like to smoke a cigarette and whether or not that will give me enough cool points to sit in the back of the bus.

And so the episode got me thinking about something I have been tossing around in my dome for a while now. The broad term- STRESS.

Here is an idea I want to be true: what if stress is just always the exact same number of brain synapses in every single humans brain at any given time. Every one gets one stressy per second to use as they please. The middle school kids are using it on looking cool, the high school kids are using it on getting kissed, the adults are using it on life and the old people are using it on death. Your stressy-per-second allowance will never go up, it's just up to you and any given chain of events on how that stressy is utilized.

Now, stressy isn't the best word to make this point... it's silly. However, think about how often you stress out. If you are me, you constantly stress about all sorts of things... While I am stressing about money (and not having any) people with a lot of money are stressing about family or work or business and people without those stresses are stressing about global warming or how their socks have too many holes in them or about how their dog is sick. Everyone gets the same number of stressys, its just how it is. While you may think your life is crazier and more stressful than a middle school students, listen to the podcast and hear about the kid that throws up at lunch every day because he doesn't have any friends at his new school. If you think your life is less stressful than the president's life, think about how many people he has to help him make all his difficult decisions and how in 1 or 5 years, he will be all set for the rest of his life. His lifetime stressy-count will not be anymore than anyone elses.

Now, I feel like maybe there are some flaws to this argument:

First- are you less stressful if you don't have to worry about death? Is death-stress a heavier weight than money-stress or friendship-stress? I feel like maybe marines that are being shot at every day are more stressed than someone who lives in the Hamptons on his inherited trust fund. But, for the sake of argument, lets look at it from the stressy system of stress equality. Don't a lot of marines re-enlist? Don't they develop a level of camaraderie with their friends that is unmatched? If they die, aren't their families well-compensated (or at least compensated)? And don't a lot of rich kids in the Hamptons get addicted to drugs? Don't they over medicate themselves and take anti-depressents all the time? Don't they always have therapy sessions? Are their stressys, without a doubt, any less than the stressys of a war bound marine? maybe/maybe not.

Second- doesn't everyone always think that their life is too stressful at times? Without a doubt, everyone has climaxed on stress and it is not a good kind of climax. It is sweaty and wide eyed and hair raising, but it is not an orgasm. So maybe if you are climaxing on stress during midterms or a loved one's illness it balances out when you have no stress on Christmas day or sitting on a beach with a margarita. So instead of an exact stressy-per-second rate, instead you have a stressy allotment for your lifetime that will get used up and it is the same allotment for everyone.

So maybe I am thinking in scientific terms (stressy? scientific?) when I should be thinkin' in religious terms. I love a lot of buddhist philosophies, and one of them is that everything is flowing in one giant union. All matter, consciousness, and everything is a giant pool rippling in with the high tide and out with the low tide. Everything is shared and nothing and no one is anything more than a collective flowing force. You can take it as far as you want, but I just like to think of it as everyone being connected and sharing the universe. If this idea makes you want to barf, so be it, but remember you only have so much of a stressy-allotment for the day. If we are all sharing everything, than wouldn't we share the burdens of stress? Even though we don't realize it, we are passing around the stress from the middle school student puking in the boys room to the investment banker thinking about jumping out his office window.

Okay, the religious outlook makes me feel even more silly. I just know that when I am overwhelmed with stress and wanting to go into the bathroom and puke my guts out, it is no more or less stressed than any of my fellow humans. At that moment, I am consoled by the thought of a Radio Shack employee labeling 3 cases of AA batteries as AAA batteries and missing his date on a Friday night because he had to stay late and re-label the AA batteries or the small business owner whose business just didn't pan out like they planned it and now they are scouring the want ads because their mortgage notice just changed colors or the footy player who was to take a free kick with his team down by 1 towards the end of the big game or Steve Bartman or the boat captain who is being overtaken by pirates.

Stress is weird like that. As you stress, you yearn for the porch-chill, or the peaceful car ride, or the morning you get to sleep in... The non-stressy moments that are so closely related to the stressy moments they could be siblings. They could be the Olsen twins, so similar in so many ways, but perfectly unique in so many other ways. Either way, embrace them and remember that you can't ever lower your stressy-quota, so you just gots to deal.

The Waffle Machine

2011-10-05T02:12:00.002-04:00

I think it is fairly well accepted that the best feature a hotel can provide is a waffle machine. Placed atop the breakfast counter, a waffle machine easily allows the hotel to charge an extra thirty-five dollars a room with the understanding that their guests will pay more for waffles at breakfast.

Every hotel I have ever checked out of after eating a waffle, I have always said to myself, "man- that was a great bargain!"

So, now as I begin a new job as the night porter at a local hotel, I am proud to say that the hotel has a waffle machine. What I am even more proud of is how much syrup I can fit on my waffle at 2 am as I sit behind a desk and watch Survivor on the laptop. Not only do waffle machines swoon guests, they also help convince me that it won't be so bad to work overnight at a hotel. Despite the hotel not seeming haunted, it is a pretty nice gig. A few spooks every now and then would be nice (and probably bump up the price for those ghost-hunting travelers), but right now I am just happy to be alive and eating a free waffle.

Age in the Age of Plastics

2011-06-01T08:35:00.007-04:00

I watched a man turn 90 the other day. He was sitting down and --* pop *-- the earth finished it's 90th revolution of the sun with his fleshy matter aboard for the ride. I had never seen anyone turn 90 as it is a rare site. I looked closely, not sure what to expect, only to find that 90 looks similar to 89. Then I was thinking, if 90 looks similar to 89, does 89 look similar to 88? If 89 looks similar to 88 shouldn't 90 look similar to 88? Simple flawless logic would then lead us down a long line which would be abbreviated by saying 90 looks similar to 12. I suppose if perhaps he had slipped in a bit of plastic surgery, we could even say 90 looks very similar to a character in Spirited Away.

Believe it or not, its not even silly to think within these lines. As long as you don't watch a 90 year old man stand up or sit down, they are still the same beast that roamed the hills 78 years ago. They still dream and hug and get scared of dark hallways. They still stick their finger in the cake icing and marvel at professional athletes and squint to blur the sparkling fireflies in the distance. Old man and child both turn their head to peek at a beautiful woman and both quickly turn their head back in fear of getting caught. Old man and child both lay their head down at night, look up at the ceiling and think to themselves, "why bother flossing?"

Sleep With Me

2011-04-27T17:40:00.002-04:00

While investigating an inert folder on my old ibook, I embarrassingly uncovered inebriated expressions originating in April of '07:

Sleeping in a bed should never be considered a luxury. Thousands of millions of poor de-privileged persons win my sympathy. Sympathy! You say with a lofty dart. Well, I do and I don’t. Street sleeping is foreign to me- foreignly frightening. I speak of something not streetish, but simply a sleep in which no bed is available. Sometimes this sleep forces a creativity and ingenuity that stimulates grey matter in the dark. Don’t turn on too many lights. People are sleeping. Strangers are a-slumber in their beds. I imagined their apartment to be carpeted. Hope-prayed for a vacuumed cozy rug in which to unravel my sleeping bag and cushion my bruisable hip bone with the delicacy of thousands of fabric Lilliputians rocking me to a dream of back home. Instead I am hopeless. Soreness creeps into my thoughts. My neck reminds me of a week ago when scouting a merge in the van became painful. My spine recites an anatomy lesson a chiropractor once taught and my shoulders, they simply dip.

I have been here before. I will prevail. I am a Buddhist. I took a class on Buddhism. I know how Buddhists do it. I remember something about a Buddhist in a video and a nail and a stick. It is late, I am... this is easy.

I like to be near a wall or two. Tucked into a corner where there is minor midnight traffic. I like when chair cushions can be removed and curled upon....

Who knows where I was planning on going with that one. Just out of curiosity I cross-checked the last date that file was opened on my computer with the back catalog of the spinto blog and it seems that maybe this was written while on tour with The Changes and Dios Malos, and the only crash pad that jumps to mind from that tour is when we slept in a concrete broken glass factory.

Symmetry

2011-04-26T17:00:00.004-04:00

Little Girl That Draws Pictures

2011-04-21T10:21:00.003-04:00

On facebook the other day, I saw Jonathan Mann post this video with the comment "my new hero." It is short, so I watched it:

While I wouldn't normally think much of a little girl talking into her webcam, I will admit that Sadie's message is strong and to the point. So whether you spend tonite watching basketball on TV or making passionate love to your dream date at the bottom of a hole, remember we are all connected.

sxsw guest blog

2011-03-25T11:34:00.006-04:00

I did some blogging last week for the WXPN site called The Key. It is a fairly thorough music blog with a whole lot of information on the main page. It was a fun mission to undertake as there was so much happening during the few days we were in Austin, that it was nice to take a bit of time reflecting. I remember one of the posts I ended early because I was in a hotel lobby and I had to pee real bad and I didn't want to leave my email open, so the reflection time was shortened for that post. Here are the links (1, 2, 3) and here are the posts pasted in for easy reading:
Day 1

I’m at a hotel, standing by a friendly man and typing this up on the hotel’s guest computer. A sign tells me I only have 15 minutes before I am being rude and should allow others to use this computer.

I wanted to utilize that time to explain a beautiful event that took place today. After a handful of stresses in planning, practicing, promoting, and traveling to Austin for SXSW, we finally made it. It is easy to become cynical as a result of the media and promotional blitz that follows a band leading up to this event. Our email is flooded and our socks are dirty. There is an onslaught of people trying to sell you the Next Big Thing, trying to plant their product in the masses and then photograph it and tweet it and put it on their website. It tastes bad, and requires a few drinks to get the taste out of your mouth. Then, there is also the coordination race. Set times, travel plans, parking, credential pickups, RSVPs, meeting with friends, meeting with industry types, making a spreadsheet, forgetting the spreadsheet, and losing your phone charger. All of it becomes overwhelming to me.

Then, suddenly, when we aren’t even expecting it, we discover why we are all here: beautiful, beautiful music. The magical power of performance. The delicious sounds of discovery. The force of a kick drum/bass line/guitar solo/falsetto shriek, all of that coming together. Today we all stopped thinking of anything but the excellent sounds from the stage at an Austin legend: Emo’s. A band traveled all the way to Austin from Melbourne, Australia. They arrived in red shoes and took the stage as I finished restringing my guitar. Engaged with my own errands, I wasn’t listening to the band at first. The Spinto Band was parking the van, setting up the drums, getting some beers, and looking for the stage manager. Then, this band overtook everything else. We were all smiling ear to ear as a band owned the stage at 2:30 in the afternoon on Tuesday I guess I should mention, the band is called The Vaudeville Smash and they truly owned it. They took it to the hoop. It sounds silly, but they cut our heads off. They danced, they rocked, they had the indescribable magic every concert-goer knows and yearns for every time they purchase a ticket to a live music event.

After their short set, they broke down their gear and another band took the stage. That is the beauty of this week. SXSW isn’t about standing in lines or sneering at all the assholes profiting off rock bands or trying to get free tote bags. It is about music and musicians and the power they carry. I am resisting every urge in my typing fingers to write a Star Wars metaphor. Discovering music is an experience that is enjoyed universally. Here in Austin, over the next week, there are so many opportunities to discover music; everyone in The Spinto Band is rejuvenated and ready to hit the pavement and find another dozen Vaudeville Smash moments.

Thank you, Vaudeville Smash, and your Doobie-Brothers-/Journey-/Thin-Lizzy-/Quincy-Jones-inspired sounds for breathing new life into my ears and making me so, so excited for the rest of the week.

Day 3

From Roy Spinto, our man in the field:

im standing 7n thebaustin convention centr on one of those computers (inspiron one) thqt forces you to type onthe screen… I apologize for typos. [Ed. note: All typos have remain untouched for maximum comedic value.] So I spoke with our whole posse about what grrat things happened yesterday, and I wanted t0 report the events… here we go:

Nick (guitar/soul): I was lucky enough to be walking down the street and received a drive-by-hi-5! Is that caaled a Drive-five? Our friends from Sunairway were cruising down the street in their van, passed me while I was on foot<>

Shane (sound man/youngin’): I hd a great sxsw moment> My fried/boss was throwing aparty, but his sound man becwme ill, so I filled in all day. THE chaos and energy flowed through my veins. We all worked togetherto get through the 17 bands, then my boss bought me the best burrito I have ever 4asted.

Cathearine (girlfriend): I saw some peoplebreak up. It was captivating, but not the sort of thing that you can stare at. They hugged, yellled and wnettheir seperate ways. Good luck to themm both. Love is eternal.

Mike (videographer): I dontknow what this is about, but I’d sure like to name-drop.

Sam (keyboards/puns): I saw a dude. I didn’t know him BUT he still wanted a high 5. I obliged and the stranger whispered in my ear, ” $hanks for being an American.”

Tom (bass): I wwas able to hug th3 lead singer of Sea of Bees! I saw them twice, and they were spectacular. What a treat!

Joe (guiar/trailer-maestro): I sang my first lead vocal on stage (twice) today. It was exhilerating. All the practice paid off, and I just let loose and barreled through the audience. It was something els!

Jeff (drums/spine): Michael Cera wouldn’t let us take a phot with him. Its all good though.

Whooo… Touchscreens r no good for blogging. Ill do my best to report from a real computer tomorrow. The energy flowing through these streets has a power. I am off to harness it.

Day 4

Saturday, March 19th, 1:45 p.m.:

I have found a computer. Here in the Four Seasons, I am surrounded by bright-red people who are drinking a variety of beverages and draped in meaningless credentials: wristbands, badges, lanyards, tote bags. They’re resting their sore feet and preparing for the final day of SXSW. The Spinto Band is in the same boat. I am afraid to tear off my wristbands for fear of losing my entitlement. It’s frustrating.

Despite the frustration, last night I experienced a magical moment. (I wish I had written about it then, as it has blurred a bit in hindsight.) I’m not sure if it was the “kind bud yerba matte” from the Guayaki man or the collective energy of the evening, but it dawned on me that this festival is truly great. As a musician who has traveled to all sorts of colleges, bars, and basements to perform, it is inspiring and invigorating to see a whole city overflowing with passionate, loving music fans. The suits and drunkards may be more obvious, but hiding behind every guy in the cool shades is a kid who is just excited to see music and discover bands and dance next to someone. Not every show is like that for us. Usually we will travel and play a week’s worth of concerts and I can count the dancers on one hand. Last night, however, all the Counts in the world wouldn’t be able to tally them.

During the Floating Action set at the Park The Van showcase, it became crystal clear. Floating Action is a brilliant band with so much talent. I watched their set from the back of the venue. At first, people were just listening. Then they were swaying, then they were tapping their feet. Then, by the end of the set, the whole venue was dancing and singing and pumping their fists. There were a few sunburned people sitting at the bar, or toward the side (this was pretty late in the night… maybe 12:30 or so)—but, for the most part, the band had captured the audience, taken hold of them and tickled them for the last half of their set. Not to sound lame, but it brought a tear to my eye. I forgot about the traffic cops, the gifting suites, and the nighttime-sunglasses dudes and raised my feet with the masses. How does music do that? Is there an equation or a recipe? Is it alchemy or magic? Is it comparable to anything else? Whatever it is, it’s valuable. However this festival is viewed by most people, it is foremost a celebration of music—and its incredible value to us all.

dogspeak

2011-03-09T10:04:00.005-05:00

Life is a beautiful ride. One I cherish every day. The smells of fresh air, blossoming flowers, and newly cut grass- they all build within my nostrils as though they were small sailboats riding the breezes of my heartbeat. They sense my curiosities and float towards me. They need no reminder of the day or week or even if it is dinnertime, for they have but one mission; to fill me with joy. So much joy I run and run and run some more. I am a creation of vigorous speed. I will catch and pass you with little effort, then I will run a circle around you and continue to run. The sights and sounds blur in my wake as I create a tornado of feverish footprints. It is not to fear or confuse, it is only to excite. What is more important than excitement? It is full of life and passion and the sort of chemicals that cause the cackles on the back of my neck to stand on end. Excitement is the birth of energy and the extinguish of boredom.

Boredom is where I find myself most times. With life drifting by the locked window above the sofa, I sit alone. The shallow ripple of water slowly drawing to completion within my bowl, this will be the only activity worth seeing. Noises cackle and lights shine from the boxtop, but the language comes from another land, one I will never comprehend. Words like “fersail,” and “newbuybuynew,” mean little to me, but as I stare at the flashy lights, my head aches and my heart yearns for something with shape and life and, most of all, smell. It is an eternity of this. With each exit of my beloved, I am convinced there will be no return. The bristles of my bed, wedged between the sofa and the banister, feel like the pricks of a million pins stabbing me to death, disallowing me to sleep through the monotony in which I am buried beneath. Oh how I would love to find sleep. With sleep comes dreams, and with dreams comes running and more running and such speeds I lift off and run through the air. I pass the trees, then the birds, then the clouds in my dreams. Such great dreams bring me excitement as well. Instead, I lap up some more water and stare into the bowl. Ripple… ripple…

-click- what is that?! Someone is turning the door handle? I hear it? I smell the lunchpail and sweat and sawdust and oh the glorious smell of humanity. I feel my heart drawing in and pushing out with renewed vigor! I can only let out a howl of excitement and run and run circles then run some more. Companionship causes me to collapse.

When the leash and the tennis shoes and the little plastic baggie all come out, my heart extends all the way to the tip of my tongue. Who knew this would ever occur again? I was trapped within the doldrums of never-run and now I am among the grass and the dirt and the delicious smells of discovery. They rush through my nostrils and strengthen my heart. I feel them sailing all the way to my toes and then popping out onto the cement with every stride. I run and leap and sniff and dance and, all the while, I exist.

…and then, something new. We stop. His breath is shorter and undoubtedly full of invigorating smells as well. He sits. I sit. We sit together and breathe. Two units connected by each breath, passing along the delicious smells. I inhale, taking in a lifetime of delicious sailboats, they pass through my heart, strengthening it, and then I exhale, passing the smells along to him, so his heart will also be strengthened. I am so excited to share such smells. His socks are the most powerful. The stripes and wrinkles and stains all fill my nose with life and with him. It is all I smell for a moment. I focus on the socks and their vivid, powerful odors. If only their colors matched their odors, we would be ablaze with technicolor light. I am so happy.

Uh oh… again… I smell them; the headphones. The lull of the headphones as he plays the Sketches of Spain tape against my head is not a good sign. I know the sound of a trumpet and it is absent of smell. I accept these musical notes as they are simply another way to share a sensory stimuli with another, but why would we sit here and be lulled to sleep, when we could be amongst the butterflies and bicyclists? Running and chasing and smelling will leave our hearts with more beating than sitting and dozing and listening. A trumpet is a creation with little to no smell. It sounds of life, with bellows similar to my own beating heart, but it has no smell, and all living things have smell. I can only listen to this lifeless sound and hope that his heart is pushed towards the lake.

Luckily, he shares little, and enjoys the sounds himself. My heart has slowed, which commonly occurs after a bit of Sketches of Spain, and I sit, drowsy. I peak up at him, past his socks and his tennis shorts and into his eyes. They are closed. The smell of his cigarette leaps from his fingers and his lips down through my nostrils, but it does not excite my heart the way the fresh grass does. Instead, it makes my eyes heavy. The music, the smoke, the setting sun all climb upon my back and force me to lie down and then, with one last smell of the socks, I am asleep.

Swooooosh! Awwwoooooooo! The sun shines again, and I am up in the sky running towards it. The birds cannot outrace me, they only laugh as I run circles around them, through the air, and then we smell each other’s rear ends and our hearts beat faster. The sun laughs with me. It giggles as the temperature warms my body. I decide, today, I will even run circles around the sun.

Thanks to Lisa for sending the photo. It is a fun project to create a story around a photo... you should try it.

The Spinto Band returns to SXSW

2011-03-06T18:24:00.000-05:00

Divine Relaxation

2011-02-28T20:47:00.003-05:00

I was gifted a book called This I Believe for Christmas. It was one of my favorite gifts. It was a used copy that was delivered via used book gift exchange, and I love the idea of someone feeling as though they needed to pass along the wisdom within it's binding. Tonite we stumbled upon Louden Wainwright's:

Here's a question: How do you believe in a mystery, in something you don't understand and can't prove? When we're children we're encouraged to believe in some mysterious things that turn out to not necessarily be true at all — things like the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny or the flag. Naturally, we're disappointed after our illusions have been shattered, but usually we get over it. Some of us, however, become skeptical, even cynical, after that.

