NATHAN WADE

The Gospel Of Rust: Track By Track

2010-07-02T10:53:00.000-07:00

I've compiled all of the "Track by Track" posts from the band website for you completists out there (all three of you). If you've got 40 minutes to kill, why not fire up the Soundcloud player and read along; prepare to learn about the behind-the-scenes magic that inspired and shaped The Gospel Of Rust.

GOTTA GET RIGHT

I've been asked quite a few times if Gotta Get Right was a traditional gospel song rearranged into a rocker, but it's an original written in "the spirit of" the many fiery field recordings of gospel songs that I love–and heavy on the 'Road Warrior' vibe. Mad Max-meets-Alan Lomax I guess.

Sam Russell (Sam Russell/The Harborrats) has lured me into the studio to record gang vocals on many of his recordings in the past, so I finally returned the favor; Producer/Engineer Brad Zeffren shouts along, too, as well as Sam and Brian of The Dark Pioneers. Nathan Spicer treads lightly (but carries a big stick) with the organ so as not to undercut the aggressive vibe; too much organ and the song started to sound like the Spencer Davis Group instead of The Germs.

BIG BLACK SLEEP

Big Black Sleep was written and performed before there was a band...and it never stood a chance in a solo context. It was exciting to finally hear this one come together, especially how it accentuates the influence of Fugazi and the Kronos Quartet; the string section of Barb Hunter, Melissa Montalto, and Sam Collins (arranged by Sam) helped bring out the Kronos factor, and the instrumental bridge is a nod to Fugazi.

I like playing with (or destroying) blues cliches whenever possible, and Lincoln's skronk-blues freak-out pushed the song's ending over the top. It'll be a "love it" or "hate it" moment for many, but I think (or hope) it effectively straddles the line between the familiar and the obscene as intended. It's one of the more unique cuts on the album...and a hard one to pull off live as a trio.

RUSTY BLADE

Rusty Blade always went over well when played solo, so we had to tread lightly when arranging it as a band. Since Patrick Porter couldn't join us for our initial recording session, he came in during the overdub stage and added some excellent pedal steel to the track. As he was recording, I had an epiphany about the song.

It hadn't occurred to me that I was over-singing this song for years; the pedal steel finally brought out the melancholy vibe just beneath the surface, so I softened the delivery (just a little) and it worked. With the addition of Nathan Spicer's moody Hammond organ, the song took on a new life.

COOL YOUR GUNS

Cool Your Guns was heavily inspired by Portishead's 'Roseland NYC Live' album (where they were backed by the New York Philharmonic Orchestra). The song's ominous groove, combined with Barb Hunter's creepy string harmonics on the cello, Melissa Montalto's spidery high notes from the violin, and the feather-and-anvil dynamics helps the song play out like a haunted house for your ears.

The slide guitar adds a bluesy edge to a non-blues song, while Lincoln Barr provides spy guitar and a MechaGodzilla effect in the choruses (with help from a Z.Vex Fuzz Factory pedal). Aside from the overdubbed strings, the core of this track (two guitars, bass, and drums) was a live, first-take in the studio.

THIS WORLD (ALREADY OVER)

This World (Already Over) features Morricone-isms abound. While sporting a heavy groove courtesy of Brian and Sam, it's Lincoln Barr (electric guitar) and Patrick Porter's (pedal steel) contributions that push this song into something cinematic akin to a Sergio Leone Western (plus a bridge that feels a little Calexico with some Jeff Buckley-inspired vocalizing).

There were a few lyric rewrites after my Future Warnings/Field Recordings demo, especially in the chorus, which changed from "this world is already over" to "this world was already over"; how else would a song about losing someone before the end of the world make sense?

Maybe it was just my OCD kicking in...

THE SHARPSHOOTER

The Sharpshooter never clicked until it was combined with an unfinished song called "Burning Hills Bridge." It starts with a slow version of the bridge from "All You Shadows" (which–ta DA!–featured the line "along these burning hills") plus a few other references to its sister-song throughout. Overall, there's a late-night jazz vibe with a heavy dose of Twin Peaks.

The song was supposedly finished until I started thinking a female voice to counter my own would take it to an even better place. Not long after, I caught a solo set by Mia Boyle; her voice had a perfect PJ Harvey-meets-Chrissie Hynde vibe that triggered the low-watt light bulb above my head. I introduced myself after her set and recording magic commenced!

GOLGOTHA DRONE

Golgotha Drone may be the unholy love-child of Cormac McCarthy and Glen Danzig. I was re-reading McCarthy's 'Blood Meridian' during the lyric writing process, but the heavy, doomy vibe can be traced back to my metal-lovin' youth.

Sam is playing bowed bass on this track, which sounds a lot like a synth when he's bowing those string harmonics (by sliding his finger up and down the string). This track marks my first recorded attempt at Tuvan throat-singing and Brian sings that creepy, basso profundo backing vocal. Ed Brooks (mastering engineer) has also predicted that a Norwegian Black Metal band will one day cover this song.

LAKE OF FIRE

Lake Of Fire is was partly inspired by the R.L. Burnside/Jon Spencer Blues Explosion collaboration 'A Ass Pocket Of Whiskey' and the Charles Manson's Live At San Quentin album–so it was destined to be odd. Skewing it even further down the weirdo hole, Lincoln's crazed licks sound like something Zoot Horn Rollo would have played on a Captain Beefheart album (with a nod to "Soul Man").

During recording, we often referred to Brian Eno's Oblique Strategy cards; for this song, we drew "Make It Dirty." Since the interpretation of the card is completely open, it led to a three man "instrument" I dubbed the Eno-Tron: Sam playing a Mellotron vibraphone sound run through a Chorus Echo (that I was knob-twiddling to the point of feedback), while Brad ran the board faders to keep the signal from distorting. Surprisingly subtle, it adds an almost dreamy twist to the latter "La Dee Da Da" sections and outro.

LET THE WIND KNOW

We're in the home-stretch with Let The Wind Know, a fatalistic lament for a lost world. Great string arrangement by Sam (who also played bowed bass), featuring Barb Hunter (cello) and Melissa Montalto (violin). Brad Zeffren (producer/engineer) joined me for the choral vocals on the bridge.

Both "Let The Wind Know" and "Lake of Fire" use an open C tuning that I copped from the Led Zeppelin song "Friends" (damn, I love that tuning). The tone of this song was so emotionally resigned that only a barn burner like "I Am The Rust" could make a counterpoint; we'll get to that one next (plus a bonus track).

I AM THE RUST

I wrote I Am The Rust before I met Brian & Sam but I can't imagine how this song could ever work without them. It's become a staple of our live shows and it never stops being fun to play. If you have seen us live, though, you'll notice we left off the "Rock Concert Ending" (cue the flashpots!); in the context of the album, it didn't make any sense.

During the recording process, we had been listening to David Lee Roth's awesome/hilarious isolated vocal track from "Runnin' With The Devil"; I tried to conjure up a touch o' Dave for my vocals. A couple of wild obscenities and hollers were cut in the final mix (even though Brad tried to convince me otherwise); in our age of the technology, I'm sure this mix will surface as all things do.

LOST TRANSMISSIONS

I Am The Rust and Weeds Grow Around" were at odds when played back-to-back, so a breath was needed in between. That's how Lost Transmissions came to be.

Sam played a reprise of his Mellotron line from "I Am The Rust" followed by the outro of "Weeds Grow Around" played on a Melodica. The two themes segue like time has elapsed. Additionally, Brad took an unused portion of Lincoln's guitar feedback on "Weeds" and reversed it, placing it under the Melodica until it builds to a crescendo.

WEEDS GROW AROUND

I've always loved the "earthy blues in the heavenly ether" production on Chris Whitley's Living With The Law album. Weeds Grow Around was our attempt at a song that was equal parts Wrecking Ball (Emmy Lou Harris) and Living With The Law–with a dash of Radiohead.

Aside from Lincoln's spacey guitar and Sam's dream-time Wurlitzer piano, this song has a lot to do with percussion. Besides the percussive qualities of acoustic bass and resonator slide guitar, Brad draped a Weezer t-shirt over Brian's snare drum to achieve that tight, muffled slap effect. There's also the sound of six different shakers, shaking live in the Two Sticks drum room–a Shaker Choir, maybe?

Sam created a great string arrangement for the end of the song and after the intense ride ride that proceeded Weeds Grow Around, the strings were a way to ease you out of the 12 Songs Of The Apocalypse. (The swoop up at the finale is either a cruel twist or a question mark after THE END.)

And speaking of...that brings us to the end. Thank you for reading and listening!