I've been asked on many occasions how I write my songs. Often I'll glibly reply, "I sure don't wake up in the morning and sharpen pencils." Then I'll admit how lazy and lucky I am, and how successful and downright great some of the more notorious pencil sharpeners have been — two of my heroes, Frank Loesser and Irving Berlin, being among them.

If I'm feeling expansive I'll bring up the mysterious aspect, the mere five to 10 percent that matters the most — what's commonly called "the inspiration." That's the thing beyond the technique and the discipline, when the sharpening and the gnawing stop, and something, as they say, "comes to you." It's a bit like fishing, really. There's certainly luck involved, but maybe what you took for laziness was (and I'm going out on a limb here) a sort of divine relaxation.

When I write what I consider to be a good song, when I realize it's going to hang together, when I somehow manage to get it into the boat, so to speak, I invariably find myself looking upwards and thanking something or even, dare I say it, Someone. If I'm alone, my heartfelt thank you is often an audible one. Oh, yes, I've been known to mutter a few words at the head of the table at Thanksgiving dinner, or hoarsely whisper an "amen" at a wedding, funeral or Christmas pageant, but usually it is just embarrassed lip service. As a rule I don't give thanks at a dinner table or in a church pew. For me, it happens when I've been hunched over a guitar for a few hours.

I believe in the power of inspiration, in the mysterious gift of creation — creation with a small "c," that is — creation as in one's work, hauling in the day's catch. When I write a song, I'm happy for a few days and it's not just because I've been reassured that I still have a job, though that's certainly part of it. Mostly I'm happy, I think, because I've experienced a real mystery. I haven't the slightest idea how it happened or where or from whom or what it came. I'd prefer not to know. In fact, I'd prefer not to talk about it anymore. It might scare the fish away.

Let's Roar from Mountaintops

2011-02-27T08:55:00.003-05:00

Chex Mix is just a snack, but it can also be symbolic of something marvelous. It is a combination- many individual snacks that, when combined, become truly delicious. When I surfed to the Roar session on daytrotter this morning it was like eating Chex Mix online.

Besides the obvious reasons, there was a line in the Moeller-musings that really vaulted the metaphor: I can't keep the lid on and I roast Rivers Cuomo all over again, kicking the ground, punching the walls and bad-mouthing the horrible lyrical bed that he made and sleeps in so fucking comfortably.

While potentially out of context, this is the statement of a generation. Maybe not a generation, but a sect of a generation. Maybe not a sect, but a whole bunch of dudes that I am realizing is more than just me and my buds. It is a statement I have made sitting in many different chairs in many different homes with many different beverages in hand. Usually everyone is in agreement too, and it turns more into a wake than a bro-hang.

Alas, this statement was the peanut in the Chex Mix. It was the crucial element that made me realize that what I am tasting is delicious. My good friend Owen and my friend who I know a little less, but still like to call my friend, Sean, combine to constitute the corpus of the calories and then there is more: daytrotter, the site that makes the internet seem like it has a soul, is a beautiful place to make this discovery. Especially while drinking coffee on a sunny Sunday morning. So many different flavors, all joining hands in one moment of one day.

foxy follow-pup

2011-02-16T20:33:00.005-05:00

So I have not seen my fox friend since the other night. I find myself looking out the window each night hoping he pops back in. In fact, I've found myself seeing the fox everywhere... in my head. I relayed the story to a friend and he said I saw my spirit animal. I have to admit, I've given serious thought to that claim. I can't help but wrap myself in the beauty of the whole event and the series of events before and after the fox stared into my soul. It is all connected and it is all natural. At any point an electron could be in a number of different places forcing a number of different neurons to fire in different directions creating alternate realities, but the reality I am blanketed with found a fox speaking to me with it's face- Staring at me, scared or hyper-aware or hyper-hyper-aware of everything happening: noises in the woods, scarcity of food, freezing weather, pressures of society, the impotence of consumerism, the importance of family, disgust of money, the need to be loved, and the hope that everything is somehow connected.

The fox knew.

I keep thinking of the fox. Even more so after the events of Tuesday. Get ready to read some crazy shit. Granted, some of the stories I have told on this blog are false, what you are about to read is 100% true and blew my mind to another stratosphere. I won't be able to truly capture it with my poor vocabulary, but just imagine the scene in Eight Below, when Paul Walker finds out what happened to his favorite dog. It was like that a bit:

I woke up, readied myself for the day, started my drive to work and listened to a podcast that was mainly annoying, but touched on some great points involving currency being more than just money- a comedian was discussing how he was paid very little money to open for Louis CK, but his true payment was the education he received from a successful comedian. I worked all day with the thought in my head that paper money is of less or equal value than certain experiences and lessons that can happen. How much money would you pay to eat dinner with your hero or take a long drive with your ancestors? It is a great debate, but not for this post. Anyway, with these thoughts in my head, I trudged through my day. I bumped into a professor from Temple University who I had met a few months ago, while standing in the same spot (A Whole Foods demo table). He dropped a good bit of knowledge on me as well, when he summarized this speech he had just played his students. Alas, I was still sour and depressed, but trying to combine all these short events into a collage and the only picture I had in my head was the face of a fox staring at me. Where was the fox now? Was he still hanging out near the house? Was it a he or a she? Was she going to make it to spring time? I couldn't get around the fox. So I drove home and listened to another mostly annoying podcast that did have one redeeming point that involved a Nike slogan. It was a nice ride home, I was tired and paid a lot for gas, but all of that is only to further build up the suspense before I drop the bomb. What happened when I got home was the most amazing event that might be considered coincidental. I walked in, gave out a few hugs and kisses to fiancees and dogs and then, before plopping down on the couch I noticed the mail. Atop the mail was this month's National Geographic. Has anyone seen it yet? Well if you haven't here is the cover:
Can a fox become man's best friend? That is pretty much the exact question I had been asking myself the past 2 days, and suddenly it is the cover story on the only magazine I get in the mail. A magazine that my mother has gifted me every birthday and Christmas as if she knew that someday it would completely shake up my whole belief system and cause me to hit my head on the ceiling in excitement. I don't need to kill the fox! I don't need to ever have that thought again. It is all in their genes, they have a gene that can make them be my friend. It's all in the article. Way to go March 2011 issue of National Geographic. Not only did you get my blood pumping, you included some great photographs that a high school art student will do a color pencil portrait of in the next ten years. The fox is not the enemy.

From there, I have thought of a number of ways to end this post. I have decided to say this: To have a series of fairly ordinary events tie together and excite you as the events above have done to me feels great. It is a wonderful feeling to search for meaning and purpose in things that are easily pushed into piles of meaningless and purposeless. Every day has countless events, and even more events if you search them out, and within those events there are connections and within those connections there is something I'm not sure of, but it is strong, like gorilla glue. I hope more steps are added to my fox adventure, as I will climb them wholeheartedly.

I trust the fox.

Barkley

2011-02-10T21:01:00.004-05:00

“There are only five real jobs in the world, teacher, fireman, policeman, doctor and someone working in the service. Everybody else should just chill out and enjoy life.” -Charles Barkley

Well put! I don't think he was talking about Life magazine or Life the board game, although both of them are occasionally enjoyable. I enjoyed a short moment of life last night when a fox came and sat on our porch for a few moments. Off in the woods, something was howling, and it was almost as if the fox was hiding from the howls on the porch. It had a look of alertness I rarely see. Just a fox, on its toes, looking into the darkness. I shined a flashlight on him through the window and he looked over. As it stared into the light, I watched the fox for a good minute or two and thought about how I could kill it. Then, I kept staring at it and tried to figure out why that particular idea jumped out at me. The chickens were safe, we were safe, Badger was safe and snoring and the fox looked as though it was the only unsafe creature around. Maybe I figured it is best to just play it safe, but there was a certain unmeasurable value to that fox staying alive. It visited me on a dark cold February night and came right up to my front door, and stood in front of the spot where I often eat breakfast and read magazines. I grabbed my phone and snapped a picture in attempt to capture the magic, but it was an impossible task. I was curious what the fox's next move would be. would he try and dig into the chicken coop? would he snuggle up on the porch and get some rest? would he stand up on two legs and ask me for a cup of sugar? anything was possible I was so mesmerized.

In the end, the fox ran off, back to the woods, to rejoin whatever beasts lie in the cold winter night. I laid down and went to bed with another thought in my head. Why did I want to kill the fox? The obvious answers don't quite explain the immediate urge I felt. A flag just dropped in my head convincing me that the fox was the enemy, but I don't think that's true. The fox brings a lot to the party. Just this internal discussion I am having with myself and trying to figure out via blog-post (it's therapeutic- alright!) has value, not to mention the enjoyment of staring at a wild fox trying to survive in the dead of winter. I would say it is more valuable than the $10 I spent to see Transformers.

winter beasts

2011-02-03T11:06:00.005-05:00

I've been meaning to update the 6 of you that read this on our chicken coop. Here are some chicken thoughts that have been cooped up:

I've been reading a lot of facebook updates lately of people complaining about the weather. Don't worry friendly faces- do like J- when I start to worry of the weather I just look off my porch and see 7 chickens toughing it out with no problem.

Chicken literature-- read it-- states that when a chicken becomes stressed out or unhappy they often stop laying eggs. Our chickens are surrounded by a foot of snow and living in arctic conditions, but still hook me up with breakfast daily. They aren't stressed out. They aren't whining about how much better summertime is and how depressed all the cold weather makes them. They don't even have thumbs to knit warm mittens and hats with. They are out there fluffing up their feathers and working as a team to conquer the cold. I love it. Right there, I am already warmer just thinking about it.

They even boycotted the heat lamp we turned on in their coop. We flicked it on when the weather was real cold- towards the beginning of December, but the chickens stopped going inside at night when it was on. "what, Jon, you think we are a bunch of toucans? We like the dark for our beauty sleep." It really is something.

Chickens are commonly thought of as whimps. I am here to tell you, that's a bunch of bullsquash. They are out there even when the squirrels and Texans, surrounded by nuts, are avoiding the cold. The only place for them to escape the elements is a little shack made of some plywood and tin. They aren't migrating, they aren't putting on smart-wool, they aren't even putting vaseline on their combs (except the one time Nogeeshik and I did do that as we were scared they were getting frostbitten). Every time I eat an egg, whether it be scrambled, poached, fried or in a tuna and pickle and egg sandwich, I think to myself, "Jon- why are you so soft- where is your hard shell surrounding the gelatinous goop you think is a man! Get naked and run through the snow right now and make a snow angel mooning the heavens!" Every time, I just sit down and eat my egg in front of a basketball game.

Kudos to the chickens... Let us raise our mugs of hot cocoa and toast the hen, for they know not what it is to complain about the weather, they only know what it is to eat, shit, and lay eggs.

bottles and cans

2011-01-25T21:54:00.004-05:00

A strange series of events gained momentum and struck me upside the head with the force of dozens of domino bricks this past week. I am not sure where to start, so I will flush it out in a nice rambling nonsense as the beauty of it is that there is no place for Order, there is no start or finish, and it continues to evolve as I write, post and reread these words.

A few months ago I conceived a podcast idea that matured into Human Trampolines. Well shux, I suppose I first thought of it about a year ago now, but it stewed about in my head and in email conversations before any true action ever took place. Like many ideas, I feared this one would never gain enough momentum to get lift. I suffer from laziness, procrastination, and a slew of other slothy sludgy smudges. They are shackles that when viewed with hindsight bring me a good deal of shame. However, this idea had wings. My glorious friends came forth with glorious stories of glorious songs and the podcast became something real. It existed on the internet and in people's ears and as people listened it may even cause them to react to any certain incident differently than if it had not lifted off and flown. While it is simply a minor 15 minute podcast with only 4 episodes to date, it was a grand accomplishment in my mind to have HT and it's website and the idea of people enjoying the episodes the same way I enjoy the podcasts that I enjoy.

Then the world turned a few times. The sun came up and went down... It happened quickly and while the enjoyment was still there, many other things came and went through my head that caused the enjoyment to be a little less noticeable. Faces and delicious meals and scores of sports games on the television all joined the HT enjoyment in my mind similarly to how the Whos joined hands in Whoville. More and more it built up and more and more the sun set.

Finally last week rolled around. Another beautiful moment took place. As the Social Network was being celebrated at the Golden Globes, I utilized Facebook to its most glorious potential: contacting friends you may not normally contact to try and get the word out. With little fear of my privacy, I asked friends if anyone would be interested to contribute to HT, then posted a link to the site. The next day I had an email in my inbox with an attachment.

Now this podcast was just a small tiny thing. About 50,000 of them (total guess) are posted to iTunes daily and about 6 billion people swim the Earth and about 3 trillion dollars are made up. Size is an important factor to be constantly thinking about. You can think you are big or you can think you are small, but really you are just you and everything is moving so fast, it is hard to judge and be certain. Seriously.

Ok- back to the email. It was from a young student at NYU who I had met in Los Angeles and is a big fan of the spinto band. There was an attachment alongside the email. He sent me a story (channeling his inner Woody Allen) for the podcast. Now, if you don't know about the podcast, read this quickly. I haven't posted his story online, but like most of the episodes, it is based around a song that affected him. That song is Oh Mandy by the spinto band.

Now I have heard many people sing many praises (and criticisms) to the spinto band in all shapes and sizes and that is not what is great about this.

This young man proved that everything in the universe has a place and is connected and moves in and out of form and lack of form constantly. Here we are, billions of us, sitting around, blogging, sleeping, making cocoa, and it will all eventually collide. I love it. It is why I like to read the credits in movies- I probably won't know any names, but I might and that gives me evidence that there is a connection flowing from all atoms to all atoms. Events all happen. Some have reasons and some don't, but we can't question that they will happen. What we have to do is make more events happen. We have to work hard at it. The most minor of things all take shape and connect and each is necessary to the next. It is best to not view events as chores, but rather as opportunities. We have a lot at play here and I'm not sure I explained it very well. Let me try a new paragraph:

A young boy fell in love with a song and then, years later, told the story about falling in love with the song on a podcast about songs you love created by a guy who is in the band of the song he fell in love with and was, quite honestly, growing tired of the song the boy fell in love with, but then the boy and his story inspired the guy to realize that songs and love and everything are not to grow tired of, they are all puzzle pieces or intertwined hands or (damn- I'm going to say it) grains of sand.

Get it? I honestly can't even grasp how blown away I am by it all. I'm not sure why... This blog post didn't even really get it across. Just trust me.

2010-07-12T18:12:00.002-04:00

At the end of Kim Cooper's 33 1/3 book about Neutral Milk Hotel's In an Aeroplane Over the Sea there is a quote from band member Julian Koster:

I think what Elephant 6 meant for us is very simple: there's something pure and infinite in you, that wants to come out of you, and can come out of no other person on the planet. That's what you've got to share, and that's as real and important as the fact that you're alive. We were able, at a really young age, to somehow protect each other so we could feel that. The world at large, careerism, money, magazines, your parents, the people at the rock club in your town, other kids, nothing is going to give you that message, necessarily. In fact, most things are going to lead you away from it, sadly, because humanity is really confused at the moment. But you wouldn't exist if the universe didn't need you. And any time I encounter something beautiful that came out of a human somewhere, that's them, that's their own soul. That's just pure, whatever its physicality is, if the person can play piano, if they can't play piano, if they're tone deaf, whatever it is, if it's pure, it hits you like a sledgehammer. It fills up your own soul, it makes you want to cry. It makes you glad you're alive, it lets you come out of you, and that's what we need: we desperately need you.

______

I thought that was nice.

______

Collins also mentions that the 8 minute song Oh Comely was played once in the recording session of In The Aeroplane Over the Sea and only once. Jeff Magnum, with his guitar, sat down, started what was meant to be a warm up- where he would only play the first verse- but then carried on for all 8 minutes and 18 seconds while the rest of the band stood amazed in the next room... and then they kept the take, and threw some overdubs (horns, backing vocals, a bit of percussion) on it and that was that.

Listen to this sledgehammer:

setting goals

2010-06-28T18:33:00.003-04:00

True Story:

I sat down today with a pen and paper and wrote down a little phrase that is supposed to help me win Life. I had scribed "Short Term Goals:" as my pen arose from the paper. Just at that very point a *twing* erupted from beneath my belly button. With hunger interrupting my list of goals I went to the pantry for a fresh jar of Dry Roasted Peanuts. If you like salt soaked snacks, you know what a dry roasted peanut is. It is what happens to the peanut man on the Planters container after he runs an ultra-marathon and is covered in peanut-man sweat, then roasted. These nuts are a favorite snack of mine.

As I stared at my pending list of goals and my freshly opened jar of dry roasted peanuts, a question arose regarding my existence. Could I consume an entire 16 ounce jar of dry roasted peanuts right at this very moment? Seems like a good goal, and since I only had about an hour, it would have to be short-term. I decided to write "eat entire jar of peanuts" on the list just for a laugh, then started eating the nuts by the handful.

It was a hot day, and I wanted to take this goal, like most life-goals, very seriously. I filled a large glass with tap water to make sure the salt would dilute and I wouldn't get too dehydrated or whatever. I also realized, quickly that this goal was attainable. A few handfuls in, and the nuts were already below the label. It had only been a couple of minutes, so I sipped some water and took a deep breath of summer air. Within that warm summer air was the smell of success. I could see why people write whole books about achieving your goals... It feels great, even if you haven't finished the task... achievement, it's like being repotted in a bigger pot because you have grown and your roots no longer fit in the small terra-cotta container, they need a bigger one to spread out and conquer.

At the 15 minute mark the jar of nuts was half gone. No problemo. I picked up my pen again to think of more goals I could crush, but before jotting anything down- the phone rang. It was a friend who had been without power calling me to tell me about how the power was back on. We chatted for a bit as I popped a couple nuts here and there. Upon completion of the call, I realized something- I had procrastinated!

My peanut goal had lost 15 minutes without really consuming much more than a dozen or so nuts. I thought about why I even wanted to do this and if it was worth it. Calories and salt intake are all issues people I know think a lot about. I was on the verge of consuming 3000 calories and somewhere around a billion milligrams of sodium. What sort of effect would that have on a 28 year old person? It was no big deal to NOT eat the nuts. Nobody saw me make the Short Term Goals List, and not a soul would know if I just crumpled it up and threw it in the bin, BUT, for some reason, I felt compelled to motor on. I did not want to look in the mirror and see a failure, and since there are a good 6 or 7 mirrors in my house, it would be unavoidable.

I sat back down and raced through the next quarter jar of nuts. I was well on my way when I felt as though the nuts were taking effect on my stomach. My body was thinking there was enough salt in my stomach, and wanted to let me know. It was an odd feeling of nausea mixed with failure. No no no! I thought. Continuing through the jar, I saw completion of my first goal take shape.

The jar was polished off in about 40 minutes. I didn't eat the salt at the bottom because I don't really consider that part of it- Part of putting one's mind to a goal and achieving it, which felt nice.

I lifted the pen and crossed "eat entire jar of peanuts" from the top of my goals list.

The new birds in town

2010-05-04T08:40:00.007-04:00

Can you see the beast in the distance of my car mirror in this photo:
It's a peacock. I saw it strolling down the road the other day and I realized it was going to be a kooky day. Unfortunately, by the time I reached for my camera to take this picture, the bird was so far away, it was almost as if I had only dreeeaaaammmed it.

Anyway, from there, I received a phone call from a friend. She was looking for someone to head up to Lancaster with her to stock up on some chickens for her coop. I am fascinated by both chickens and Amish dudes. "I am in."

"Turn left once the power lines end." Was the only direction we had, but we found the farm alright. Again, I missed the photograph where the farmers were tossing the chickens in the car with wings flapping and feathers flying, but in this photo you can see that it was Wear Something Blue Day to support blue bears.

For my help in the chicken pickup, I was awarded two chickens to call my own. This was great news, because Badger was upset when he heard that our chicks wouldn't be laying eggs until the fall. We let one chicken ride shotgun home.

When Badger got word that new friends arrived, he made himself at home.