FAQ: The Gospel Of Rust

2009-11-26T21:40:00.000-08:00

Our new album, The Gospel Of Rust, is something that the band & I are very proud of. It is the eclectic, apocalyptic rock opera that we've been destined to make, where the songs could easily stand alone but paint a bigger, more engaging picture when listened to from beginning to end. It also does a great job of representing the energy of our live shows while taking full advantage of the studio--to which the phenomenal Brad Zeffren (producer, recording & mixing engineer) did a bang-up job steering the ship.

Q: That's all fine and good, but how can I hear it?

A: The Gospel Of Rust is now available as a digital download exclusively at Bandcamp.com. You can choose high-quality MP3s (320kb), FLAC, Apple Lossless, or any nerdy variation you can imagine--plus you get to pick your price (at a modest minimum).

Q: Wait...digital download only? But I need to have the real thing, hopefully as a shiny plastic disc or on a tasty slab of vinyl--will you ever release it as such?

A: While there are still plans to release an actual CD in 2010 (potentially with outside assistance), there's no reason not to make it available to you RIGHT NOW. I mean, hell, it's finished!

Q: Hey. you didn't mention anything about vinyl.

A: While that's not actually a question, there have been discussions about such a boutique collectible...but baby steps, here.

Q: All right, but what if I download The Gospel Of Rust and then decide I want the CD (or vinyl album) as a keepsake?

A: Since we would potentially be selling you the same/similar thing twice, I've set it up so you can pick your price (*cough* $4 minimum *cough*) should you decide you want to own the CD with its fancy artwork and physical properties in the future. If you've paid more, though, we not only thank you but we'd happily cut you a deal on the album in a different format.

And note: as independent recording artists, all proceeds go towards making more music rather than paying for stylists, drug-fueled benders, and/or "massages" on private jets.

Q: That answered my question about where the money goes, and speaking of fancy artwork: will you make liner notes available with credits and lyrics and stuff, like iTunes does?

A: We're on the same page. I LOVE geeking out over liner notes and lyrics, so our fearless designer--who already has his hands full--is working to create a downloadable pdf that will satiate your every desire...assuming your every desire is to know who plays cello on "The Sharpshooter" (that would be the miraculous Barb Hunter), or which members of Red Jacket Mine lay down some blazing electric guitar and pedal steel (Lincoln Barr and Patrick Porter, respectively).

Q: How will I know?

A: Assuming that's not a reference to a Whitney Houston song, we will keep you posted about this pdf by email, blog, Twitter, Facebook, carrier pigeon, or hacking into the news crawl on CNN. It will be free for one and all.

Q: Sold! But, uh, how do I pay for it?

A: If you have a PayPal account, you're almost there. Or, after you click on the "Download Album" link, Bandcamp & Paypal offer a secure alternative in case you don't have (or don't want) a PayPal account.

Q: You had me at "if you have a PayPal account, you're almost there." Now, where do I go to download those sweet, sweet high quality files?

A: You can visit the Nathan Wade & The Dark Pioneers page at Bandcamp.com, or you can stream and download right down there...

<a href="http://nathanwademusic.bandcamp.com/album/the-gospel-of-rust">Gotta Get Right by Nathan Wade & The Dark Pioneers</a>

Enjoy,
Nathan Wade & TDP

Vacation, All I Ever Wanted

2009-11-26T21:22:00.000-08:00

Things I've learned in 2009:

1) You can only do so much when your creative batteries have been run down...and mine were completely drained by the end of February.

2) Just because you've finished an album in the Spring, doesn't mean you have the energy to release it in the Summer. Or even the Fall.

3) If you've hit a dry spell writing new songs, arranging cover tunes with a band can still be productive.

4) If I'm not actively reading (especially fiction), my ability to write lyrics all but dries up.

5) While Myspace is fading, Facebook is no substitute as far as music is concerned--I haven't bothered creating a music profile, just a personal one.

6) Twitter & Facebook scratched the itch that blogging used to scratch, so that's why I haven't blogged since January.

7) You can actually be on vacation and not even know it...

...well, that vacation is officially over.

I think there's an album that needs to be released.

Moby Dicks & Tricky Dicks (And Showtime At The Tractor)

2009-01-15T21:51:00.000-08:00

Hey, it's a new year! Happy new year and stuff. No, I didn't make a resolution to "blog more in 2009" but rather to "blog more than 'never at all' in 2009." So: Mission accomplished.

The band and I are in over our heads at the moment, which means everything is going according to plan...

1) The only thing holding back the completion of the album is scheduling conflicts. We're 80% there and--fingers crossed--we'll be able to wrap up the recording in February; mixing to follow.