The new chickens tower over the chicks. I don't know if I like it. I saw one throwing its weight around, blocking off the feeder from the little chicks. I think once they all live together for a while, the bigguns will be friendly to the liluns.

renovate

2010-04-26T17:52:00.002-04:00

Just changed around the look here at the web journal. The old title has bugged me since day one. I can never think of good titles, and the idea of a dog eating corn was just too much. I love dogs and I love eating corn, so perhaps putting the two together made sense at one time, but dogs don't eat corn.

I had been hoodwinked. Somewhere along the line I thought to write a blog, you need to have some kind of clever title that doesn't really make sense. One of the fun things about this blogger site is that you can hit a link that takes you to random blogs... well, most of them have random titles.

Not here anymore though.

A funny story about this site you are visiting right now. It was started in attempt to get PR people to send me free music. In exchange for a blog post, I would reach out to press folk and see if they would send me music I wanted to hear. Brilliant idea! But as the blog blobbed into its current shape, I have learned that writing about music is more for pompous dickhead know-it-alls. I have a very hard time judging someone's art, and could only write about music I liked. Although I did piss on the Kooks a few years ago, I think music should be celebrated 100 times and critiqued zero times. Let Mel Kiper Jr. do all the critiquing in the world on college football prospects. Run the well dry Mel, run it dry.

So here we stand. A simple little blog written in a simple little home, that has an important purpose as it allows me to every now and again reflect back upon old posts and say, "wow- on August 20, 2008- I must have been feeling like a dick."

Chick update

2010-04-23T09:53:00.004-04:00

So the chickens are survivors. We sighed a breath of relief this morning as all the cluckers still had their heads. There are a few bets going around the farm as to what date the first chicken will get killed. Chicks just gotta say, "That's pretty fucked up."

So, with all these thoughts of predators and losing bets swirling in my head, I drank a bunch of cold ones last night while watching the Flyers game and every time I had to whizz, I moseyed out to the coop and pissed a nice little PBR smelling perimeter to help a little. Badger pitched in a few times. At slumber-hour, Badger stayed up at my feet looking out our bedroom window at the coop. I don't think he slept at all. At around 1am or so, he woke me up barking up a storm. "Oh geez, here we go," I thought. I looked out the window and could see a little light coming from the coop. While half asleep, I imagined the whole back wall had fallen out. I cursed and ran out in the yard in my bare feet and boxers through the urine swamp, only to realize the light I was seeing was the window of the coop and a little crack on one of the door hinges.

I had forgotten that feeling of bursting awake and jumping out of bed into action. It was awesome. By the time I realized the chickens were safe, standing half naked in my yard, my heart was racing. I took a deep breath of fresh air and something came over me. I lifted my head, staring up at the stars. The moon was shining and a slight breeze tickled my chest hair. Badger and I stood there, planted like two sentinels. With our heads lifted toward the final frontier, we both let out a primal scream. Howling at the moon I became one with Badger and the chickens and the great mother.

I no longer fear the predators. Weasels and foxes know. Snakes and rats know. Bearded dragons know, and now I know. We are all little chickens waiting to get eaten. Standing under our heat lamps and pooping in our food. Waiting for our big boy feathers to replace our little baby feathers and then laying eggs to be scooped up and served with Canadian bacon and English muffins:

one world.

Out of the laundry Room into the Fire

2010-04-21T16:31:00.019-04:00

So it's a big day over here at blog HQ. The chicken coop has passed the home inspection and we are dumping our 2 week old chicks into it. We aren't exactly sure how old they are, but we bought them when they were bite sized and that was 2 weeks ago.

Since I have gained a good bit of knowledge from other bloggers writing about their backyard chickens, I thought I would take a moment to write about my coop building and chicken raising experience thus far.

We went with seven, which has proven to be difficult. I always count them to make sure they are all there and regularly only count six. I have a short panic until I spot the seventh, usually huddled up in a corner or blending in underneath one of the others. They all fit much nicer in the coop we have been working on for them then they do in a metal tub atop our laundry machine.

Perhaps my favorite part of our chicken experience thus far is watching Badger, the puppalupagus, obsess over the birds. They are his new best friends. He watches them endlessly fascinated at their every move. He will lick them and nudge them with his nose, but he has never hurt them. Below are a few shots of Badger over the last couple weeks:

saying hello in the living room

saying hello in the laundry room (their usual home)

and guarding the chicks in their little temporary pen.

Badger and I helped the chicks move into their new home today. I've read a good bit about chickens over the last couple weeks and the one consistent fact is that they regularly get eaten by any of the following predators; raccoons, foxes, opossums, owls, rats, weasels, pterodactyls, and snakes. It is a tough life. With this in mind, we tried to build a safe home for the chicks, but at the same time realize at least half (if we are lucky) of these little buggers will probably end up being the punchline in a Roald Dahl story. That is what makes the move a scary one.

As you can see above, the structure is nearly finished. We just need to stake up some chicken wire in the run area, and bury the extension chord (for the heat lamp). Badger is standing in front of the door. Once the pen is wired, you will be able to open up the small door, to allow the chickens to come and go, or the two large doors to clean the coop and collect eggs. We built the coop off the ground to protect from predators and allow more space, underneath the coop, for the chickens to muck about in the pen. The whole structure is 10 feet long, 4 feet high (at the corners) and 4 feet wide. The coop itself is 3 feet by 4 feet.

Here are the front doors. We salvaged the awesome wood from the barn on the farm when a good bit of it collapsed under the snowmageddon. The hinges were donated from a friend and are one of my favorite parts.

This little door will be open during the day with a ramp down to the ground so the chickens can come and go as they please.

Then when it is time to clean out the coop or collect eggs we can open up the whole wall. The chord in the back is for a heat lamp and the hanging feeders (one for food and one for water) may end up underneath the coop once the chickens grow a bit more. Behind Badger's head is a nesting area with 2 boxes and a little roof. We haven't installed the roosting pole, but we did add the little roof deck above the nesting boxes for some more chill space for the chicks.

You can see the nesting area a bit better here. There are two wooden slats that slide in so you can either have one big nesting area or two smaller ones, whichever the chickens prefer.

The chickens immediately seemed to enjoy looking out the window which is good. I am a bit worried that this window will be the weak link when predators come looming, but I think it is totally sealed.

Here are a few more photos I took today of the chicks moving in:

I believe this is an amber link. We have at least 2 of them, and maybe 4 of them.
Maebe came to say hi, but I think she would eat them, so I drop kicked her.

I'm not sure what kind of chicken this is, but she is much smaller than the others.

I think the one in the back there is a Rhode Island Red, but I can't be sure of that either. She is also pretty small.

shake it
Wish us luck.

What Jeni said

2010-04-06T23:25:00.002-04:00

I think there is a fine line between "criticism" and "judgment". To me, a critical person has room to alter their perception. A judgment has weight and permanence.

I don't get many comments here on the blog, so I wanted to thank Jeni for chiming in with the above statement regarding my "critique" of Alice in Wonderland. She makes a great point and I feel a bit better about it all.

I think what Jeni meant to say though is that judgment day is coming- a day when critical minds and judgemental minds will all be stepped on by terminator feet. Giant waves of napalm will be viewed at and no one will take the time to update their blog about how the napalm should have been hotter or the wave taller or the ashy skeletons more ashy. We will all just run for our lives and hope our loved ones don't become terminated too tortuously.

Critics are cartoons, judges are jokesters and we are all just people pointing in different directions. There is no reason for me to write this. It will only be scanned for vitals by the mother-terminator and then used against the human resistance. It is obvious to me. On a day like today, the sun was shining, the blossoms were falling and not once did I breath in and say, "man, this air smelt so much better in 1997." This is because I can't time travel! I am not from the future and can't go to the past. I will not crouch naked and awaken atop a crater in a seedy part of 1997 telling myself how awesome the air smells. If I could, I would make a bet on the Phillies to win it all in 2008.

I just looked it up. Judgement Day isn't until July 11th 2029. The Phillies could win another one by then. I will have just celebrated a 48th birthday and would not have judged anything in a good 20 years. I will be telling my niece about how happy I am she became a Phillies fan despite growing up in Boston and maybe we should travel to the moon when the Phillies play the Moon Men in an upcoming Orbit-League exhibition. She will probably tell me that she prefers a good pitching matchup and dislikes all the 4,000 foot home runs that are hit in low gravity. On this day air will smell of injected fragrances that remind us all of ex-girlfriends and people will constantly be cringing. The wave of napalm won't be so bad after that.

Luckily for them, the Phillies will be on the moon on judgement day hitting homeruns and the napalm will only look like a fireworks show from their vantage.

What Sam Drinks

2010-03-23T13:57:00.003-04:00

So one of my favorite things is finding out about the blogs friends may keep. Something new to read from someone I know or love is like getting a fortune with my cookie.

I've long admired the words of my friend Sam, and now everyone else can as well.

Check out his new web journal, This Is What I Drink.

Sam has made me a fan of beverages just by listening to the way he talks about them.

"What I drink. It's not something I thought very much about until a few years ago, but it really does mean a lot to my life. Food obsession is something that's easier to accept. We have 24 hour networks dedicated to the preparation/eating/ceremony of food. But beverage obsession, not so much, as it always seems to play the sidekick. I understand why. It's a quick sip in between chews, laughs, memories and not the main course, and despite loving a well cooked meal, I'd argue the drink is just as important."

Sam- this reminds me, we need to get that home brew recipe cooking.

Alice left me feeling unpure

2010-03-09T09:29:00.003-05:00

So what do I know about films? I can't critique them. They all have their target audiences and I usually write criticisms then delete them, then write about how I can't write them.

All I know is that one of these two things has changed:

-Tim Burton's genius
-me

20 years ago, Edward Scissorhands came out. I was a child. Nowadays I just scoff at shitty dialogue, wish movies weren't so predictable, and complain about how fake stuff looks. What happened?

I can enjoy everything. I don't need to judge it all. A lot of people worked hard on that movie and created a work of art. Who cares if it ends with a battle scene and silly dance and then a really bad song. Wonderland is a real place. I love it. I will think of 20 impossible things before breakfast.

I'm stumped

2009-12-19T19:20:00.003-05:00

Just had a bit of a realization that I am going to try to work out via this blog post while Saints/Cowboys pregame is on mute.

I recently invested in a terabyte hard drive for my laptop. I had a friend show me a similar drive that contained 600 gigs of mp3s that I had to have. Everything I ever wanted was there and available for the taking. The external hard drive cost me $110 after shipping and handling. After copying the drive and figuring a subpar way of hooking my laptop to my stereo, I have been enjoying the likes of Al Green, Os Mutantes, and lots of Django thanks to copying a music mecca made into mp3.

Just now, while listening to my new top play (Vince Guaraldi's Christmas album) I had a moment of realization. I bumped into this article on the Wired blog and realized I just made a poor decision. While the hard drive is filled with great Beatles rarities and Zappa interviews, as far as the music goes, I could have subscribed to one of these music networks and gotten a far greater amount of tuneage for a much better price.

I had always swiftly scooted these subscription services aside. The idea of paying a monthly rate for such a service seemed silly. I could buy the albums I wanted to hear and stream samples of other songs on blogs. Then, when I invested an amount of money that could have garnered me a year of Rhapsody or Napster usage, I realized that music ownership is on the way out.

I'ma just riffin here, but riff with me.

By buying a harddrive with maybe 30 gigs of music I really want and 400 gigs of music I will listen to once and delete, I'm not sure I really gained as much as I once thought. Plus, I am essentially breaking laws of copyright in the process. As a musician, I don't really get upset about illegal downloading as it is a waste of energy, but I still make jokes and occasionally utilize the phenomenon as a persuasive pity point. As a broke person with a love for music, I find myself downloading albums I want to hear all the time. This thievery is a weight I would like to take off my second hand smoke filled chest.

SO- a great way to have done this could have been to sign up for Rhapsody or Napster or anyone of the other applications out there that help support the industry that has supported me for the last few years. Instead, I invested that money on a digital brick that holds all the same information and will undoubtedly break before the next real wet season.

still just riffin here:

I think my problem is that I wanted to OWN all these songs, but I'm not sure why. I essentially paid the money I could have invested in a music service (and to a lesser extent; music culture) to some silicon valley hard drive manufacturer so that I could own a bunch of music. And that is the problem... yup, in the last two sentences I think I realized that my mistake is that I didn't go with music socialism. Perhaps some sort of hard wiring in my yankee brain caused me to denounce the idea of just sharing songs online. I demand ownership of these songs, even if I have to steal to do it! It's so messed up in my brain, that I think when I read over this blog post it wont make any sense.

I'm going to think about this a bit more and report back.

Early conclusions love the idea of one giant music network that everyone shares and logs into, but it seems anti-American at the same time, which I also love. Man- I'm really quite shocked at this revelation... probably guaraldi/rum-induced.

Jackhammer: a Phil Davis joint

2009-11-13T11:49:00.003-05:00

So, I'm just making sure that this video is everywhere I can get it to as it just makes me so happy. Phil is a great friend. He plugged away at this for months while much more pressing affairs like buying a new house and starting a new job/professorship were looming. Make sure to check out some of his other work at phildavis.net .

Love 2: Bear-Salmon Kaleidoscopic Music

2009-11-11T13:46:00.002-05:00

An Air album is something else. No matter what album or what situation- the listener will undoubtedly be chilled out. If you just got told by your slick-haired boss to cancel your barbecue plans because he wants you to do some work he hasn’t finished over the weekend or if you were just cut off by a driver talking on their cell phone after waiting in line at a post office for thirty minutes because someone needed to complain about stamp prices or if your health insurance just denied your claim to pay for the ankle you sprained while stepping over the line at the bowling lane, thus losing the championship by 3 pins then you should probably pick up the whole Air catalog. No matter the album or the situation, you will end up lying in some grass looking up at clouds and thinking they all look like teddy bears or large breasts.

Love 2, their latest album, is no different. While writing these words, I’ve already dozed off twice and dreamed of parachuting into piles of rice pudding. I was listening to the album on my way home from the rodeo the other night and I sat, with my foot on the brake, through 3 green lights until I realized my turn signal wasn’t part of the song. The two Frenchmen have been doing this to me for eleven years now.

I’ve never been able to listen to trance music, but nonetheless, I like to be entranced. So when a pop band can figure out a way to divert the repetitive and robotic nature of the genre, I will dance from the knees down while seated. I will enjoy endlessly this music I call, for lack of inventiveness, trance-pop -or for over-inventiveness, cherry-flavored hypno-gravy. Love 2 is like a kaleidoscope, but instead of looking at little pieces of colored cellophane when you peer through the little hole you are looking at lots of bears standing atop waterfalls catching salmon in their mouths as they leap out of the rushing water. Air is bear-salmon kaleidoscopic music.

I just drank a fourth serving of coffee and I feel like I need more. I went to bed at 9:30 last night despite Monday Night Football excitingly being on mute while I ate spicy thai food. I started taking bubble baths instead of showers in the morning. I’m thinking about seeing a Sandra Bullock movie. My mile split-times on jogs are around 47 minutes. I keep being tranquilized and the only real reason I can think of is that I keep listening to Love 2. It’s great. I would recommend this album to everyone I know, but productivity would drop world wide and next thing you know, the government would be issuing some sort of trance-pop bailout and Americans would be blaming the French for something else. “Your music is so dang chilled out! How can we be expected to sell stuff with this cherry-flavored hypno-gravy clogging our blood vessels!?” It might even escalate into war, except everyone would be so relaxed from listening to Air that they would just lay down in some grass and look up at the clouds.

I may be exaggerating the effect of the album a little bit. I may even be lying. However, that’s what makes music such a blissful bubble-bath inducing beauty. People use words to describe it, when really they should be using dance moves- and everyone speaks their own language when they speak in dance-move. I personally described Love 2 with a wavy, tight-lipped head nod move while my friend described it with a one-shouldered shrug-like move and my crazy neighbor used a fingers-are-snakes, full-bodied, closed-eyed falling off a cliff move. We were all saying the same thing, but didn’t really know what each other was saying.

Check out this video to Sing Sang Sung:

WATCH:: Air - "Sing Sang Sung" - Watch more Videos at Vodpod.

Songs for Sticky Heads

2009-10-30T11:07:00.003-04:00

We played a few shows with a fine Asheville band known as Floating Action. Ever since listening to them groove their way towards tomorrow I have had this song stuck in my dome piece:

MonsaaaaaaaaantoooooooooOOOOOooooo

2009-09-14T22:32:00.002-04:00

45 minutes ago we returned from Food Inc.

I realized the desire to eat a hamburger is a mistake. Someone in a company planted that desire inside my head with a machine that was originally modeled to fill Twinkies and, in the future, will build T-1000s.

I realized that my dreams are going to be more frightening tonight than when I watched Alien at age 10 or when I was visited by a man with a cane and a top hat.

I realized that, according to Michael Pollan, my whole lifestyle is funding the dark side and it tears me up inside like a Tyson chicken breast.

However, perhaps the most shocking thing I saw on screen was this monstrous company stalking soybean farmers called Monsanto. Little is known of the mysterious company, but it is all around us. It owns us... it is us!

Monsanto has the craziest wikipedia history, so crazy, I wouldn't be surprised if it was made up by a crazy vegan computer-science student.

I'll offer a quick Monsanto recap:

founded in St. Louis in 1901 dabbling in artificial sweeteners, caffeine and something called vanillan.
The company starts making all kinds of crazy shit: in the 40s was plastics then came herbicides including DDT and Agent Orange. Monsanto became a top 10 chemical company all the while making things such as NutraSweet and food flavoring. Then, in the 80s, Monsanto goes from being a huge chemical company to a huge bio-tech company when it realizes it can patent a soybean seed that is immune to Round Up (a Monsanto product). Monsanto then sells these beans to farmers and disallows them to reseed the beans they buy and sues farmers for patent infringement.

That is the main story Food Inc. runs with. The film shows a few farmers being bankrupt by the shrewd Monsanto, while others (forced to mask their identities) are blacklisted from purchasing any Monsanto products.

The company seemed so villainous I thought maybe the films tactics were over-dramatizing the situation. Then I read a bit more of the wikipedia... Perhaps the most baffling fact is one more frightening than getting caught in a mutant spiderweb. Monsanto owns the patent for a product called The Terminator Seed. It is a seed that, when planted, the plant will produce sterile seeds, so the farmer is forced to re-buy seeds the following year. The main fear is that these sterile genes will spread to wild plants through pollination terminating all plantlife.

If storytelling has taught me anything, these guys are bad, and will eventually destroy us all when they discover a way to patent air molecules and sue marathon runners for using more of their product than they paid for. Then, once there are no more marathon runners to sue, they'll sue airplane companies for abusing their product, then bakers because they own the bread if it is baked using Monsanto patented air molecules. Then, when they stop supplying air, and people can only live in renegade underwater bubble cities supplied by soot spurring volcanic faults on the ocean floor, and everyone is constantly covered in volcanic ash and chronically coughing from the stubborn volcano air, a grandfather will tell his granddaughter about lost days of sunshine and free fresh air and soybeans that you could pick and plant without a lawyer handing you a paper and taking away your farm... But his granddaughter will be asleep dreaming of being allowed to marry a dolphin and raise a dolphin family.

A new Dawn

2009-09-09T22:44:00.003-04:00

So here I am sitting on the sofa getting ready to head to bed when one of those internet flash floods occurs where you find one thing, then that leads to another thing in which you dive into a few new sites and a neat photograph or song ends up sending you on another tangent and then you realize that you want to share these findings with someone, but no one is around, so all that is left is for you to add your own link to the lengthy chain by posting your own page about what has kept you from reading the book you are trying to finish, in anticipation of someone else digging a different hole to stumble upon such things. We are all weaving a web, and I would like to share a few cool covers done well:

&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://amanorecordings.bandcamp.com/track/life-line-dawn-landes"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;Life Line (Dawn Landes) by Amano Recordings&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;

Who is this Dawn Landes and how has she suddenly taken over my evening?

Help

2009-07-15T21:22:00.002-04:00

http://www.parkthevan.com/help/

After reading this, I thought I should pass it along. The folks at Park The Van are truly great friends and some of the most wonderful music fans I've been able to meet. Its frustrating to imagine a world where these folks aren't putting out albums with a feverish passion hitherto unknown to me and my dancing shoes.