2) We've also started recording music for Book-It Repertory Theatre's stage adaptation of Moby Dick. It will surely be an atonal masterpiece of sound that will knock your aqua-socks off. I'm also kidding. (I hope I'm kidding.)

3) In the midst of it all, we have a little show going on this weekend at The Tractor Tavern. The Dark Pioneers officially debuted on the Tractor stage in June of 2007, so it was time for a triumphant return.

SUNDAY, January 18th @ 8:00pm
The Tractor Tavern (21+/$6)
5213 Ballard Ave NW, Seattle, WA

With a low $6 cover plus an early start, we've made it a little easier to celebrate the band's one year/seven month anniversary. If you won't be anywhere near Seattle, then here's a picture of Richard Nixon on a Tractor:

My work here is done. See you in 2010!

(And you can sing the blog title above to the tune of "Mairzy Doats" if you'd like.)

Big Boys Don't Cry

2008-11-15T15:56:00.000-08:00

The band & I (along with guest guitarist Lincoln Barr and producer/engineer Brad Zeffren) are still recovering from a very productive four-day stretch in the studio. Delirium set in near the end (some may argue that it set in by day two) and--as can be expected when you get a bunch of guys in close quarters for 12 hours at a stretch--penises, vaginas, and feces were popular topics of conversation (or c*cks, p*ss*es, and p**p, if you prefer--and yeah, "poop" IS funnier than sh*t!). I can only hope Jackson, our fearless studio assistant, wasn't offended (or scarred for life) after days of foul-mouthed raving, endless in-jokes, dedicating songs to members of Ratt, and innumerable references to Arrested Development, Mr. Show, and Twin Peaks. We also listened to David Lee Roth's isolated vocal track from "Runnin' With The Devil" a lot.

Aside from my previously posted, PG rated video tour, our photographer/videographer friend Patrick caught many indiscretions while filming us in action for two straight days. Hopefully, none of us run for political office in the future--it will not be pretty.

Speaking of indiscretions: late Sunday night (day two), Brad caught my rambling monologue about the Frisch's Big Boy as the band prepared for a take of "The Sharpshooter." That's Sam, from the piano in the lounge, interjecting with his Herbert voice (the creepy old man from Family Guy). It fell apart from there...

Big Boy's Lips (mp3)

Two Sticks / Pure Dynamite

2008-11-14T16:16:00.000-08:00

We're in the process of recording a new album. This unscripted, unshaven, behind-the-scenes footage is from our final night at Two Sticks Audio (w/a preview track playing in the background).

Two Sticks Audio Finale

DISCLAIMER: No keyboard players were harmed (or consumed) during the making of this video. Also: Brian Alter is not a bastard, the Optigan was not working, and no "solo projects" were performed in the proximity of those SI Swimsuit posters.

Fodder For Loose Cannons

2008-11-08T00:30:00.000-08:00

It's been months since a proper blog...and this one ain't gonna be much more than a puff of smoke. I will say this: The Dark Pioneers and I return to the studio for a full-length follow-up to our Chroma Session EP--like, today! (I never imagined we'd make it back so soon, but away we go.)

4 days will produce 11 songs. (Mostly) live in the studio, the way nature intended, with vocals and additional studio magic to be added in December and January. Oh, and it's a concept album about Bruce Vilanch. After the apocalypse.

BTW, sorry if I haven't been responsive to emails and comments and such, but my brain is a loose cannon these days.

The Sleeper Hold

2008-10-23T23:03:00.000-07:00

I'm coming out of my blogging hibernation long enough to deliver a loving thank you to Barbara Mitchell for her wonderful "Up & Coming" preview article in the Stranger:

(The Central Saloon) Like Nick Cave, Nathan Wade seems to have spent a lot of time reading the Book of Revelations (and a healthy dose of Cormac McCarthy) and then retooling those gothic, apocalyptic themes into musical form. Doom, dread, death, and destruction figure prominently in The Chroma Session EP but—-like Cave—-Wade finds beauty in the darkest corners. In fact, it's highly doubtful that another songwriter could've written an ode to convenience-store robbers like "Skoal Bandits" and had it come across so timeless and gripping. In the wrong hands, this kind of visceral country-noir easily falls into gimmicky territory; with Wade and his Dark Pioneers, it sends shivers down your spine in the best possible way. BARBARA MITCHELL

..and while I'm on a roll of horn self-tootery and verbal love, I should (belatedly) call your attention to the fantastic review from our friends at Sepiachord.com. Here's an excerpt:

By adding his Dark Pioneers (Brian Alter, Sam Collins, Lincoln Barr, Michael Spaly) to the mix, Nathan Wade deftly transforms his "apocalyptic folk" into a damn fine set of alt/insurgent/REAL country...The band only has six songs to prove themselves with and damned if they're going to stay in one mode throughout. I adore the haunted Americana of "Long Black Lillies"; not only is it a remarkably strong composition but it's flawlessly played. On this one piece [the band] successfully moves from "apocalyptic" to "gothic".