They are offering a sweet Summer Sampler for download on the site to wet your whistle. You will undoubtedly barbecue to it.
---

We’re in this for the long haul. It’s times like these where we take stock in what we’re proud of and of why we do this. We’ve had some incredible new records come out in 2009 already, and some more incredible ones set to come still. The times we’ve had here in New Orleans to see our bands play live and stop through town have been some of our best events to date. Not to mention all of the reports from festivals to dive bars all over the country, the current generation of Park The Van artists out there are making incredible records and playing all over the country like crazy. We can’t begin to explain how lucky we are to be surrounded by the artists and fans we've met since we started putting the orange cone up.

Unfortunately though, we’re living in the same economy as everyone else. And it’s really really hard to sell the amount of stuff it takes to keep our business up and running the way we need to in order to keep putting out records and keep supporting our bands. So, we’re looking for your help to pay our bills through some really rough patches right now. We’re not begging for donations here. We hope that you see that we’re offering some great value to you in exchange for some of your hard earned dough to get us through the roughness. We’re assembling super limited edition handmade items, packages to help you dig deep into discovering all sorts of PTV classics, and prices that we hope you see as generous and ultimately worth it.

It’s tough to put ourselves out there like this and ask for your “help” in running our business. We know that everyone has their own sets of problems, and we get that. But the feedback we get from you is that you love what we’re doing here, and that people can see the vision we share for creating label that is based on support and family and more importantly these wonderful artists the important records that make us feel alive. So, here we are and we’re asking for your help. It never gets old getting to work for your favorite bands and artists. Sometimes you just have to try new things.

Thanks for anything you can do to give us a hand here, and hopefully you like the stuff we’re offering! If you feel like it, please help spread the word. This won’t work if we don’t have a hand from you in letting people know that this is available. And, there’s always the idea of doing this as a gift too! Please let us know if your order is a gift for someone!

Thanks for supporting this thing.

Chris, Zach, Kevin, Matt, Corey, Jeff & the entire PTV team.

HOAGIEFEST 2009

2009-06-19T08:41:00.002-04:00

http://www.hoagiefest.com/music.php?user=theswims&music_id=54

This is a link to a song about hoagies.... Wawa hoagies.

It is also a competition that I would love to have my dear friends the Swims champion. Then they can throw a party catered by wawa hoagies and we can all dance with the wawa mascot and eat shortis for a year.

It makes sense, because the Hoagiefest artwork is pretty much from the brain of Brian Langan.

get out the vote!

Envelopes

2009-06-05T16:11:00.003-04:00

At a good friend's recommendation, I purchased a book by Harriet Russel online the other day. It was shipped and turned out to be the Baltimore County Public Library's copy of Envelopes. While, someday, I may return the book- for now I am going to enjoy Russel's challenges served up to the British Royal Mail.

The envelopes featured in the book challenge the postal service to complete a maze, solve a crossword puzzle or decode a pictogram in order to decipher the destination. It is great. I'm starting to wonder if when a man told me he once mailed a slice of pizza to a friend in California, he was telling the truth. Postmen love these sorts of things. This summer, I am going to keep my eyes open and try and find a few things to mail afar. See some of my favorite envelopes below:

Great Video

2009-05-21T10:29:00.002-04:00

Just discovered this video. It's great. Directed by the fella who brought us Yacht Rock (which definitely deserves a night of your life.) Starring some of the nicest guys to be hitting the clubs playing one of the catchiest songs to be hitting my ears.

Miniature Tigers: Cannibal Queen

They are on tour now, so check their myspace to see if they come your way.

A Few Words on Camera Obscura's My Maudlin Career

2009-05-18T08:09:00.002-04:00

It is an important part of any young boy’s life to listen to Camera Obscura. Before they can tie a Windsor knot or carve a ham or put their arm around a young lady at the movie theatre they should go out and pick up a copy of My Maudlin Career. It is a sensible step towards the stout system of manhood. It is rightfully recommended that the young boy first listen to the album in a safe secure environment. At some point during the course of these 11 songs, the resulting emotions may teleport him into the Eisenhower-era where he will want to kiss his mother on the cheek and borrow his father’s Chevy to escort the neighbor’s daughter to the homecoming dance. If this happens, do not jostle the young boy too violently. Only jostle him rhythmically and keep in mind, he is young. This is sound advice. If you are a father or a mother thinking of raising a young boy to become an all-star third baseman- keep this in mind.

As for my first listen of My Maudlin Career, it happened in a van driving north alongside the west coast. This is also a recommended listening environment. The album chirped from the stereo speakers and I inhaled it through my ears like a bumble-bee landing on a daffodil pedal outside my window. We stopped to get gas and the songs still spilled from the not on/not off setting your van ignition can have where the stereo still works. I was so hypnotized I almost entered the gas station’s mens room with no shoes on. If you add Camera Obscura to the west coast to a few days of not showering or shaving you may get a similar result. I think I was also hypnotized into buying a Golden Gate snow globe.

Since that first listen, I have heard the album while jogging in warm weather, while hanging out with girls who danced along reminding me of Uma Thurman, and while reading an article about how The Cleveland Cavaliers will most likely win an NBA championship. In each instance I felt as though, just maybe, Camera Obscura has built a time machine. In efforts to elaborate on that thought, I have had difficulty.

The album, the band, and the effects they cause have left me wishing hitchhiking was still safe. They have left me feeling as though it is better to walk barefoot and towards a swimming pool than any other way. They have left me with a feeling of contentment that the world is so large that, with a little help and handiwork, you can find something enjoyable and that maybe someone somewhere else will never enjoy what you are enjoying, but their enjoyment is out there in the oh so large world too and that is as important to them as Camera Obscura can be to young boys or to Uma Thurman or to me and you.

Check the myspace

The Coolest Coatrack around

2009-05-14T12:38:00.004-04:00

I had forgotten about this coat rack. I was filing through some old video footage and felt a worthwhile blog post was abound in Weiki Somers's installment in Rotterdam's Museum Boijmans van Beuningen.

Does anyone else feel as though art is a bit cooler if it has some sort of interactivity?

I love to get involved with someone's creation rather than being separated by a velvet rope. When you walk into Museum Boijmans in Rotterdam it is like a Please Touch Museum for adults.

Does anyone else feel as though art is a bit cooler when it is functional?

Not only is the art interactive, its super useful. I feel as though this carousel of coat hangers in the ceiling rescues some square footage from cloak room status in the museum and frees it up for the fine artwork of a deserving artist.

There is a better video and some more photos (I pasted my favorites below) on Somers's charming website.

Here is a photo of the front courtyard and entrance to the museum which is also pretty great... The photo doesn't quite capture the feel, but I thought it was worth sharing.

it came! it came!

2009-05-03T10:17:00.005-04:00

Yesterday was an exciting day for a few reasons. One of those reasons was the arrival of a letter I had sent to Nogeeshik from Berlin a few months ago (March 4th t be exact). Well, I guess it wasn't a letter in the conventional sense as it was a stick that I found on a street and wrote a message on. I superglued the postage stamps to secure them and even placed an extra 1 euro worth of postage in hopes that the postman, or Briefträger, would treat it with care. Despite being courteous and a bit enthused by my abnormal request, they couldn't accept the stick at the post office due to its irregular dimensions, so I addressed it, stamped it, and dropped it in the post box on our way out of town hoping it would find its way across the globe.

Upon returning to the states, other postcards and letters I sent arrived, but no stick. In the past I have mailed sugar cubes and winter gourds through the post and they all arrived safely, so I had told Nogeeshik to keep an eye out for something unique coming in the mail. She could not handle the suspense. Over the past few months she has continually asked me what it was that I sent from Berlin. "It's never going to come... just tell me what it was!" I nearly cracked the other week and told her, but I felt maybe the stick was still on its journey. Sure enough, yesterday the driftwood showed up on our doorstep further inspiring my respect of the postal service.

I was thinking for a future mailing project it may be fun to mail 5 letters all the same shape and weight, but put different amounts of postage on each and perhaps different envelope styles as well. One letter could be really fancy with an extra dollar worth of postage, one letter could be a conventional letter and one letter could be wrapped in newswrap and be a few cents short on the required postage (Perhaps try all sorts of different combinations of postage and fanciness.) Then mail all the letters from the same town, or neighboring towns and then see if they all arrive at the same time, or if some are quicker and others never arrive at all. Next time I am in a faraway town without much to do, I may give this a shot.

Play it Loud

2009-04-30T13:28:00.002-04:00

So the April CD from the Mix of the month club came today from my broham Thomas. It kicked off so powerfully that I decided to resurrect the Ol' web journal to mention one heck of a mix CD starter.

Track 1 was by New Orleans's The Generationals. A band that I have seen and heard here and there but never taken the time to absorb. Do you know what I mean? Like sometimes you read a tshirt slogan and don't really take it in because the main reason you were reading the slogan was to avoid eye contact and the clever play on words just goes in one eye and out the other as you prepare for a deep stare into someone's spectacled oculars. Such instances in life happen daily, and only when you get to sit down with the tshirt and soak in the slogan do you truly appreciate its humor.

Such was the case with The Generationals... I saw them in Austin, I've heard them coming from the speakers of Jenkins, the spintovan, and have been juiced by their Park the Van signing. But here I am on the interweb now saying that this song is making every step I take a little brighter:

The Generationals: When They Fight They Fight

Man, that's too much for Girl Scout cookies

2009-02-09T17:35:00.002-05:00

On the way in to the grocery store yesterday I saw a scene we all know: A card table with a green table cloth and mounds of cookie boxes surrounded by adorable 12 year olds learning some tips in the world of commerce, and raising funds while they sell sell sell those cookies.

I smiled, realizing full well that I would be roped in by those smiling pixies and buy the cookies on my way out for twice the price similar products are sold for in the grocery store...

This had me thinking, and Nogeeshik and I started talking about the fund raising campaign that pops up so often by the girl scouts. One point that really perked me up was that these youngsters are thrown into the fire of consumerism that brings along pressures that they may not be equipped for. Anyone that has worked in retail knows that the one way to sell a product is by guilting people, and perhaps the Girl Scouts of America are using these young girls a bit too much. I know, it seems a bit outlandish at first, but the more I thought of these girls and their early start to a life of wheelin' and dealin' scared me. Luckily, the thought left my mind as we reached the salad dressing aisle, I needed to find some elusive Almond Accents.

Finally we reached the checkout aisle. Since it was a fine sunny day, and Nogeeshik was picking up the grocery bill, I decided to spend a few of my dollars on a scratch lotto card. It's a bit of a guilty pleasure for me and today was a good day for guilty pleasure. We picked up our grocery bags and exited the store.

Boom- we didn't make it two steps out of Acme without a tiny little blonde girl scout recruiting us to their cookie fort. I smiled and told her I would love a box of cookies. Then, for some reason, I thought a lesson could be taught. It was a bad idea in hindsight, but I never really expected it to lift off the ground. I picked up the purple box of cookies and instead of pulling $3 out of my pocket, I pulled out the scratch card I had just bought. I harnessed my inner-Howie Mandel and said to the girls, "I could give you three dollars, or you could take this two dollar scratch card and potentially make three thousand dollars." It was cruel, manipulative, and all around wrong, but in my mind I thought it would be a lesson learned for these girls, and isn't that what girl scouts is all about? Learning valuable lessons? Before I could even reach back in my pocket to actually pay the girls, they accepted with giggles and clenched hands in the air. They were giddy. I was already embarrassed. I was corrupting these girls and stealing their cookies all at once. Somehow, no parents were around to slap me, but the girls were already trying to decide who should scratch the card. I put the cookies down and decided it would be best to just walk away and leave the scratch card for the girls. The idea of a lesson had been completely shot out of my ear and I was now looking around for a state police officer to cuff me and throw me in a cell next to some bookie checking his pager.

Then, as I turned to walk away, in dramatic fashion, the girls started shouting and screaming and running laps around the table in excitement. One yelled "Fifty.... fifty... fifty!!!" I knew then that I had just given away a winning scratch card, which anyone who buys scratch cards knows, is a rare commodity.

I decided maybe I should take the purple box of cookies after all, and I ate the shit out of those cookies.

The Seoulian Sipper

2009-02-05T15:49:00.002-05:00

For most of my adult life I have tried to avoid buying bottled water. I think I heard my dad mention once that it is silly to be charged 2 dollars for the world's most abundant resource, and I agreed. I have preached his words in front of many a gas station beverage fridge while the band is on tour or at a restaurant that, upon receiving the bill, I see we have been charged for water. Occasionally, I even punish my thirst, teeth, and diet by buying a Pepsi or a Gatorade rather than paying the same amount for a bottle of water.

So, you can probably imagine how excited I was to read that there is a South Korean who preaches similar water consumption philosophies on a much larger scale. In fact, this man is the mayor of Seoul and he makes it his mission to end the city's dependence on bottled water. Oh Se-hoon will only drink the city tap water and advocates others do the same. He has gone so far as to set up festivities to celebrate the city's tap system in which citizens partake in blind taste tests between tap, filtered tap, and bottled water.

All in all, I think this is a great cause for a politician to get behind. I would love to see one of my local politicians refusing to drink anything but local water. Way to go Oh!

Even the Ridiculous Real Estate Market is Crashing

2009-02-03T17:34:00.002-05:00

Above is a replication of a building that is supposed to be built in Dubai. David Fisher's rotating skyscraper had broken ground when the real estate crash stretched its wings all the way to Dubai. If you weren't already upset over the casualties of the current dis-economy, you will be sobbing diamond shaped tears after you hear about this hit to the luxurious Dubai skyline.

The tower really does rotate. You can buy an apartment (for $30 mil) that gets a 360 degree view of the surrounding city. If that isn't amazing enough, the whole tower is powered by solar cells and wind turbines that are placed between each rotating story and has a drive-in elevator, so you can park your car 20 stories up.

I first heard about this structure in National Geographic, who says it is still underway, and a few news articles I skimmed suggest that it will be starting construction in the next few months after a few non-economical hurdles are cleared. My jaw dropped. This is real? We aren't in that part of Final Fantasy where you enter the huge domed future city and battle the trash can robots with fireballs? Goodness gracious. I never thought a building could be arrogant, then I watched this video:

Would I get along with T. Boone Pickens?

2009-01-20T16:45:00.002-05:00

Today I read a magazine interview with Texas oil tycoon T. Boone Pickens. It was in one of the magazines I receive but rarely read called Details. I didn't really know much about Pickens prior to this with the exception that he is a Texas boy who made his fortune in oil and is now promoting alternative energy through wind generators. Anyway, after reading the interview with the aged Texas tycoon I wonder if he and I would get along. You can follow the link above to read the full interview, but I've pasted the questions that I liked below:

Q: When doing business, do you think it’s important to wear clothes that convey a sense of power, affluence, or style?
A: I have nothing to say about that. I just wear a regular suit, and if I need to make a speech I put on an orange tie. I have a pair of penny loafers that I bought in 1957, and I still wear them.

Q: I take it you’re not much for splurging.
A: I’m not a shopper. I buy four or five suits at once, every four or five years. I shop for five hours and don’t go back.

Q: Are there any things you wish you owned?
A: I never was the kind of person who wanted a lot of things. I’ve never been into cars, and big houses hold very little interest for me—though I do enjoy my ranch. There is no question that I like to make money. But I’m generous—I give a lot away.

Today's Sunrise

2009-01-19T19:22:00.002-05:00

I hadn't caught a sunrise in a while, so I thought I would go for a walk this morning and set up the camera. There was fresh snow on the ground and it was a fine crisp morning. My first vantage point was held by a deer hunter, so I moved to what I thought would be a lovely point framed by two trees. It was a great spot, and I left the camera for an hour and went to cook some bacon back home. Unfortunately, when I watched the footage, the camera was pointed about 15 degrees to far south and I missed the whole sunrise. The video still has some nice cloud and color, so I'm posting it anyway:

David Byrne & Brian Eno- Everything that Happens will Happen Today

2009-01-17T13:26:00.002-05:00

How exciting! The re-teaming of two of my musical appetite’s most splendid suppers has landed upon my eardrums. Even better, the liner notes mention that they are actually friends and have occasional dinners together, and just stop by to see what’s going on at each other’s pads. This news changes everything… I am suddenly believing that a few of those cosmic forces mentioned in song may be more than just a plot synopsis for a new Drew Barrymore script. Could this album be destiny? I would have to wait to find out.

I went to pick up a copy of Byrne/Eno’s Everything That Happens will Happen Today when I first heard of its release while the lead single, Strange Overtones, was playing on a local radio station. I figured such a song as this serenading my dinner preparation from the kitchen stereo would undoubtedly make the dishes dry faster. Unfortunately for me, however, there was a bit of 21st century music biz bull-squat standing in my way. It seems as though our minstrels were only released digitally. I suppose it makes sense. With most music being purchased/taken digitally nowadays, and albums leaking on the web before their release, it would make sense for an artist to release their music for sale as quickly as possible, as most artists are doing, and as the albums are pressed, fans could purchase the tunes. All that is old news though with the conclusion being I would have to wait to get my hands on this album. I thought of downloading the album when I returned home, then the collector in me started thinking; “maybe if I wait, I can hold this puppy in my hands and keep it on a shelf and when my ipod battery dies and my computer breaks, and I need something to dance to in my bomb shelter, I will still own it… it’ll be out physically in a week or two anyway.” A fine thought for the most part, but then I ended up having to wait 3 months to land the physical version of this album. This is fine by me. There was plenty of music filling my eardrums and dimming the anticipation and the thought of the two musicians releasing the album themselves was a proper kick in the ass to a record industry that must have a sore ass by now. I suppose the only real downside, is this review is now a bit tardy for most.

So all the waiting and crying behind us, let’s discuss the true demeanor of this disc. Byrne and Eno split the duties in creating Everything That Happens… with Byrne writing words for Eno’s music. What results is an ethereal electro-gospel intended to blast from the top of a church tower at 12 noon every day in a faraway village built of terracotta bricks and techno-tickytac. The album is not ambient and the album doesn’t seem to contain an abundance of curse words, so there are two irrelevant checkmarks marked off.

The marriage of the two minds seems as though it was an experiment between friends.

“Let’s give this a shot… see what happens.” “we can play it by ear.” “who knows?”

The experiment seems as though it not only took shape, but paved a road straight to Candyland. When Byrne and Eno finally arrive at Candyland (on a bike built for two) they are immediately granted the key to the city and blessed with a flurry of dancing Jolly Ranchers. Hopefully, they will get a wing of the art museum named in their honor.

Everything That Happens Will Happen Today could break free of Candyland though. It could hover through windows left open by a nightclub DJ in Williamsburg or a pie-baker in Williamston. It does what my oh most favorite albums do- climbs over type-casting and just becomes pleasant sounding 4 minute molecular collisions. I like to get those molecules to collide all over, so I turn it up loud and right as the album starts to sound too much like a David Byrne album or too much like a Brian Eno album, it slaps you in the face and tells you to listen to this next bit and you realize that this is in fact a union of gleaming musical minds trying new things in new manors while sticking to their guns at the same time and, hopefully, doing what they love to do.

Let’s create a rating system for this album. Let’s give it 8 scale tippers and a smiley stamp, and following suit of my friend Scott, a “Go Bananas” sticker.

Today's Festive Sunrise

2008-12-25T21:16:00.003-05:00

So we jumped up this morning to try and get that childhood feeling everyone remembers on Christmas morning. Badger was the most excited. I was pretty bummed out at the clouds blocking a good deal of the sunset, but now that I see the footage, I think the clouds made the video. Merry Christmas.

tonite's sunset

2008-12-22T22:37:00.002-05:00

I slept too late and woke up with a bad hangover (which I blame on the Eagles) so I missed the sunrise. I wanted to see if I could improve the video a bit and I think I succeeded. An obvious minor tilting of the camera allowed the automatic aperture to shrink up and a flood of colors came in.