The full review is here.

(I hereby promise that my next post will be less of an infomercial.)

Sign My Band! (& Moments of Douchebaggery)

2008-07-10T16:14:00.000-07:00

Some guy, claiming his dad works for Geffen records, approached me last week before a show. He explained that his dad sends him text messages from L.A. to scout out bands in Seattle. Next, he launched into a series of questions that were supposed to impress me (or intimidate me): "How soon could you guys be on the road? Do you have day jobs? Do you have a music attorney? Can I get his card? Do you have a vehicle to travel in? Can you take two weeks or more off of work? You are the lead guy, right? How soon can you talk to your band about this? You're the main guy--the singer--right? How about a demo? You guys have a demo?"

When I could get a word in edgewise, I asked if I could get this "sending us on the road" business in writing. Frankly, the guy was being an ass, taking shots at our "homemade" CDs and apparent lack of qualifications (before he'd even heard us play!) in what may have been a way to scam some free music. Even if he was telling the truth, I can't think of a poorer time in history to get involved with a major label.

With music sales tanking--and in the interest of earning quick bucks--the labels have all but given up on artist development. Bands used to be allowed to grow over time, to develop an audience and mature. Nowadays, if the powers-that-be can't squeeze a profit out of your band in one album (or less), they will either a) be fired or b) drop you like a sack of hot sh*t, leaving your band to foot the bill (the total of which will likely be a dollar sign followed by 5-6 digits).

I'll leave the recording industry rants up to those who do it better, but the truth of the matter is this: the clowns running the business are so far removed from what's going on in the world of music that they've dropped half their bands and fired the expendable riff-raff working for them (i.e., the young people who truly love music and are familiar with that high-fangled, technology stuff), all in a desperate bid to impress their [insert media conglomerate] bosses, trying to look like they're still making money while protecting their multi-million dollar salaries.

But I digress...

To my ears, there's a total lack of modern commercial potential in the music I write (The Dark Pioneers ain't no Nickleback, folks!), so I'm not sure why this band, of all bands, would even make a tiny blip on Geffen's* radar. As for our unlikely talent scout: he was never seen nor heard from again, likely long gone before he saw us play a note. I can't say that I'm heartbroken, but hopefully he's enjoying that free CD, wherever he may be.
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*NOTE: Geffen is the home of such artists as Counting Crows, Mary J. Blige, Lifehouse, Ashlee Simpson, and Snoop Dog. All of which rate as my top 5 artists of all time. (Right after Michael Bolton and Yanni.)

Feeling Low

2008-06-20T13:15:00.000-07:00

It's funny how music can exist in your periphery for years until you realize, finally, that your new favorite band is right there. Maybe I wasn't ready for Low a few years ago, or maybe I just needed some insight into what I was missing. Lincoln, my friend and enabler, loaned me the Retribution Gospel Choir CD, which is one of Alan Sparhawk's side-projects (Alan & his wife, Mimi Parker, are 2/3rds of Low); Retribution Gospel Choir is noisy, 70's inspired rock, equal parts Neil Young and Black Sabbath. This was the gateway drug.

Next, I listened to Low's The Great Destroyer and the band suddenly made sense to me. In their canon, this album was actually a departure in sound, but it seemed the way to their center. Drums & Guns followed (which included two songs seriously re-interpreted on Retribution Gospel Choir), then back to Things We Lost In The Fire; I'll get to the rest soon enough.

Maybe it was the band's undercurrent of religion that drew me in, even if I didn't know Mimi and Alan are devout Mormons until late last week. For all of my formative years (age 6-18) I was raised a Jehovah's Witness--the other notorious door-to-door evangelists--and it was a very humbling experience that casts a shadow over my life even now. Thinking I'd left organized religion for good at 19, religion never left me. Over the years, I've grown obsessed with The Bible, especially the Book of Revelation, because it all scares the shit out of me. A decade has past since I've sat in a church (or a Kingdom Hall) for anything other than a wedding, but there's plenty of Hellfire to be found in this world. And how could I ever live without it?

Low (or more accurately, Alan Sparhawk) seems to share some of my own sensibilities, both musically and spiritually--and that point was driven home by the documentary 'You May Need A Murderer.' It was only a matter of time before I drifted towards their Minnesotan fire & brimstone, and the film offered some insight on where it comes from. It also gave me a few more reasons to fall in love with the band.

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Pitchfork is presenting the documentary on Low until this Friday.

And this is Low's website.

It's Been A Too Long Time

2008-06-20T11:19:00.000-07:00

There's been a long gap since I last blogged, but I think writing content for the new website, plus all the accompanying press materials for the new CD, pretty much hammered my writing jones into the dirt.

Finally, thankfully, The Chroma Session EP is out there for human consumption, both on CD Baby and iTunes. The road to releasing it was a lot more arduous than the making of it--less than two months to record, mix, and master but another four to get it out to the world. I may release the saga as an audio book someday, a guaranteed cure for insomnia.

Meanwhile, with most of my attention focusing on band-related matters, I've questioned exactly what this blog is going to do in the future (at least on Myspace). Still haven't sorted that one out, but I will fight the urge to turn this into a marketing forum for the new CD: The Chroma Session EP.

Which is available now. On CD Baby and iTunes.

Has He Been Drinking Again?

2008-04-17T13:08:00.000-07:00

It's time to consolidate my internet world! I have my tentacles in WAAAY too many pies...(and I might want to rethink that metaphor). This isn't a New Year's resolution, but a technological cleansing--kinda like what psychics do.

Here's looking forward to filling out fewer internet forms and online calendars. All the bazillion profiles I have set up on social networking sites--they can wither on the vine, baby! My blogs are going to get shorter and shorter (until they finally fit inside this period-->.)

It's gonna feel like peeing your pants on cold winter day, only without the terrible frostbite that would follow. Oh yeah, things are looking up!

Repeat after me: ubiquity is bullsh*t!

Next on my to-do list: hire a helper monkey.

My Blog, My Blog, Why Have I Forsaken Thee?

2008-04-16T17:32:00.000-07:00

Let me count the ways.

No, really, I've been pretty busy with the shows and the music and...well, I've been seeing other blogs, to be honest.

Phew, it feels good to finally get that out there.

And then, this weekend, I fell for Twitter; it's so short and to the point, not complicated and overblown like this thing that you and I have. Twitter & I--well, we think alike, you know. We hit it off; we click. It's like speed-blogging in a world full of short attention spans and, frankly, I need to try new things.

Don't worry, I'll come back! I always come back. I mean, c'mon, you're my only blog...

(well...except for the one I keep on Myspace.)

Let's Call It Four-Play

2008-03-14T10:59:00.000-07:00

Blame it Leap Year, blame it on the RPM Challenge...for whatever reason, I am so far behind on my show journal that I'm doing a month-and-a-half's worth all at once. Read on if you dare, but I figured there needed to be some document for me to refer to...or for future generations/civilizations to enjoy.

THE ENTERTAINMENT SHOW @ THE SUNSET
TUES, JANUARY 29, 2008
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
SET I & II: Sweat Through / World Alive (Hank Williams, Sr.) / Dead Leaves ...act break... Big Black Sleep / Cold, Cold Hands / Dry Up Like A Dream / Way Down In The Hole (Tom Waits) / I Am The Rust

A night of comedians (some funny, some not), bizarre and hilarious short films, and music. "Don't bring a knife to a gun fight" would have been good advice for this one--the majority of the audience was there for comedy and we were clearly not what they wanted. Tried not to take it personally, but the near hostile glares we received from the get-go threw me off for the rest of the night. Luckily, by our closing set, the hostility had drained from the room (along with 2/3rds of the audience) and the people who clearly enjoyed the music stuck around until the end of the night. You're all beautiful and made an awkward night less awkward.

Despite it all, we enjoyed ourselves and I want to thank Travis & Kevin for inviting us to play; I forgot my memory book, so I don't have any names to call back from the ether...