Dave and David

2008-12-22T10:31:00.003-05:00

I have been listening to the new David Byrne/Brian Eno album quite a bit lately as it is just what the doctor ordered. I was reading over the liner notes and my jaw nearly dropped when Byrne wrote:

"I attacked the first song, which I think Brian had called “And Suddenly.” I'd just finished reading Dave Eggers's book What is the What?, about a young man named Valentino and his hallucinatory and horrific journey from his destroyed village in Darfur to Atlanta, Georgia and beyond. Valentino's story was harrowing but also beautiful, uplifting (in a un-corny way), and at times even funny. I think I may have been under the spell of his story when I sat down in front of my microphone.

The result is “One Fine Day.” I sang a few harmonies in the choruses to make it sound fuller and better and sent it off to Brian."

Alongside David Byrne, Dave Eggers is one of my favorite people. His contributions to culture really tickle my temples. I have been a longtime reader of McSweeneys, and love all his novels. Anyway, I was pretty excited to hear that one of my favorite songs on the album was inspired by one of my favorite books...

Apparently the whole album is available to listen to from the website(as well as a free mp3 download), and I've embedded it below. Check out "One Fine Day" and then, if you aren't hooked yet, listen to "Strange Overtones" then go get Byrne's 1997 classic Feelings.

YouTube hall of fame

2008-12-20T17:14:00.002-05:00

I've been looking for a list like this for a long time.

I received a major dose of the youtube celebrity when we made our way out to YouTube Live about a month ago. It is a new breed of celebrity, one that isn't necessarily super attractive or talented, but incredibly intriguing.

Today's Sunrise

2008-12-18T22:05:00.003-05:00

In Case anyone missed it, Badger and I went out today and taped the sunrise. We have been looking for a while for a video project that utilizes our new flip cam that doesn't make friends feel awkward when you shove a video camera in their face, so I thought it might be fun to experiment with some sped up sunrises this winter.

Unfortunately this video kind of looks a bit boring. For the most part, the sunrise is washed out. Ay ay ay.

I sped it up to the point where 1 minute of real time equals 1 second of video time, as the flippercam has a 60 minute taping capacity (although I managed to get a few more minutes out of it today). As far as being the first in a series, hopefully the sunrises will improve as well as the locations. I am torn between having the foreground be empty, or trying to set up something that may be a bit enticing to the viewer... Maybe when I figure out a bit more with the sunrise itself, I can experiment with the settings a bit more. My limited knowledge of photography lenses makes me think the flipcam may not be the ideal camera to attempt this as I can't adjust the aperture or white balance or anything and I feel like a lot of the color disappeared... Maybe it is just hidden and I need to dig it out in Adobe Premiere.

Anyway, I'll be posting the trials here regardless of their quality. I decided to utilize Public Domain music for starters, but we will see what comes in future projects.

An Interesting Comparison

2008-12-14T16:00:00.002-05:00

After seeing a clip from Lost Highway over on Jake's journal, I had an onslaught of freaky memories from David Lynch, but I was primarily reminded of a Wes Anderson clip. Let me post the clips side by side, and then list the comparisons:

These clips are great side by side as they more or less show the exact same scene portrayed by two great directors with two very different styles. Blondes walking in slow motion is an easy scene stealer for a movie and I think I may start a side project on this journal collecting a few more from time to time. While I am not the best at analyzing movies (especially David Lynch's) here are a few notes I can make about these two:

1. Both scenes introduce the audience to a pretty twisted love interest
2. The soundtracks align nicely with Lou Reed offering up one song, and Lou Reed student, Nico, singing the other song (which I always thought was a Lou Reed song, but it turns out it was written by Jackson Browne).
3. The blonde hair and dark eyes of the vixens
4. the attempt to remain composed by the men
5. the whole exiting the vehicle bit
6. the fact that these two directors are the favorites of me and most of my friends.

Cooking with Jon

2008-12-08T23:06:00.003-05:00

EDIT: WHOOPS- THOUGHT I WAS LOGGED INTO THE SPINTO BLOG... OH WELL, NO POINT IN DELETING THIS NOW.

While we do like to do more than promote tours and shows and other various spinto activities on this blog, sometimes we find that promoting an event is a good excuse to make a silly video... Case in point, tonite in Boston... day off, no show, no Phillies games for a few months- lets make a youtube video promoting our XPN show...

details about the gig after the video:

The XPN gig

Friday December 12, 2009
12 noon
hear it live-
In person: World Cafe Live
on radio: 88.5 WXPN (only for people in or around the Philadelphia area)
online: www.XPN.org

PS- the pasta sauce was a little spicy, but luckily there wasn't really enough of it for anyone to have too much and then there was too much pasta, so everyone had barely any of the too spicy sauce mixed into an extra large serving of angel hair pasta and so the spice (or any of the taste) was mellowed nicely. We had eggnog for dessert.

Spintonic Comics

2008-12-02T16:55:00.008-05:00

Here are some more of the old Spintonic Comics I was telling you about. Enjoy:

Pure Zebra by Phil Davis

Untitled

Brodies by Albert Birney

Beef Jerky by Jon Moses

Bearly Able by Thomas Hughes

Horseradish: the root of cool

2008-11-26T11:38:00.003-05:00

So I spent some time yesterday doing something I've always wanted to do. Went and dug up some horseradish roots at my parents house and made some sauce. For anyone that loves a little sinus clearing sauce, fresh horseradish takes the cake. We discussed growing wasabi plants next year alongside the horseradish which had been heartily growing since it was planted ten years ago.

It was great hunting down the horseradish plants on the property, then digging them up. Then- the exciting part of the process is the whole kitchen becomes a potent nose-clearing eye-burning apothecary. My mom had a solution to the eye burn:

too cool for school!

Silver Jews- Lookout Mountain Lookout Sea

2008-10-22T04:00:00.002-04:00

Have you ever looked at a small island within a large lake? Have you gathered with a couple of friends and decided that you can probably swim out to that island, as it isn’t all that far away? Have you started swimming in the frigid, murky water of that New Hampshire lake until your arms throbbed and your legs started to tingle, all the while the island sat upon the horizon slowly enlarging itself with every stroke? Then it suddenly sets in that the island is four miles off the shore and you are not nearly the accomplished swimmer you thought. This is quite the enlightening realization. If you and all your friends realize it at once, it is a great feeling of mutual hubris which will swallow all sorts of shame and bubble up a tiny bit of momentary invincibility until the ideas of drowning returns. As a group, you turn around and return back to shore the whole time joking about how YOU were still fit to go forward to the island, but your friends wussed out. This is the sort of moment I thought of when listening to Lookout Mountain, Lookout Sea.

Since I first heard the Silver Jews with the misperception that it was a Pavement side project, I haven’t stopped smiling from the slanted poetry and sweet, simple song structures. That was around seven or eight years ago, and David Berman has kept up with his unspoiled perceptions of human nature. With this new album, Berman climbs further up the hierarchy of folky-fresh poets who paint the world in a tangerine light.

Lookout Mountain, Lookout Sea could be read to children sitting cross-legged in a circle atop carpet squares. It could be turned into a black and white movie and played at the nickel cinemas during times long ago. It could be transformed into a giant potluck dinner somewhere on a farm in maybe Idaho or Northern California where everyone drinks homemade wine and lights the last bit of wick on centimeter-tall candlesticks. A dinner where the neighbor that was invited only out of uneasy politeness shows up with a giant pile of figs which he grew in his backyard. A dinner where, afterwards, everyone strips down to their underpants and stomps around in the kiddy pool splashing stale rain water all over the lowlands while the young children aren’t sure if they should be embarrassed or proud of their naked parents. You know the kind of record I’m talking about?

Berman seems to have the wisdom of a train-hopping hobo you may bump into while spending a night in a jail cell after drinking a dozen whiskeys and tossing your date into oncoming traffic. He sings of a lifestyle filled with backwoods romance, seafaring parties, delicious jail cells, neglected jukeboxes, and all sorts of modest magic. If the Silver Jew’s albums are the biography of this life, then the made for TV movie would be shown on Nickelodeon after an episode of Crazy Pets.

I usually ignore lyrics for the most part when enjoying an album. I’ll get a few lines from the chorus stuck in my head, but pretty much tune out the actual poetry of the tune, instead concentrating on melodies or the interaction of the instruments. I’m not sure why I do it, or even how to explain exactly what I enjoy from a song, all I know is, in my book, lyrics are usually tertiary to my enjoyment of a good song. Which makes it weird that I find myself so focused on Berman’s hilarious lyrical world. Fabled dream worlds are created so vividly I can’t help but tilt my head and concentrate a bit more.

The latest offering in Berman’s catalog expands slightly, composition-wise, to some of the more stripped down Silver Jews albums, but still keeps the same blueprint. Berman’s poetry, minimal guitar chords, and pocketful of nickels while the jukebox only takes dimes. So, next time you have the chance, dive off the dock and brave the chilling waters with a few friends that need sobering up. By the time you get back, you may be hungry and you may have a good idea of what Berman is singing about.

A Pleasent Surprise

2008-10-12T19:17:00.002-04:00

So I am trying to tidy up the old laptop here today. Sure enough, when I dive into the depths of any of my computers I find things I have long since forgotten about. A big one was dug up today. A while back we had a web site called Spintonic.net alive and pulsing with daily comic updates from all sorts of sick minds. It was a great collection of comics building for a few months until my silly head thought it would be a good idea to redesign the site. The site wasn't broke, the site didn't need fixin', but I just wanted to tinker. Sure enough, spintonic.net has been, in one form or another like this since around 2005. Shortly after though, the whole site was phished by some Eastern European hacker and all the content we had archived had to be deleted. Luckily though, I hid the collection of comics in a dusty folder on my computer desktop. I figure I'll start posting them here in order to start archiving them on the internet. I'll label them so anyone that is curious, can find them easily. I'll start with one of my favorites from my old pal Scott Wiener.

The Midnight Inquirer

2008-09-15T08:54:00.003-04:00

A few treats from our friend Jon Moses:

Pepi Ginsberg- Red

2008-09-12T17:15:00.002-04:00

Red was recorded on a waterslide outside of Philadelphia. It was mixed inside the belly of a schoolboy who ate too many Mike and Ikes and was mastered while dangling from a rope swing shadowed by an ancient willow tree. Eventually it reached my hands, when I bought it at a concert in Rochester. Since then, I have listened to it while shaving, checking my email, playing board games, cutting out paper to make a party invitation and writing a review for the album. It seems to go well with all those things and I can only imagine what would happen if you turned it on during a tickle fight that escalated into a naked dance in a meadow.

Back to the show in Rochester… Upon seeing Pepi Ginsberg perform and tell stories and laugh and become flustered because she had too many things she wanted to tell the audience, I could tell she had a sincere talent that would hopefully translate and beam through on her recordings. Her smiling face and bouncy persona were perfectly ensnared by Dr. Dog's Scott McMicken at his studio in Philadelphia. Acting as producer, McMicken must have utilized a bit of recording equipment not unlike the ghost capturing device from Ghostbusters and placed it right below the microphone, then boosted the midrange.

After listening to the album, I feel like I'm buddies with Pepi and that maybe she will give a ring tonight… just to talk, or that maybe we will bump into each other at the corner coffee shop and have a chat about the good ol' days. Either way, it's pretty exciting to hear someone's personality put to tape.

Man Man Rabbit Habits

2008-09-11T21:25:00.003-04:00

I found this review that I never posted but always meant to. sorry for the delay.

Man Man's Rabbit Habits:

I have the urge to encase myself in bubble wrap and leap from the top step of the 47th floor of this office building. While tumbling down I will press play on my discman and hope the ride doesn't skip the CD too much. The album playing will suitably be Man Man's new hatchling, Rabbit Habits. It will fit nicely. The thumping and bouncing and complex chaos will go nicely with a staircase plummet. I say this and realize it is tough to envision this statement to be complimentary, but try to envision a pain-free ride down a staircase- the disharmonious flight of arms and legs flung about in every direction as heads go over heels again and again for flight after flight. Add a bunch of crazy facial hair and a bloody butcher's apron to this image and you have this man man record.

The fact of the matter is, Man Man exist in a universe very few other bands venture towards. A place where filet mignon is served with baked beans and everyone drives purple cars with eight-ball shift knobs. It's a lovely place and I like to visit, but don't know if I could live there. The order and regularity that most of us live our lives with seems to be tied down and locked in the basement. It's entirely frightening and what makes Rabbit Habits such an amazing listen.

'pillers: Day 18

2008-09-10T17:15:00.004-04:00

good news folks... One of the monarchs is on its way to the real world. The cocoon hatched yesterday and I searched around the house trying to find the butterfly. It was nowhere to be seen and this made me a little upset. I imagined it trapped behind the fridge or pawed to death by the cat and again started to think my whole plan to follow the metamorphosis of these little pillars was cruel and ugly. Then, while punching the clock, I received a phone call from my G. She said she had located the most amazingly friendly butterfly of all time. The butterfly inquired how to break through the screen, and we decided we should just open the window for it.

So we opened the window and off went the butterfly to drink the nectar of freedom.

'Pillars: Day 16

2008-09-08T18:08:00.008-04:00

It has been a tumultuous course traveled with the caterpillars thus far, and today, for some, the journey has come to an end. Two cocoons hatched last night after about 2 weeks of metamorphosis. What should have been a glorious moment of rebirth, not unlike the rebirth of Brett Myers on the pennant-bound Phillies, ended up being a rather unsettling moment.

The two 'pillars that hatched, ended up being totally messed up. They looked like they just played chicken with Chuck Yeager. Their wings were all twisted and they stumbled about as they tried to find their footing in the terrarium. It was heartbreaking. I immediately grabbed a knife and cut the lid off the Ocean Spray jug. I scooped up the two monarchs with a spoon and placed them on a basil plant outside that I thought they might like. They were alive, twitching back and forth, but I did not see any way in which their wings would ever function. They must have crumpled like newspaper in the many falls within the bootleg housing I put them in. Between the kitten knocking them over and the winds from the storm on Saturday, those cocoons went for a trip.
Here's the thing though: there are still 3 unopened cocoons that I have to deal with now. I tried using scotch tape to tape them upside down on a straw, then wedge the straw, so they could dangle upside down, but they kept slipping from the tape and I was worried that too much slipping and falling would be more detrimental than if I just laid them on the ground in the open. One of them is stunning right now. It is translucent green and you can see the nearly mature butterfly wings through the cocoon.
I placed these 3 cocoons carefully in the base of a potted plant in our kitchen. I thought about just putting them outside, but I think I need to see if they make it, hatch in full strength, and flutter onto my nose as I am sleeping and plant their eggs in my nostrils, thus curing my hay fever.

A few hours have past now since I placed the two mutilated monarchs on the basil plant on our back porch. Surprisingly enough, one of them has disappeared. I gave a good long look for it's orange wings all around where I placed it, but it must have healed up and flown off or been eaten by a bat. Either way, this is good news.

'Pillers: Day 12

2008-09-04T21:30:00.003-04:00

Well, not so much to update from the caterpillar estate set up in my windowsill. I think they have earned a formidable foe. Our kitten, Maebe, has pillaged their land as if it were a catnip farm and shown no remorse. The pillers all formed cocoons on Friday, except for a few that died, and I figured by now I would have some beautiful butterfly salad to serve at my dinner party. Instead, they are still cocooned and I don't know if they are ever coming out. The kitten has scared them into hiding. They are living the caterpillar version of the first part of What About Bob, and they need Richard Dreyfuss and his son to teach them the world is full of adventures, you just need to jump off the dock. The kitten won't eat you.

here's what the kitten will do though:

The kitten has knocked all but one of the cocoons from the top of the eclosure when she batted it off the window sill and the whole terarium took a toxic spill down to the ground. The 'pillers in their little puberty-pouches all sit on the bottom of the Ocean Spray bottle. This will add to their character according to this site (which further prooves that there is a website for just about everything). I don't think I can get in there and scotch tape them up, so like my grass, I'll let 'em lay and hope for the best.

I'll be posting again when the pillers hatch from their cocoons. I'll try to get some photos and post them up here.

dot com

2008-09-03T21:29:00.002-04:00

Boom!

that's the sound made when the internet entered the homes of people around the world back in 1996. You may have heard it referred to as the dot-com-boom... but it sounds more like boom.

I have been hearing the boom a lot lately as we have been working on spintoband.com's Tuesday updates. It has me quite excited as the site looks, feels, and delivers like a big steel toed Paul Bunyan stomping through the Dakotas. It booms.

It's exciting to piece together this site for a lot of reasons. Primarily, we are attempting to create fun content explaining what the spinto band is about (for new fans) and what our new album is like (for old fans that know we are a goof troop). It has roots in marketing the band. All the content is updated in hopes that every week, people will be reminded that the spinto band exists and has a new album coming out soon.

Next Tuesday should be extra special. We are hoping to reincarnate the Roy Mask competition that was so successful a few years back. With all sorts of new ideas being tossed about, it will hopefully make a splash. I'm not sure if people are too attached to RSS feeds and auto-content that they may not even return to the site unless overheard in a chat room. we shall see.

I can't focus on this post right now, but really wanted to write on the excitement the new site is serving me for dinner. It's like a giant pile of mashed potatoes. Suppose the butter didn't melt eh?

cookie cutters and Koufax

2008-09-02T22:43:00.004-04:00

The bean counters at BlogSpotINC. make a few recommendations to their blog-keepers every so often to keep things running according to plan in the blog-o-sphere. What a lot of readers don't realize is that the blog-o-sphere is very volatile and if there aren't a certain number of blog posts involving certain topics, the whole shebang could end up drifting into the ocean. If you touch upon all the majror topics, you get a gold star from the King and whomever gets the most gold stars gets to share a sandwich with Sandy Koufax at a web 2.0 conference in Vancouver at the end of the year. I've hit upon most of my goals for this quarter. I have plenty of music posts, I talked politics the other day, and I've had some self reflexive posts that I regret posting 24 seconds later. The one thing I need to win that sammy with Sandy is a post about kitchen tips. Well peep this little shot of egg frying for the future:
You may know that I have a crooked stove. Nothing you can fix with a matchbook under the leg either... any pot on our stove will collect oil on one side because it is on a friggin' slant. This makes cracking eggs into a pan a pain. If anyone else shares the troubles of a crooked cooker, I recommend getting a cookie cutter out next time you want to make a pretty looking fried egg. Just crack the egg into the cutter then wait a bit then eat it on some toast with a little s and p.

Dr. Dog Fate

2008-08-30T17:41:00.002-04:00

Do you know how some bands are sponsored by different corporate products? Julian Casablancas is seen in Converse All-stars as part of their hip indie marketing campaign and Beyonce is seen shopping with her American Express to help the credit card company be the card of choice for divas. Well, anyway, if you didn’t know about that, it happens just about as much as Lebron James hawking the latest athletic soda pop.

I heard through the grapevine that Dr. Dog wasn’t too into the whole corporate sponsorship game, but I figured if they were, Weber should sponsor them. Yes, Weber charcoal grills. The American standard for backyard barbecues is, without a doubt, the perfect corporate spouse for these Philadelphian songwriters. Even if they didn’t use Dr. Dog in any advertising campaign, they should just package a copy of Fate with all BBQ grills sold so people have the perfect tunes to play on their back porch while they grill up some kebabs and call their friend to pick up some ice on his/her way over. That is the beauty of this album. It is a full score for the off-Broadway production of a summertime Sunday somewhere behind some row homes. Or the soundtrack for a poolside belly flop getting the hamburger buns wet in the backyard of a suburban horseshoe pit. Or it is the glorious companion to a beachfront bonfire with bikinied tan lines and a flat volleyball.

I’ve grilled two steaks while listening to Fate, and they were delicious.

start with a Contradiction

2008-08-29T11:16:00.003-04:00

Just tuned into the news to hear of McCain's VP candidate. I feel like my interest and knowledge in politics may not be cemented in solid ground, but Sarah Palin made me think a bit.

I'm sure the professionals will beat this into the ground the next few days, but there are two main thoughts that I wanted to share:

1. Experience. Hasn't McCain and everyone else been dogging Obama for a lack of experience? Isn't a big topic in the campaign that we need experienced leaders atop the government? If so, why choose a first term senator for your running-mate? It seems like a contradiction to what has been slammed in Obama's face. It also makes for an interesting dichotomy between the Repub. ticket and the Dem. ticket. You have an old white experienced senator running with a young wild card maverick.

2. Oil. It seems like grabbing the governor of Alaska has to do with oil reserves. I read a bit about Palin and she does not believe global warming is man-made and thinks we can drill in Alaska without major environmental damage. She knows more about this than me, but it's disappointing (to me) to tackle an energy crisis by drudging oil out of the ground rather than research alternative energies. I love the idea of renewable energy and all the recent advancements are so inspiring for the evolution of humankind.

erghh.... political blogging.... yecchhh....rrrrr....need help.....yoooouuuuutuube:

whew. that was a close one.

'Pillers: Day 5

2008-08-28T10:07:00.004-04:00

So I need to share these awesome photos of piller-town I took this morning. The cocoons started showing up on Tuesday and for the first time I thought I would unseal the homemade terrarium and try to sneak a peek straight on. I snapped some photos in attempt to capture the silky-smoothness of the green cocoons, but not sure if it worked. You may notice what looks like some specs of dirt or grains of sand on the cocoons, but those, in fact, are glistening bits of fairy dust. Well, maybe not fairy dust, but some sort of glistening byproduct of the metamorphosis. its quite striking.

2008-08-26T20:24:00.008-04:00

So Sunday evening I transferred the caterpillars into an empty cranberry juice container. It was the closest thing I could find to a terrarium, and felt like there was ample space for the caterpillars to form cocoons on its roof. I placed some fresh leaves for the little 'pillers to eat. During the transfer, I thought to myself, "man, I'm probably just killing these miniature monsters... I should just let them free. The world is a beautiful place, and none of the lord's creatures should be forced to view it from inside a cage." After that thought, I sealed the container up with some saran wrap, punched some holes in it and poured some coffee... it was going to be an exciting night

I did some caterpillar research and realized that some entomologists keep their bugs in windowsills. This works for me, as well as the cat:
so I threw the bugs in the windowsill and Maebe and I waited for them to start the party. A little after 10, I had completely forgotten about the caterpillars as a great show was marathoning on the television. Anyway, I watched Mr. Octupus achieve such great things, then fell asleep on the ground.

The next day I awoke and carried about my day. I saw the spinto boys and we updated the website (getting closer to the release date! ha cha cha) and practiced some tunes. It was a pretty exciting day, but little did I know my excitement hadn't come close to its peak. I came home, made my way to the caterpillars, and found this:
Can you tell what that is dangling atop the cranberry juice jug? A collection of cocoons clinging to the ceiling. Oh man, 24 or so hours since they made a home in the cranberry juice, and they were already wrapped in silk and disguised as juicy little bean pods. I thought about plucking one, placing it in a salad bowl and seeing if I could trick someone into eating it, but realized that would be cruel to the caterpillar. Anyway, I figure I need to keep a close watch as once those cocoons start to crack open, I need to make sure the butterflies can get out.

I'll keep the dozen or so of you here on the blog updated as to what goes down the next couple of days. After all, it's the little things in life we need to find pleasure in.

The Midnight Inquirer

2008-08-25T19:39:00.002-04:00

the latest from Jon Moses
I'm going to do my best at posting these comics up here every week. why? because they crack me up.

Catepillar country

2008-08-25T13:38:00.003-04:00

While prancing in nature yesterday, I found a stockpile of wild caterpillars spying from the underside of the gardenias. They were plump and healthy and perfectly content to swallow whole leaves in their oblong bellies before culminating in their cozy cocooned coma.

I thought it would be best for these cattys if I picked them and dropped them in a mason jar to study. I rinsed the remnants of tomato juice from the mason jar and lined the bottom with some caterpillar food and then poked some holes into a lid so they would have a dry roof to their home.

Now I have a few goals for my caterpillars. Mainly, I hope they survive. With the lush catering I have provided, they will undoubtedly have enough food, but I wonder if they are not unlike the great white shark or the ancient samurai who would rather die than live a life of captivity.

My second goal is that I can watch them develop into beautiful butterflies. A little bird told me that the appearance of the caterpillar may be similar to the monarch caterpillar which, as we all know, is quite the eye-catching butterfly. Let's hope we get that far with them. I'll be sure to keep you all connected with my fleshy adopted offspring here on the ol' web journal.

My third goal is that they carry me atop their wings into the butterfly cloud village only heard of in ancient Iroquoian myth. Once there they will place me upon a bed made of peeled peach fuzz and tell me all the stories of the great father butterfly through a network of arranged iridescent wings.

all of these are small achievable goals, which are the type of goals I like to set for myself.

The Kooks- Konk

2008-08-20T21:52:00.002-04:00

Sorry to all you Kooks fans out there. Don't let my opinion of the band effect yours, but I wrote this email for the folks at Daytrotter and I don't think it will be seeing the light of day there, so figured I might as well post it here. I can't stand this band. They are the mushiest middle of the road goobers I have ever heard and it was even more frustrating to open for them for a few days in 2006 and watch thousands of fans drool over their music and just about ignore the spinto band. Anyway, I have trouble writing about music I don't like, so let me know if this is worthwhile:

"I want this album to be big, I've got an ego – I want the album to do well. I want our singles to come on the radio and for people to have their heads blown off by them." Luke Pritchard to the NME

This album is no good. I've never written a record review for an album I didn't like and I am having some trouble with this. What do I know? Who am I to judge? Music is so much and so varying. Everyone has differing tastes in music and a multi-million people will probably disagree with me, but the new Kooks record, like the old one, is overwhelmingly indigestible.

Perhaps I am biased of the band… Perhaps I am jealous of their success… Perhaps I am disgusted by their image of fashionably tattered hair and tiny legs stuffed into women's jeans… Perhaps I think the chorus "Do you wanna/do you wanna/do you wanna make love to me/I know you wanna/I know you wanna/I know you wanna make love to me" is about as stupid as you can get… All and all I don't know what about this band makes me want to tell them to take a long walk off a short pier, but I think the sooner they sink from the spotlight, the better.

Luke Pritchard is not this generation's Bob Dylan, and someone needs to tell him that. If Pritchard grew pumpkins instead of writing songs, he would grow those lopsided little pumpkins that cost a dollar and sit on dining room table centerpieces, but he would still enlist his little pumpkins in the giant pumpkin contest at the local fair, titling them Pritchard's Puffy Pumpkins, then he would file a complaint with the voting committee when he did not win best in show. "I don't understand why these little pumpkins are here," people would say. "Please tell me why a funny shaped little pumpkin belongs in the same category as a giant pumpkin, they aren't even that colorful, they look like they were grown in a swamp…" This is the difference between the farming trade and the music trade I suppose.

The new album, entitled Konk, joins the old record in the middle of the road. I will say that I started bobbing my head and tapping my foot to the pleasantly simple Mr. Maker for it's 3 minute contribution, unfortunately the next song, Do You Wanna, makes me want to replace the CD in the player with anything, even a DVD- which won't even work. I'm writing this review and no longer listening to the album, I can't anymore. Instead, I'm turning on the TV and watching the news and they are warning me of pollen levels this spring. They are also warning me of middle of the road bands with arena-sized egos. They are warning me of people that try a bit too hard not to smile when photographed and make claims that they have hundreds of songs waiting to be recorded, then release an album of 12 of the most unrecognizable songs you wouldn't even want your dorky neighbor listening to while he sips a glass of red wine on his front porch and reads some sort of right-wing news magazine.

I feel as though I haven't been this critical of a band (publicly) in a long time. However, I'd like to ask the Kooks' audience what is so enjoyable here? Is it the stereotypicality? The redundancy? The lyrical egotism? I suppose the Kooks offer up safe music. They stay within the boundaries of what works musically, offer up enough hooks to find radio playtime and provide an image of rock and roll that most people admire. Who knows? If their talent grew nearly as high as their egos, perhaps they would be captivating.

Jared Leto news!

2008-08-19T20:21:00.002-04:00

So, Jared Leto's band, 30 second to mars, is grabbing headlines regarding some pretty interesting legal matters. Having spent some (brief) times as a member of the Virgin/EMI family in the UK, and being manhandled by their legal team when we were dropped (or made redundant as I like to say), I am pretty drawn to 30 seconds to Mars's story here. I'll past Leto's words in here, then comment after:

To our Friends and Fans,

Despite rumors to the contrary, 30 Seconds to Mars is NOT calling it quits. We are incredibly happy, healthy and very much together here, in Los Angeles, recording our new record. Besides this ridiculously overblown lawsuit (courtesy of Virgin/EMI), we are having one of the most inspiring, wonderful and exciting times that we've experienced to date. (More on that later...)

Beyond this distraction, we are so incredibly grateful to all of you around the world that have supported us so passionately. We would never consider stopping this just yet. These past few phenomenal years have been beyond imaginable and we owe every single bit of it to you. Thank you all for that!

So, as you may have heard we are being sued by our former record company for the ridiculously oversized, totally unrealistic and pretty silly (but slightly clever) sum of $30,000,000. Insane? Yea that's what we said too.

A little history...

We had been signed to our record contract for 9 years. Basically, under California law, where we live and signed our deal, one cannot be bound to a contract for more than 7 years. This is widely known by all the record companies and has been for years. In fact, so aware of it are they that they desperately try to make deals outside of California whenever possible. It is a law that protects people from lengthy, unfair, career-spanning contracts. This law also gave us the legal right to explore other possible opportunities.

Yes we have been sued by EMI. But NOT for failing to deliver music or for 'quitting'. We have been sued by the corporation quite simply because roughly 45 days ago we exercised our legal right to terminate our old, out of date contract, which, according to the law is null and void.

We terminated for a number of reasons, which we won't go into here (we'd rather not air any dirty laundry) but basically our representatives could not get EMI to agree to make a fair and reasonable deal.

A few things to note...

If you think the fact that we have sold in excess of 2 million records and have never been paid a penny is pretty unbelievable, well, so do we. And the fact that EMI informed us that not only aren't they going to pay us AT ALL but that we are still 1.4 million dollars in debt to them is even crazier. That the next record we make will be used to pay off that old supposed debt just makes you start wondering what is going on. Shouldn't a record company be able to turn a profit from selling that many records? Or, at the very least, break even? We think so.

That, and other issues, like the new regime at EMI firing most of the people we know and love, wanting to place advertisements on our website, EMI owning 100 percent of the masters of our record...forever, and basically having a revolving door of regimes at the company made it easy to not want to continue as is.

As the result of this takeover - and the firing of over 2000 employees - we have lost many of the people that were near and dear to us at Virgin/EMI and crucial to the success of 30 Seconds to Mars. A few of the great ones are still there, but it is hardly the same company we have known. After more than 5 regime changes in 9 years you'd think we would be used to the inconsistency, but the team that took the journey together for A Beautiful Lie was a very very special group of people and it's a huge loss that so many of them are gone. (Quick fact: There is not a single employee at Virgin Records who was working at the company when we signed.)

FYI Virgin/EMI was not required to make this lawsuit public or to list such an egregiously and stupendously large amount of mullah. In fact, they were not required to set any price even close to this. We did not want to take this public, but we felt it best to explain our point of view to you, our
friends and fans, in hope that you can better understand our point of view.

We would always do our best to avoid a fight, but sometimes it's important to stand up for what you believe in. We hope that by doing what's right we can help to change things for the better, for ourselves and possibly others.

P.S. We will always remain grateful to the people at Virgin/EMI who were so integral to our success. And we hope that, above all, we can find a resolution to this in as civil and kind a way as possible.

There are certainly more important things out there in the world to spend time and energy on.

To be continued...

Jared Leto
30 Seconds to Mars
____________________

It seems as though the whole situation is pretty hairy. I can see 30 seconds to Mars desperately wanting to escape a buckling label, and I can see Virgin/EMI looking at a movie star's band as an easy paycheck if you can keep them from enforcing an obscure and silly California law. So, depending on whose shoes you are standing in, both parties seem to have valid arguments.

I find it much easier to stand in Leto's shoes, but he does bug me with this little bit of misinformation in his post: "If you think the fact that we have sold in excess of 2 million records and have never been paid a penny is pretty unbelievable, well, so do we." With the stakes of the lawsuit being $30 million, I'm guessing that 30 seconds to Mars has a substantial record advance and tour support to blame for their "never being paid a penny."

What really should be taken from this is the fact that the music industry is really off its rocker. The whole speech is painfully redundant for me, but as everyone knows, the business model is (almost?) as screwed up as that of mortgage firms. Models that helped turn acts in the past into huge hits might as well be shredded in the ol' paper shredder if you want to make money these days. It does blow my mind that a band can sell 2 million records and accrue that much debt to their label, but at the same time I just remind myself that everything is fucked.

Ra Ra Riot- The Rhumb Line

2008-08-18T22:10:00.002-04:00

I’m sure this isn’t the first time you’ve heard the name Ra Ra Riot. I wish I could take credit for that. I wish I could run into your bedroom with a copy of The Rhumb Line in hand and say, “Dude… you most certainly must listen to this… stat!” We would listen, jump on the bed, and pretend your stuffed animals were Kristi Yamaguchi. Unfortunately though, Ra Ra Riot has been featured around music venues and blogs for a few years now. Between the release of a praised EP and the death of their original drummer, John Pike, the Syracuse New York band has been quite discussed.

So… heck ya! We finally hold in our hands their full-length debut album. It is summer time and I can hear this and that chirping and singing outside of my window. Inside of my window The Rhumb Line bellows like noontime at the church yard. It is so many things packaged into a rock n roll record. It is a melodic tongue twisting collection of stories to be told to sleepy children. It is a symphonic race car carrying pizzas that need to be delivered in the next 25 minutes or else. It is a tribute to a friend who left before his time, but is tapping his feet diligently from above. Most of all — it is fun. It is more fun than a water slide to a twelve-year-old. It is probably more fun than a barn-raising party to the farmer’s daughter. It is much more fun than what you are listening to right now. The drums are driving and the bass and guitar play off those drums here and there, only to synch up and explode over and over again with a string section adding quite a bit of character to the whole shape.

I don’t want you to think you are receiving the latest dance-rock mindless yippity-dee album of the moment though. Ra Ra Riot have something all their own here. To utilize geometry — if fun is the X axis, then creativity and orchestration are the y axis and the z axis and Ra Ra Riot have built a giant cube that is about to swallow us all as it floats through the sky, pushing aside clouds and huge stacks of graph paper. To tell you the truth, I’m not even sure if that is an accurate metaphor. Would it work if the shape was more of a huge exclamation point? The more I think of the album, the more I think of an exclamation point flying about like a hawk. It soars through the air then lands on a bearded man’s arm and shrieks towards the woods. The bearded man, inspired by the mountainous melody lines his exclamation point exclaims, moves to the mountains with a discman, a pair of headphones and his exclamation point. There, he lassos the headphone cord around the exclamation points dot and swings beneath it as it bellows from above…

I asked for another opinion of the album;

“Fun, this is hardly just fun Jon,” says my girlfriend. “This is heavy and poetic and shouldn’t be simplified to just fun. I mean, come on.” She is probably right. I should have never asked. She is usually right; there is more to this album than there is to a game of Twister. It is powerful, meaningful, and dramatic. I need to rewrite this whole album review. We listen again… this time, a little later at night we are standing, tapping, swaying, humming along—- she adds, “It is fun though.”

Daughter

2008-08-15T14:23:00.002-04:00

Last night at the Whip, my parents began debating about this song:

Anyway, My parents were trying to figure out whether or not Loudon Wainwright wrote the song. We all assumed he did, it sounds just like one of his songs (except maybe the topic of him being a loving father which his daughter may disagree with). My mom had heard otherwise though. No one believed her, and we all started shouting in the restaurant. Turns out she was right though.

Proof you should never contradict your mother.

Tour Dates

2008-08-14T21:56:00.002-04:00

So i've been stressing today for some reason about the pending spinto tour dates. Seems to be approaching swiftly and there is so much to prepare before we jump over to Belgium to kick it off. I can't wait to return to the UK (especially Glasgow, they always throw down) to see some sweaty teenagers pump fists with us and then converse with an accent you hope to understand. At the same time there is a lot of work to do before we kick it off. Shouldn't be too much of a problem with everyone pumped the way they are. Anyway, here is whats ahead:

September
Monday 22 Brussels
Tuesday 23 Amsterdam
Wednesday 24 Paris
Thursday 25 London
Saturday 27 Norwich
Sunday 28 Oxford
Monday 29 Glasgow
Tuesday 30 Liverpool
October
Wednesday 1 Stoke
Friday 3 Bristol
Saturday 4 Leeds
Sunday 5 Manchester
Monday 6 York
Tuesday 7 London
Wednesday 8 Cambridge
Thursday 9 Nottingham
Friday 10 Birmingham

after these dates, we have a few planned for the US:

Fri 10/17/08 Philadelphia, PA - First Unitarian Church
Sat 10/18/08 Brooklyn, NY - Music Hall of Williamsburg
Sun 10/19/08 Cambridge, MA - Middle East
Mon 10/20/08 Montreal, QC - Petit Café Campus
Wed 10/22/08 Columbus, OH - Skully's Music Diner
Thu 10/23/08 Chicago, IL - Metro
Fri 10/24/08 Madison, WI - High Noon Saloon
Sat 10/25/08 Minneapolis, MN - 7th Street Entry
Tue 10/28/08 Seattle, WA - Chop Suey
Wed 10/29/08 Vancouver, BC - The Media Club
Sat 11/01/08 San Francisco, CA - Bottom of the Hill
Sun 11/02/08 San Francisco, CA - Bottom of the Hill
Mon 11/03/08 Los Angeles, CA - The Echoplex
Thu 11/06/08 Phoenix, AZ - The Rhythm Room
Sun 11/09/08 Austin, TX - Fun Fun Fun Festival
Tue 11/11/08 Nashville, TN - Mercy Lounge
Fri 11/14/08 Washington, DC - Black Cat

So anyway, that is what I'm thinking about today.

Nik Freitas Sun Down

2008-08-13T21:52:00.002-04:00

So we had the privelege of spending some time with Nik Freitas as we supported Rilo Kiley. I really like his album, and wrote a few words about it:

Have you ever driven way too long in a car? Maybe you were on your way home from college and you hit Baltimore and DC right at rush hour, or some big truck overheated 40 miles into your drive to the beach or you had a wedding to attend that you didn’t feel like buying airfare for. Everyone has been alone in a car for too long, it becomes maddening. As your back starts sweating and gripping the wheel causes your knuckles to ache and all you can think about is the accumulation of miles behind and the stack of miles still ahead. The good thing though is on most occasions you arrive at your destination and the drive is done. You can forget about the car for a few days as you sleep in your own bed, or sit on the beach digging the bikinis, or flirt with a bridesmaid. When I first met Nik Freitas he was coming off a 15-hour drive from San Diego to Colorado Springs. He was chilled out, as he always seems to be, and dipping some corn chips in some salsa. He said the drive was pretty rough, but he was glad to be performing that night. I saw him in a similar state day after day for the next week as he tacked on 6-hour drive after 6-hour drive trying to keep up with the Rilo Kiley bus and the Spinto Band van carrying six musicians/drivers. Nik was flying solo in his Kia station wagon packed with a couple guitars and an electric piano.

Nik was doing these drive-you-crazy drives day after day in order to bring his music to an audience. It was a dedicated and passionate move that made each performance all the more lovely. On one of the last shows, I picked up a copy of his latest album, Sun Down, as it was about time to do so. I’ve been digging it ever since. Have I used the verb dig twice in two paragraphs? I must be on Freitas-overload. I blame Sun Down. The album is filled with the type of songs you want to hear when you are over-stressed in an airport or giving it your best shot to enjoy the last beer in the cooler and the last chance for comfortable weather for a few months. You dig?

Sun Down was written, recorded and performed by Nik in his garage studio in Eagle Rock, California. To briefly go back to the story of Nik driving miles and miles to play shows across the Midwest — his journey makes sense when you discover he is the only force creating this lush complete album. His dedication and enthusiasm carries through my speakers into my eardrums and taps on my consciousness with a tack hammer. It sounds like Morse code… beep-bee-bee-beep-what have you accomplished today? The world is asking to be conquered. It only takes one man to bee-beep-bee-bee-beep… It is a toast to commitment. Not the commitment between a husband and wife, but maybe that kind of commitment to, I was thinking more of the commitment shown when a baseball player perfects his game so he can strike out his rival baseball player to earn the last out of a championship. So cheers Nik, keep writing songs, recording them, then playing them for us with the type of work ethic that makes those steel forgers in Pittsburgh look like a bunch of sleeping puppy dogs.