LOCAL FLAVOR: A FUNDRAISER FOR
NEXT STAGE THEATRE @ THE RICHARD HUGO HOUSE
TUES, FEBRUARY 12, 2008
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
SET LIST: Sweat Through / World Alive (H. Williams, Sr.) / All You Shadows / Big Black Sleep / Dry Up Like A Dream > Dead Leaves / The Reaper's Son / Cold, Cold Hands / I Am The Rust

More fun, much warmer reception, and slightly more formal than we are used to; the Hugo House has a black-box theatre with actual seats, real stage lighting, and a sound system that we quickly overpowered. I guess my vocals got buried, but we soldiered on. Great food to start out the night--local eateries provided plenty of slightly exotic appetizers, wine, and beer--and Next Stage did readings from their upcoming season while I paced nervously backstage. Another unusual show, but a lot of fun--some great photos came out of the deal, too, thanks to Amber (who carries on the "significant other drafted to take photos of the band" tradition).

Thanks to Mark, Amy, Megan, & everyone at Next Stage for inviting us to play; I forgot my Memory Book again, but I can still recall a few names the old-fashioned way...thanks to: Ilvs, Katinka, Lincoln, Ryan, Michael, Michal, David, Susan, Collin, Kate, James, Cassie, Sam's-friend (whose name I can't recall--sorry!), and quite a few people whose names I never got or have disappeared down the memory hole.

CONOR BYRNE PUB
SAT, FEBRUARY 23rd, 2008
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
SET LIST: Lake of Fire [premier] / All You Shadows / World Alive (H. Williams, Sr.) / The Reaper's Son / Cool Your Guns [premier] / Big Black Sleep / Way Down In The Hole (T. Waits) / Dry Up Like A Dream > Sweat Through / Cold, Cold Hands / I Am The Rust

Great night sharing the bill with Half Light and Sam Marshall (who had to replace the ailing Casey Ruff at the last minute). Great turn-out, and so much better than our July show, including the sound. [NOTE: the sound was so massively bad for the last several shows I either played or saw at CB that I hesitated ever going back--thanks to Liz for actually knowing what she was doing!] We debuted two of my RPM songs that we had worked up in rehearsal earlier in the week; they were kind of clunky but we persevered. After the newest material was over with, I really turned on the afterburners and went ape-sh*t for "I Am The Rust." Overall, a great response and a successful night with lots of familiar faces in the audience, plus a lot of new friends were made along the way.

Thanks to: Alana, Liz, Anna, and Melissa at Conor Byrne; Emi, Jene, & Ward; Jane (for the show poster), Doug, Jake, Lincoln, Amber, Porter, Erin & Brian, Anja & Bill, Cassie & Anna, Doni (can't read my hand-writing), Shelly & Sandy, Kelly & Chraci (did I really spell that right?) & James, and Gary--late to the show, but appreciated; also thanks to Half Light's Dayna, Dayna, Scott, Brian, and Jeff; and to Sam for filling in at the very last minute.

HIGHWAY 99
WED, MARCH 12th, 2008
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
SET LIST: Sweat Through / All You Shadows / Seen The Glory / The Reaper's Son / Rusty Blade / Season For The Crows / Cold Cold Hands / World Alive (H. Williams)

Why do I play solo shows again? My first time flying solo in a while and this was rough one--it was either a chilly response or outright rudeness as a large number of people got up and left early in my set and made a lot of noise (seriously, folks, if you're going to have a long goodbye/group-hug meets mass-Exodus, go do it by the door or something). Do I sound bitter? I don't want to discredit the folks that were listening, including my wife, who came to see me after a 13 hour shift at the hospital, but they had their work cut out for them; I really appreciate them and Greg (sound) for making it a better night.

Thanks to JD Hobson for inviting Sam & I to play; thanks to Jackie, Greg, and Ed at Highway 99; also thanks to Jodi, Emi, Patrick, and Dan.

Mission: Accomplished

2008-03-05T15:35:00.000-08:00

It's true: the RPM Challenge is over and I passed the test of mental endurance. I cranked out 10 songs like a veritable sausage factory of the brain.

RPM Challenge Album: Future Warnings/Field Recordings

The first "side" is posted on it's very own Myspace page and it turned out better than I could have imagined. It's rough around the edges, ideas fell flat (as did some of the vocals), and technical and software issues plagued a couple of songs. Still, a few songs came out so strong that The Dark Pioneers and I manged to rehearse and play a couple at our last show ("Lake of Fire" and "Cool Your Guns"), and we pulled them off with little-to-no aural tragedy.