The mind of Jon Moses

2008-08-12T13:14:00.003-04:00

So, in my last post, I linked Jon Moses's name to this youtube video which has been getting laughs from quite a few over here in Chadds Ford this past weekend. However, what I should have linked all-y'all to is this page. It has a collection of Jon's comics that rivals Charlie for laughs.

We are hoping Jon revamps the spintoband website with as much twisted imagination as he has placed in this Vancouver newspaper. Ahoy!

A Weekend to Remember

2008-08-11T23:26:00.002-04:00

So I am going to save my anti-Phelps post for a few more days as he continues to rack up the bad interviews as well as the golds...

Instead, I figure I may post about a fun weekend of music making. Good buds Albie, Jon M., Phil D, Cheston, and DLP all met up at Nick's house with an array of spintos to help score the work in progress that is Albert and Jon's Beast Pageant.

We had met up earlier in the summer to record a few songs for the movie that focused on Jon's songs featuring acoustic guitar, banjo, mandolin, ukuleles and foot stomps. It was a great weekend back in June. I was excited we were going to go at it again.

This past weekend we tried something a bit different though. The acoustic guitars were replaced by synthesizers and the acoustic guitar became an electric guitar played with a violin bow, recorded through an amplified megaphone taped to a didgeridoo. The vibe was a bit different, but it was still super cool.

Albert said the film has two distinct parts, one part is soundtracked by the synthesizers, one by the acoustic instruments.

A highlight of the session for me was when Albert and Jon were discussing how the music we were recording was giving them ideas for new scenes or shots or bits to the movie. It was a giant organic tree growing in front of us. The creative process of the Beast Pageant intertwines all bits that will eventually create the various sensations of the movie. It is a beautiful thing. At first, the script writing inspired the music, now the music is inspiring new aspects of the script.

I know most films do not have the luxury of evolving their artwork as they move forward. They are restricted by budgets and timetables, but the Beast Pageant's organic style is a fairly intriguing way of making a film. Albert and Jon are working diligently on a project that they expect to take years to complete. The project is slowly coming to life as they develop film and listen to songs and it should be fun to see, as the project grows, how it becomes its own beast.

To write or not to write

2008-08-06T11:03:00.002-04:00

So I am back to committing a few minutes a day to posting here. I have a real hard time bloggin' for whatever reason. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I have narrowed down a few options as to why I always stray from my interest in this site. In typical blog-o-fashion, I will develop a list:

1. The word BLOG- It's a gross word. If you notice over on the Spinto Band blog, we do our best to refer to the site as a web-journal. No one wants to be engulfed by a blob, and similarly, no one wants to be devoured by a blog. I can't think of a word (besides log) that can be derived from blog and is a tiny bit pleasant. Blah, blob, blerghh, blubber, bleak, butt-crack-- none of them.

2. Who's reading this?- So I have a Google Analytics chart explaining that there are really only about 2 people that ever check in on this blog, but still- who am I writing to? What do they want to hear? are they even relevant to the blog writing process? Do they want me to use proper grammer.... or can I overflow the page with ellipses? These sort of questions build up as a large weight on the delete key of the laptop keyboard and cause me to erase a lot of thoughts.

3. A voice- I spent a lot of time in various college writing courses attempting to develop a voice. It's important in all writing whether it be critical, creative, or cookbooks. However, on this page, I can't really figure out enough to really lock in that voice and get going. Perhaps I need to just loosen up a little bit and be a bit more honest and carefree in my posting. Perhaps I need to disregard any attempts to critique music and culture as I have never been much of a critical person. Perhaps I need to stop worrying about people criticizing me. Or perhaps I need to be more concerned with all those things. It doesn't really matter, but I think I should be consistent and am leaning toward being as honest as possible- or at least creating a voice that makes readers think I am being honest- no no- honesty, real honesty. but what if honesty interferes with the creativity of the whole thing? shabang! silly overthinking needs to be tossed out that's for sure... or should I think more? self analyze and drag on forever. or should I....

4. commitment- Often times I just go to bed instead of typing for 25 minutes to make a post. I feel like I need to block out 25 minutes a day just to post something... anything. Take for instance, the drunk history post. One of the best things about the blogs I follow is finding out cool youtube videos. So just post something like that if I am uninspired and sleepy.

Anyway, I am again growing impatient with my self analyzation. Thank you for sticking with me as I work at this whole project... If you don't see a post for a few days, I apologize... I will keep trying hard.

Drunk History

2008-07-23T17:39:00.002-04:00

Well, I fear this journal is becoming more of an assemblage of internet sites I get a kick out of rather than music commentary, but for the time being, I'll keep collecting this type of stuff as I procrastinate other writing.

See more funny videosat Funny or Die

There are four videos there (make sure to watch em all) and they are all hilarious. The ongoing (I hope) series is called Drunk History, and is some funny stuff. My favorite Bluth, Michael Cera, is featured in the first episode and my buddy Trevor's favorite fatty, Jack Black, plays a great Ben Franklin.

It reminds me of the Yacht Rock series (which I should post up here) because it is a great concept that is well executed. It seems like there are a ton of great concepts that are poorly executed or vice versa in the internet video world (treasure of the cisne?) and I love it when someone pulls it off. I still convince myself there is a DIY vibe to the whole process even though all the best ones are surely funded by some sort of entrepeneur here or there.

so enjoy drunk history and I'll make a bit more of an effort to throw some content up here.

check out this scrabulous board

2008-07-16T22:21:00.004-04:00

is this the real deal? I saw this on the facebook scrabulous high scores and my jaw dropped. I'm pretty sure there is only one Z in Scrabble, so I don't know what this guy is trying to pull.

either way, I need to start using squalificheremo more often in sentences.

-As an Italian pizza chef, I think I am squalificheremo from the competition.

-I understand that squalificheremo is in my blood. First my father's false starts, then my brother's drug enhancing, but I promise, I will not be squalificheremoed.

-Squalificheremo! ciao to that!

The Breeders- Mountain Battles

2008-06-27T16:55:00.002-04:00

Since writing this review for Daytrotter, I caught the Pixies documentary, loudQUIETloud on Sundance all about their reunion tour. In just about every scene featuring the Deal twins, one (if not both) of the sisters is puffing on a coffin nail. It makes me wonder how long the vocal harmonies will hold up. Regardless, here are my garbled thoughts on Mountain Battles:

Some years are not as good as others.

I have a laundry list of three hundred different yes or no questions that help me decide whether or not it will be a good year. Are the Phillies going to win some baseball games? Am I going to be able to add to my savings account? Will the Breeders be coming out with a new album? Will we elect a better president?

So far 2008 is looking like a good year. The Deal sisters are on the scene with Mountain Battles, their latest collection of pile-driving slow jams and smooth seductive rock jams. And once again we will all have another reason to get stoned and listen to music.

The best parts of a Breeders’ album for me are the different tones and sounds heard through your stereo speakers. It is as if they are calling out to the young listeners, “Please young ones, listen on a set of speakers that are not referred to as buds… Please hear our music uncompressed and alive with your parents warning you to turn down that stereo or they will ground you for the rest of your young lives! Is that too much to ask?” The sounds produced on Mountain Battles don’t leave you confused — yes, that’s a guitar and a bass and a drum kit and another awesome guitar and some people singing — there aren’t too many didgeridoos or Theremins or other obscure instruments, but the album manages to get these fundamental rock instruments to sound so engaged in what they are attempting to accomplish it makes my ears perk up a bit. I don’t pay attention to tone too often, but to tackle it to a tee is too terrific to toss aside. I imagine the sisters Deal in the studio as if they were furniture makers attempting to craft a throne for the new queen of Ohio — master craftsmen whittling each detail as if it were the keystone of the project. It becomes quite engrossing.

Besides all that jazz about tone and detailing the throne, Mountain Battles rocks as well. You can throw up the ol’ devil horns and bang your head around for a good bit of it, but as we all know, those sorts of actions are best accomplished in a time machine — which isn’t such a bad metaphor for this record. Mountain Battles is to a time machine as Ray Allen in a Celtics jersey is to Shawn Kemp in NBA Jam. Makes sense to me.

So besides all that jazz about rockin’ out and nostalgia and then that other jazz about tone and whittling, I recommend the new Breeders CD to most of you. I do not recommend the new Breeders CD to squares, stiffs, or anyone who disliked their previous albums.

Let's Watch Commercials

2008-06-26T22:01:00.002-04:00

whodunit? the song in the beer ad was this hombre:

Chew on that song, and check out Chris Knox & the Nothing.

Then when you are done, cook some of this stuff.

oh iTunes- you so crazy

2008-06-19T22:26:00.003-04:00

So I've been reading a bit about the latest Apple announcement and it has nothing to do with a new gadget.

The iTunes store has come out of the closet, and is admitting to be the juggernaut everyone knew it was. let's throw a party.

As much as I should just keep my nose out of Business section of the paper, the fact that Apple and iTunes are the number 1 music retailer in the world troubles me. I can't exactly put my finger on it, but I'll attempt to explain:

- the record stores: the first big problemo we have here is the fact that record shops are doing less business than comic shops. Not that I really think that's anything to pucker up about, but I just want to give a shout out to the record store. The appeal of a good record shop is like no other. It should be a staple on any main street in any town. Nowadays though, the only ones staying open are becoming novelty shops that sell as much Kiss action figures as they do any new release. Youngsters need record shops. Business may not permit it, and if that's the way the cookie shall crumble, I'm not going to complain as much as just be a bit bummed out. Leafing through albums and overhearing tips at shops all over the country has been a truly pleasant past time for me that potentially rivals the joy my girlfriend gets from shopping for clothes and what not. It's upsetting to sense teenagers around the country being weened off record shops in order to create a more prolific user profile on a website that doesn't really give two shits what they are buying as long as they buy it. I don't mean to sound like some Nick Hornby/John Cusack oversized-sweater wearing whoo-hah, but iTunes is denying music lovers of a valuable consumer experience.

-the big biz: The big-wigs over at Apple know what they are doing. As their market share increases, they toss around more and more weight in order to max their cash. They have the ability to disallow labels or artists placement on their site unless they are paying top dollar to Apple and that deducts money from the rest of the players (and most importantly the musicians). Now, I don't want to sound like I am an expert in this at all, but I remember hearing that labels hate dealing with Apple for this very reason. They end up making less off iTunes sales than other sales, but since iTunes possesses such traffic, it would be silly not to conduct business with them. This upsets me a bit. On one hand, I remember when Apple was a failing business, and it is a bit of a charming success story to see them rise from the ashes to strangle the money right out of our wallets, but on the other hand- come on guys- do you really deserve much more of the pie than anyone else on the team?

the internet in general- So, I'm already regretting writing this far about this whole silly little press release, so I'm going to hurry up and make one last point before I become too befuddled and decide to delete the whole dang thing. The internet is a glorious thing, there is no denying the instant access to all sorts of information and the ability to communicate with people all over the world about everything and anything... HOWEVER- let's accept it's cultural impact here and suggest that potentially there are some scares to all this one-click-culture. I mentioned that you can communicate with people, but you certainly can't communicate entirely with them.... you can't hold hands and share ice cream cones with your buddy on the Stone Temple Pilots fan message board. You can't find out the most ticklish spots on your online date messenger flirt-friend. You can't stand over a burger topped grill and complain about the heat with erratic hand gestures to the guy you are thinking of starting up a business through email. All that's a bit scary. Not too scary, but a bit. The more lines we draw between all y'all the less likely we are to get the truth. Fuck- I don't even feel right writing a blog anymore.

Anyway. think what you will, don't let me sway you. iTunes is certainly more likely to get into heaven than the torrent sites and file sharing programs we all have bookmarked... sometimes I just wish they would be a little less annoying. I feel like Steve Jobs is sitting behind me about to flick my ear and mess up my hair. Fuck off Steve Jobs, go buy a sports franchise and chill.

David Byrne up to his old tricks

2008-06-16T13:30:00.002-04:00

As a long time David Byrne admirer, I felt obligated to pass along this little gem I found on his website. His latest undertaking finds him routing the keys of an air organ to trigger motors and hammers staged around different pieces of an old NYC ferry terminal. When someone strikes the organ keys, it allows them to play the building.

You can visit the installation any weekend from now until August 24th. I imagine the power of the instrument doesn't translate entirely on recording as it must be pretty intense to feel the vibrating building in person.

Have you been to a Cornelius show?

2008-06-16T10:51:00.002-04:00

Some time around 1997, I was invited by some friends to accompany them to a Flaming Lips show. The Soft Bulletin had been blaring out of my boombox for an indie summer’s length and I was jubilated over the concert ticket. When the night finally arrived, I combed my bowl cut to look as though I never combed it, and slid on my Dr. Martens and waited impatiently for my friend’s mom to pick me up and drive us to the show. It was a loud influential night for a hungry teenager.

Much to my surprise though, I went home being more impressed by one of the opening acts.

A Japanese man, calling himself Cornelius, and his band went on playing all sorts of odd instruments and showing wild videos synched to the music and managed to steal the show. I went home and bought Cornelius’s Fantasma, becoming an instant fan.

Ten years later, Cornelius has continued making some of the most unique and boggling music out there. Ten years later, my friends and I have turned our concert-going into concert-playing as musicians in a rock band of our own. When our booking agent emailed us telling us we had a chance to open for the Japanese rocker, we figured it would be worth driving half way across the country to be a small part of what we figured to be the wildest show to come through town this winter.

Upon arriving in Chicago, we loaded in and surveyed the scene. The stage was bustling with about ten Asian stagehands and a shaggy haired British guy smoking a cigarette. They were overflowing the stage with enough instruments and effects to write a Dr. Seuss story. Seeing all the doo-dads and wee-hoos set up, I came to appreciate the thoughtfulness and effort that must go into one of Cornelius’s shows. Having played a bunch of shows in a bunch of places with a bunch of bands over the years, it seems as though the audience doesn’t desire much more than a few tight rock and roll numbers in order to blog a positive blog. We have never given much attention to lighting or gizmodgery over the years, being perfectly happy bouncing around on stage with the confidence that our show is worth the cost of admission. If that’s the case, Cornelius’s show is a steal.

Upon plodding through our thirty minutes and sensing that it was time to hand over the stage to the night’s true entertainment, we quickly loaded out our gear and found an adequate vantage point for the rest of the show.

The first thing I noticed upon joining the audience was the music playing while the stage was being prepared. It was a playlist of all sorts of tranquil classical music. Vivaldi is not the most common music to hear at a rock club, and it had an odd effect on me. I grabbed a nearby friend, telling him we may not make it out of the Metro alive tonight.

The show began behind a giant white sheet curtaining the front of the stage. As the band played behind, messages were projected onto the sheet. “thank you for coming.” “This is The Cornelius Group’s Sensuous Synchronized Show.” “Enjoy.” As the music boiled over the white sheet dropped and we were off.

The show carried songs from Cornelius’s whole repertoire. I am a big fan of Point, and was pretty happy to see how it was translated to the stage. It seems as though a lot of musicians who create electronic, sampled music may not have the desire or talent to attempt the music in a live setting. The Cornelius Group destroyed this notion, playing songs with less samples than some three-piece rock acts use. It gave the music quite a bit more impact to hear live harmonies and synthesizers, rather than sampled ones. While many a sample shone through, the overall effect was a live band, which was special to me.

Perhaps the greatest spectacle on stage was the 10-foot tall video screen behind the band. While the band commanded quite a bit of attention in their matching plaid ties and white jeans, for a bunch of the songs I found myself mesmerized by the synchronized videos being projected behind them. Below the screen was some sort of fancy LED light setup that managed to compliment the videos magically. If this show were to take place in 17th century Salem, Massachusetts we would all be drowned for practicing witchcraft as there was undoubtedly a bit of magic being performed on stage. At one point the band was performing a song from the new album, Sensuous, while the videos were racing us through a nighttime drive in downtown metropolis. The LED lights below the screen sped back and forth as taillights fled and headlights sped past. The stage pulsed with different colors as the group passed harmonies from stage left to stage right then back again. This occurred in different hues again and again as the group played through their set. With spectacular videos taking the audience on a geese’s migration to up close with the mouth of a thousand Japanese faces to a luau from the 50s to a levitating sugar cube, the videos complimented each song so perfectly they became another player stimulating another sense in the audience.

One of the highlights of the set was two minutes into one of the songs when Cornelius grabbed an audience member from the crowd and placed him in front of his theremin. Holding the young man’s hand, the musician guided him through a theremin solo that was point on. The audience member soaked it all in, and by the end of it was gyrating as if holding hands with Cornelius was sending an electric current through his whole body. The whole solo was about 45 seconds, then without missing the beat, the band congratulated the young man for his taming of the theremin and leaped into the final chorus of the song. It was so well timed, yet so effortless. The video, the lights, and the four musicians manhandled a bit of off the cuff theatrics with the audience member through a cymbal crash, a hi-five, and a small thank you gift then were right back on beat as the video changed to the loop that had been playing with the chorus of the song. It is as if they had rehearsed the whole situation by flying a dude from Chicago out to Japan so he could practice acting loony and playing seizured theremin with them.

Another spectacle on stage was the presence of wind chimes. As one of my band mates said, “Who would have thought wind chimes would be so effective?” Each band member in the Cornelius Group carried his or her own line of chimes which were filling every vacant gap of stage time, turning the Metro into the back porch at my grandparent’s summer home in Maine. With four musicians all striking their chimes whenever they seemed idle, it morphed the show from rock n roll into something that belongs alongside a pumpkin-headed cowboy riding a bleeding mechanical bull in a David Lynch film. It was just profoundly aural.

Another warming point took place as the show came to a close. During the finale, the front row of the audience was handed a sampler and asked to play along with the music. As samples from Planet of the Apes and Chicago were struck over and over the band gathered at the front of the stage and thanked the audience. A huge applause struck from the crowd and the band applauded back, gesturing to the audience that they truly appreciated their presence. Perhaps it was a bit of Japanese culture spilling over, but it was so much more effective than exiting the stage with your electric guitar feeding back into your amp that I wished more bands took the cue. It was a nice cap to place on a flawless show.

Backstage, the band all laughed and celebrated the birthday of a member of Cornelius’s entourage. I snagged a piece of cake and listened in as everyone recapped his or her favorite parts of the show. Everywhere people were taking pictures, apologizing to us saying, “Please don’t feel weird that we take so many photos, we are just so excited to be here.” One of my band mates declared The Cornelius Group “World Class Entertainers,” and we all shook our heads. I asked Thax Douglas, a local poet, what he thought of the show. Thax told me that the command of the stage witnessed that night reminded him of Frank Zappa. The way the group turned the stage into an object and crafted it into a whole new form was not too common and that made it special. I agree with Thax, and dare anyone to see Cornelius and say otherwise. It is a rare event that will welcome people of all musical tastes and leave them with a blissful bubble of culture, rare enough to be called “the good kind of migraine,” by a semi-epileptic audience member.

flatlands

2008-06-12T22:27:00.002-04:00

The great plains are greater than any plain old words could speak.
They stretch and pull like an old green sweater- stained and uncuffed.

We passed through. We cut them across the center right to left, then left to right.
Then later we would cut them again.
Dividing and then forgetting. Driving and then throwing a big gulp in their many garbage cans at their many gas stations. Fields of gas stations and burger shops kept our needs well maintained and harvested our digestibles.

We would meet few, but sit and create stories regarding those we ignored. An abusive mother putting expensive gasoline into her unaffordable import. Able to place blame on boyfriends and bald heads and wish her electric bill was a bit lower.

A retired athlete elsewhere ate one too many French fries. Whoops- he would think and I would agree. His belly will grow and he will switch to light beer and wish his knee was unblown-out. Only bowing instead of tipping his waitress and then holding the door for me to let the world know he was a gentle man.

These stories would expand like the plains themselves. Into dreams and a corn field. They would lay on the ground waiting to be milled into syrup and swallowed with cherry flavoring. They grew eyes and hooves and called your name when their utters were at tipping point. Oliver, Jeremy, Natalie, Gus! Read us, reread us, our characters are well developed and you will relate. Stories based on facts then fabricated into the heartland’s exportables- Jim Beam, Sun Chips, maybe-avocados, and universities with sound sportsmen.

What fun we would have while these sights hitchhiked through our minds. We would wonder if they could possibly be dangerous. The times are changing. A stiff thought about Jesus would undoubtedly be less alarming. When the sun sets we will no longer be able to clearly view these thoughts. They will become caped in shadows and distracted by headlights. Our drowsiness will be problematic. How can we possibly veer straight and streak vast expanses with thoughts of hook-handed hitchhikers mooching off our memory ducts. Man oh man, we mean well.

We knew we would exit these plains and it would be soon. By saying soon we will need context. Sooner than a storm cloud can circumvent the south-east, sooner than a mailman can deliver our postcards and most certainly sooner than the time it takes to move into an apartment, find a stable job with benefits, cook three solid meals daily and settle into a pair of slippers while you discuss a tropical spring vacation with a woman you could see yourself marrying. It would take longer than tonite though. We wish we could go all night. Drive further and longer and have enough energy and charisma to talk our way into a free continental breakfast at a hotel we have no intentions of renting a room from. Instead our eyelids droop, our legs tickle and our socks moisten. We sip stale soda and wipe our lips with a sleeve.

For a moment there are zero lights. We have reached an expanse rarely seen by many. Our motor’s rumble is the only pollution this land ingests- our headlights mingling with bright stars and a crescent moon. We aren’t sure whether to turn the music up or turn it off. We are alone, thumping through lands with no need for lights or convenient stores or insurance agencies with fancy lettering bolted to their front door. Hopefully, during this time, we can ignore what isn’t important and speak thoughts saved for the shoeless while breathing calmly and allowing our eyes to dilate to their fullest dilation. A dilation only reached when they roll towards your brain during sleep and death. A dilation so massive a well dressed woman could climb in through them and hang her denim jacket and velvet scarf on eyelashes then slowly remove her moccasins and stockings, her feathery skirt and slimming blouse, her lace-enveloped bra and string-like underwear. Take all these clothes and kick them away raising her naked thigh like a scissor and slowly lowering it onto the center of the retina. She would stand delicately, emancipated and ripened. Fluttering her painted fingernails along various curvatures and singing like the keyboard player from that concert so long ago. She would turn and become silent. Her back displaying a posture sculpted from marble. She would dive into a dark lake and float forever. This would be possible for a few minutes in which we are alone within the Great Plains.

The Feist review

2008-06-11T15:00:00.003-04:00

This was one of the first write-ups I concocted for Daytrotter. I still love this album.

Originally from here

It kind of figures the new Feist record, The Reminder, was recorded in a French mansion. The four-week-old record was tracked in a 200-year-old manor outside of Paris with all sorts of people taking cigarette breaks on the back terrace between takes. You can hear it in every song. Leslie Feist belongs in a French manor. She belongs on a chaise lounge in a lacy white dress with a microphone dangling above her nostrils. She belongs on horseback, galloping about plucking the strings of a pawn-shop guitar in a meadow of tall grass. She belongs sipping espresso and nibbling on a baguette while leafing over the pages of a book of French photography. It all just makes sense.

The Reminder makes me want to be in a French manor, but the closest I come to any of that is playing ultimate-frisbee on Monday nights, and that’s not even close at all. The record makes me want to get my ear pierced and dangle an Eiffel Tower from my lobe. I want to cook my meat much less and be able to recognize something from the smell of a cork. I want to serve both colors of wine, one from the left hand and one from the right, and tell my guests about the music playing on the Victrola. “Oh this? It is nice isn’t it? Yes she is Canadian, it makes me want to dance too.” Then I want to dance. Eventually though our flailing French hands will need to stop dancing as the hand claps change to brushed snare swipes and harp strings — this will be when the French kissing begins.

All that aside, we can’t spend our whole lives dreaming.

Today, I built a fence around a vegetable garden while listening to The Reminder through one of those portable speaker jawns that you plug your iPod into. Really I did. It went well. The fence is mainly to keep deer out, but it is also so the garden is like a room. In 200 years I plan on recording a record in this room. The record will appeal to all sorts of people. If you are driving back with your parents from your sister’s graduation in Boston, this record will please all family members in the car. If you are going to someone’s home that is a big Pitchfork-head, or a person who is an anti-Pitchfork-head, they will both be pleased when you gift a tape with this record on side A and The Reminder on side B and label it “Records recorded in 200-Year-Old Places.” How could they not be pleased? Feist appeals to all. She does that to people. She breaks down barriers and kicks out the jams for all walks of life. People in France and America like her, and those countries both think they are better than the other, but Feist says, “Wait a minute land-masses, we have similarities! We both have hearts and minds and legs to shimmy with. We both have credit cards to complete a transaction at your local record shop with! We both laugh when a dog sneezes and we both chill out after stressful days. I am Canadian, but I have lived all over the world and know that we are all the same.”

Like I said, that’s just what she does. Then, after she does that, she writes another eloquent, insightful, buttercup of a song. I don’t want to make comparisons, but another femme to play similar cards is one Neko Case. I enjoy recording artists that are to music genres as drag queens are to genders. If you swing both ways you just end up pleasing twice as many people… musically I mean. In closing, I suppose we should thank Leslie… I mean Ms. Feist… I mean Feist for putting out something original and creative and laidback and fun and rock steady and also for bringing worlds together without having to take her clothes off.

Feist has a homepage

Vampire Weekend

2008-06-10T16:43:00.002-04:00

This review was written a bit before SXSW. I don't listen to this album nearly as much anymore, but am hoping that when I revisit it, I can be punched in the face as wonderfully as I was when I wrote this:

originally seen here

Unless you live in the middle of a cornfield, like me, you have probably already read and heard plenty about the Columbia boys and their afro-pop debut. However, some of us need to take a trip up to New York City and talk to unshaven insiders outside deafening music halls in order to keep a little wise to the latest raves of rock n roll. Thus, I (finally) came across my copy of Vampire Weekend.

It’s the middle of February and I feel refreshed and delighted. The record is worthy of all the praise and prominence it has received over the last month or two. I’ve had it for a few days and I have already burned a copy so I can keep it in my car and at my house, and then I have it on the ol’ iPod of course. This is a rare occurrence, and is usually fair warning that my girlfriend will be sick of the band in a month’s time. Alas, she is currently pumping her fist and digging up some old Paul Simon records to compare because as Julie said the other night, “Hey Vampire Weekend, Paul Simon called and wants his pleasantly-freaky-mojo back.”

So what’s the deal with these guys? What inside me and other music lovers makes this the new funky happy future-theme music to the summertime where we ride a sailboat or eat at proper restaurants more or even just stop caring that we may not look our best in flip flops, but they’re comfortable and we can still dance in them? One thing is for sure, it’s nice to see a rock band tuck in their shirts every once in a while. Another thing is that every now and then, listening to the record, I find myself researching a lyric on Wikipedia. The Khyber Pass? Ya, I’ve heard of it, but couldn’t remember from where — of course, a strategic military location dating back to the conquests of Alexander the Great — I can honestly say I’ve never used Wikipedia to research a lyric in a Strokes song, so they have that going for them.

I wonder though, with all the attention, will Duran Duran invite these boys onto their yacht? Will Paul Simon invite them to his swingers party in LA and make weird advances on their girlfriends? Will the drummer open a vegan juice bar in Brooklyn? You know what, I don’t wonder that, and I hope these fine musicians avoid the temptation to do things besides write music that makes me smile and drum on the countertop in my friend’s kitchen while he beats his all time high score in an old Sega Dreamcast game that we still play 10 years later. Why? Because they are a fine refreshment to a difficult day in the cornfield and need to carry on being something that keeps me talking to strangers in New York City trying to get tips on new bands that strangers have been listening to for a long time.

Vampire Weekend's homepage

The Whigs- Mission Control

2008-06-05T17:21:00.003-04:00

We had a blast touring with these guys. I went a bit off the deep end when I decided to review their disc. I kind of prefer these types of music reviews though, because you can't ever judge an album with a bunch of words. It is all going to be gobbledygook compared to listening to the music or seeing the band live, so you might as well write something ridiculous.

Originally seen here

I fed the new Whigs record to my pet cat and I haven’t seen her in weeks. She ate it with a bit of tuna and some milk, then turned white. She gave me one last look with a set of eyes possessed by the lords of rock and jumped straight through the screen in the kitchen window. It’s for the best as she was starting to become a bit lazy.

The power of the Whigs has the farmhands staying up at night hoping another one of the goats doesn’t disappear. It has my neighbor with the ridiculous tattoo wondering what sort of asshole keyed all of the paint off the bottom eight inches of his Trans Am. It has the local wildlife on its toes with a belly full of squirrels and a bit of an issue with pussies.

My girlfriend told me not to feed the cat The Whigs album. “You can’t feed a cat this much rock.” She said, “You need to start with some Sufjan Stevens, then work up to some Rilo Kiley or something, then maybe a good week of Thin Lizzy just to build up her tolerance. It takes time.” I knew she was right, but refused to listen. It was like feeding a two-year-old a bottle of Jamaica Hell Fire Habanero sauce with her Alphabits, but heck, who was I to deny a kitty a much-needed dose of backhanded-foot-stomping-high-stacked-sinus-cleansing rock? Exactly.

The only thing I’m a bit upset about is I don’t have my Whigs album anymore. Luckily I threw it on my iPod a week ago, but now I feel silly when I clench my jaw and stomp my feet in headphones while Jeopardy is muted on the television and my girlfriend cooks some chicken for stir-fry. It was better when we could both clench our jaws and stomp our feet with the album on the stereo blasting out of the speakers. We would lose our patience and eat the chicken raw. We would shake heads, me: left to right, her: front to back, and then only catch our breath when the album catches its breath midway, slowing down for a much needed slow dance and attempt to figure out the final Jeopardy question… I mean answer…. Then back to the foot stomping glory of three Athenians sweating through your stereo speakers and getting bits of spit on your record collection as they storm the nation with a sound forged in the garages of homes with kind neighbors and an ample supply of earplugs. A sound that wears out sneaker soles and puts barbers out of business. A sound so thunderous, the musicians can no longer donate their corpses to the second year medical students hoping for a ripe cadaver study because every time the scalpel touches the skin, the sleep deprived young student starts headbanging and foot-stomping in the middle of the classroom as if it were a packed and sweaty off-campus basement with a PA system, and that’s just no good for surgery.

So check out the Whigs album and have your pets spayed or neutered.

The Whigs Homepage

Hot Bed mp3

The Teeth- Carry The Wood

2008-06-04T22:26:00.002-04:00

Does anyone else live in a cornfield? If so, you may not have realized, but Philadelphia's the Teeth parted ways last month. I wrote some words regarding their last album, Carry The Wood.

Originally posted here

rust me, while their last EP, 2005’s Carry the Wood, gave me the strength to finally dance at an indie rock show, a more confident man needs a more confident record. Thus The Teeth deliver one with glorious — dare-I-say-ditties — on their latest boomstick. Spicy and strong, this record belongs somewhere besides RJD2’s iPod. I think I know where.

I want to make Teeth’s You’re my Lover Now the soundtrack to my futuristic sci-fi thriller movie. It is exactly how the future will sound, filled with harmonious vaudevillian sounds that would permit anything from rocket car chase scenes to sexy robot love scenes. People can shout “Go, Run, Hurry before the Martians Strike!” and it will make sense with any of the thirteen songs playing.

The Teeth will score a future where roller coasters are rusted and unwanted, clowns only exist on tattooed biceps, and the last sighting of cotton candy was in a multi-vitamin flavoring laboratory. People wear virtual reality helmets all the time and only interact through online peer-to-peer file sharing. The sun is blotted out because it creates too much of a glare on everyone’s Sonys causing the grass to be spray painted green. When the high-ups in the global-ecto-government decide to drill for water under the moon colony Gamma-China-VII they create distrust with the moon-men who have been summoning powerful solar energy and bottling it in recycled Mountain Dew 2-liters, which they then use to fuel their rockets at the centennial NASCAR Space Race. This causes the inter-planetary sportsmanship committee to declare war. Bright lights follow, maybe a dance sequence between two disbanded electrons, and a good forty minutes of gizmo-toting battle scenes in time with Teeth songs. College students will watch it stoned in dorm rooms and their roommates will ask them to turn it down because they think they are throwing a dance party. Star Trek conventions will contact the Teeth’s manager, inquiring about performing in Akron. You’re My Lover Now will be sold in both the rock/pop section and the soundtrack section of Virgin Megastores confusing a lot of over-pierced employees. The Teeth will become the BeeGees of science fiction soundtracking and none of their original fans will dare to utter, “I prefer pre-sci-fi Teeth to post-sci-fi Teeth,” because it won’t make any damn sense.

So that’s that. You will have to see the movie to find out who wins the hand of the galactic cyber-princess. It will be scored by You’re My Lover Now and star the guy from “Law and Order.” We may even persuade the studio to let us do it in black and white, or fuck the studios, we’ll make it ourselves.

The Teeth's website

The Teeth's myspace

Criticism

2008-06-04T17:10:00.002-04:00

So I was laying in bed last night and I started thinking about music reviews. There seems to be a lot wrong with them. So, while not sleeping in some seriously muggy June humidity, I brainstormed a few points that you can find below this picture of a sea turtle:

1. Someone's working: Perhaps the most resounding point that popped into my head is the fact that there is a lot of time and effort put into albums that doesn't seem to be given any attention in record reviews. Musicians are focusing months and years on these albums writing songs, rehearsing, recording and mixing. Music critics are spending from an hour to an afternoon writing a few paragraphs and dumping them online.

2. Anyone can do it: Take me for example. I listen to music, like music, and know how to write. Therefor I possess all credentials to criticize and rate musicians on a website. People reading the site don't necessarily know how under-qualified my opinions are or if I even listened to the CD for that matter. I have a blog though, and maybe I can think of a relevant Swedish pop band to unfairly compare the music with.

3. Comparisons: So I'm going to go ahead and call out PitchforkMedia here. What's the deal with their reviews always needing to compare one band with a ridiculous run of 3 to 12 other bands. Sentences read something like, "the sophomore release of the Wang Danglers upholds the complexities of Mars Volta with the pop sensibilities of Franz Ferdinand and the hipness of mid nineties Smash Mouth." What? So if I like all these bands should I like the Wang Danglers sophomore release? How do you even think up a sentence like that from listening to anyone's album? It's ridiculous and needs to stop.

Well, I think before I fell asleep I had a few more points to make. oh well. So as I try to write here and there about music, I'll also try to make some post-modern-posts in attempt to keep me from being like this guy.

Dr. Dog- The Old Days

2008-06-03T20:17:00.004-04:00

The idea of a new Dr. Dog album getting in my hands before the end of the BBQ season is spectacular. I stumbled across this little ditty on the Park the Van website and everyone should give a listen. Sounds a lot like the band I know and love and hope to be grilling to soon.

Dr. Dog's Fate due out July 22, 2008

featuring this song
Dr. Dog- The Old Days

on Park the Van records

In attempt to archive all these old reviews, I thought I'd add this We All Belong review to this post which was originally seen here

A lot can be said about Dr. Dog and their new record, We All Belong, but upon looking at pictures of the young ones, it became obvious that their true talent lies within their beards. Some scruffy, some succulent, some standard-fare — Dr. Dog owns a wizardry apparent in the growth of their facial hair. This is a wizardry commonly kept by musical forest animals…such talents can be found throughout various lore. A mountain goat grows a beard for many reasons. The members of Dr. Dog grow them for one — to rock out with. Beards of strength and endurance with hairs of harmonious brotherhood sprouting from their upper lip made We All Belong. Park The Van Records then released it.

So I recommend to play their record and listen to the craft of the beard. It wails then buoys then skips across a pond like an angular stone. It champions the right to stand on the soapbox and detail, in a low fidelity manner, the intricacies of preaching proper pop to an audience of unraveled punks, frisbeed grillers and all types of Best Buy-gift-card-toting youts. They should listen on headphones and/or in used convertible cars. Assuming kids still do this, — they should write “Dr. Dog Rulez” in Wite-Out on the back of their book bags and surround it by 1-inch buttons. No explanation will be necessary because Dr. Dog is on YouTube, and everyone knows about YouTube.

The record really proves where experience can lend a hand. After showing a modest step forward with their Easy Beat disc a few years back, the boys truly stepped into the spotlight after mucho touring and shaking many hands with the younger demographics. I think it’s a toss up for me — the harmonies, the delicate volume knob, or the moments of church-going soul that all make the record worthwhile. I want to listen to it on a boat, dance, and electric slide into a lake. A lot of the songs could sound good underwater too. This is not strictly above ground music.

End note: drummer Juston Sterns does not have a beard.

Thao and the Get Down Stay Down- We Brave Bee Stings and All

2008-06-03T18:53:00.003-04:00

This review was originally published here.

Thao Nguyen sings with the excitement of a small dog that has just pinned a much larger dog beneath it. She writes songs with a breezy swing that makes me think I should store her new record, We Brave Bee Stings and All, in a hammock. The whole listening experience of this collection of songs aligns perfectly with some of my favorite music listening activities: dancing in the kitchen while the butter burns, being outside with a Frisbee and a red plastic cup in hand, driving a bit too fast along deserted roads, and most of all, holding my dog’s front paws up and trying to get him to dance with me.

Thao Nguyen and The Get Down Stay Down are a San Fran via Virginia-based rock group released by Kill Rock Stars Records. Their latest release comes at a time when the weather is warming and the socks are thinning across America. They help aid in the common sentiment that not only should people smile more, but they should do so draped in sunlight and, in some cases, wearing little more than a swimsuit.

On We Brave Bee Stings and All, Nguyen speaks in all sorts of silly metaphors, but more importantly, she does so in a voice that is both uplifting and laidback enough that you might think she taught music to eighth graders at a small public school. I imagine she would teach music using phrases like, “You need to feel it first,” and “Feel free to dance!” and, “This is the sort of stuff that makes the world go round…” I also imagine her students would grow up to become well-rounded adults.

The music on the album brings out often-neglected instrumentation without feeling the least bit cluttered, but rather pleasantly simple. Mandolins, horns, banjos, and handclaps all accompany Nguyen’s voice and the Get Down Stay Down’s rhythms eloquently. The experience is not unlike eating a rather mundane looking muffin and then discovering that the muffin is filled with flavors from around the world. Cranberries, exotic sugars, lemon zest, and moist grains all swishing around in your belly trying desperately to avoid giving you a stomach ache as you dance around in the bakery parking lot listening to the folk or rock or pop sound provided by We Brave Bee Stings and All. It is pleasant enough that you want to eat more muffins and try more new things. Next time you are at a bakery, you decide to order a scone or a donut filled with some sort of jelly instead of your usual coffee-muffin-pomegranate drink combination. This is the beauty of the Get Down Stay Down. They offer a chance to inspire people to possibly try something that they wouldn’t have tried yesterday. Maybe not, maybe I am giving them more credit than they deserve, but maybe I will travel to the record store later and peruse a bit more of the folk-rock section, or sign on to the iTunes store and click the “similar artists” button that I think exists. All this in attempt to recreate the simple pleasures experienced while listening to We Brave Bee Stings and All.

Thao's homepage

An Introductory Post

2008-06-03T17:07:00.000-04:00

So the iWeb software bugged me a bit too much and I have jumped on the Google ship hoping for calmer waters. I've got a bit more of a plan this time, but we will see how it works out.

I’m hoping to post a bunch of thoughts on music here without really having too strong of an opinion about things. Sometimes I write reviews for the site Daytrotter and through them I was mailed a few promotional CDs to review. I was blown away by this process and realized that there were hundreds of these CDs being mailed to music critics all over without any real credentials being evident. What a great thing! I mean, I love reading music blogs just to keep up on a few new musicians that I don’t ever hear about otherwise, living in the middle of a cornfield and all, so why not join ‘em? Well, they do have a reputation- one of pomposity. So- in this blog..er... web journal, I’ll try to keep a level head and talk about the CDs people mail to me as well as this and that going on in my life, as any dude would.

Alright, now that I have written this, lets see if I can figure out how to post it.

2008-06-03T12:49:00.001-04:00

test test

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