Seriously: I've Got Spurs That Jingle, Jangle, Jingle

2008-02-02T13:06:00.000-08:00

THE SPUR BAR & GRILL
FRIDAY & SATURDAY, January 18/19, 2008
PARK CITY, UTAH
FRIDAY SET: Dead Leaves / The Final Blow / Season For The Crows / Long Black Lilies / All You Shadows / The Reaper's Son / Rusty Blade / Cold, Cold Hands / Sweat Through / Down At Silverdam

SATURDAY SET: Seen The Glory / Skoal Bandits / All You Shadows / Dry Up Like A Dream / Big Black Sleep / Suicidal Revival / Long Black Lilies (a capella)> Rusty Blade / Season For The Crows / Sweat Through / Dead Leaves

BROADWAY CENTER THEATERS
SUNDAY, January 20, 2008
SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH
NO SET LIST: Just songs picked at random from the set list in my head...

Most of my Park City adventures were covered in the "Sundance: A to Z" post, but allow me to paint in some details:

Friday - The Spur was packed at 4pm; last year I played to about 5 people at the same bar/same time. Then again, this was the kick-off weekend for Film Festival Week. Out of breathe by song one (high altitude is a killer) but pulled it together and had a good time. Responsive crowd, too.

Saturday - Still packed, still out of breath...and I was competing with a basketball game. For fun, I turned "Season For The Crows" into a song about burying Michael Bolton in a shallow grave. Satisfying. Eventually, Jodi was the only one clapping at the end of each song. After many years together, I was able to send out a message via ESP: "You don't have to clap; it actually makes it that much sadder."

Afterwards, surprised by compliments from folks that I didn't know were paying attention...you never know who truly is listening.

Sunday - Last year I played my official Sundance Showcase at The Rose-Wagner Center. It was pretty terrifying, playing in two story lobby for a hundred+ people waiting in line to see a movie. No signage, no mic, no stage...just me and a guitar. I played the first song as an instrumental (and seated). Finally, I stood up and went for it, letting my voice fill the resonant lobby. My audience waited to get into the movie on two different levels (some on stairs between levels--it looked like a scene out of the Brady Bunch), nobody clapped, they just watched, took pictures--I was busking under a microscope. For added surrealism, I didn't say anything and just kept playing until everyone was inside. Only after finding their seats did a few people actually come back to buy a CD and say hello. Awkward but rewarding in the end...

This year was even more awkward in a very small lobby with no good place for me to play (again, no mic or stage); constantly in someone's way. There were signs blocking the the ticket line, so I couldn't see who I was playing to...blah blah blah. I don't thrive under these circumstances, but I got credentials out of the deal; I really sang for my supper. The rest of the day and evening were far more entertaining, so I could leave this adventure behind on a positive note.
----Grand thanks to: Burton (the MAN) & Radical Rat; Damien (sound); Casey, Jeremy, Danielle, and the staff at The Spur; Carl, Derek, Kathleen, Theresa, Andrew, Joe and his wife (didn't get her name), Mike Beck, and Josh; Trent, Troy, and Rich(ard?); Annie, Jim, Chuck, Stefan, and our photographer (didn't get her name, either); Joe, Shelly, Max, and Amelia; Leah, Beverly, Jenny, Ashley, and Piper.

Sundance: A to Z

2008-01-25T13:31:00.000-08:00

Things that happened (January 11th-21st):
A. The Dark Pioneers & I played a good show at the Comet on a Friday night. I got home after 2am.

B. Got up Saturday morning and finished mixing the CD with Brad Zeffren. It took us until 2am.

C. Sunday was spent in a mental fog; during this fog, I bought long underwear for the impending trip to Sundance. It would be worth every penny.

D. Landed in Salt Lake City on a Thursday. Jodi came with me this time, so it would be like a micro-vacation (and people-watching extravaganza). Since it was opening week at Sundance, the airport was crawling with hipsters, film geeks, and the freshly botoxed.

E. After an hour in line at the Hertz station, we finally drove away in a very sleek rental car; I nearly blew up the car's engine a mile away from the airport as the gear shaft made it very easy to shift into low gear. Driving 60 M.P.H. in low gear is bad.

F. Our hotel was located in downtown Salt Lake City. It was only a block away from The Rose-Wagner Center where I played last year. (That was a terrifying gig that I'll write about someday.)

G. Since Jodi had been up for nearly 29 hours straight (she came from her hospital shift and got on a plane), we ate dinner and called it a night.

H. Friday afternoon, I found my secret parking area from last year; it was a mile outside of "No-Place-To" Park City and we could avoid the $20-$50 Festival lots. We took a bus to Main Street and traversed the sea of people to get to my showcase at the Spur. It was great to see Burton Hurner again--he is the driving force behind Radical Rat (who put on this showcase).

I. The show went great, but the altitude (7,000 ft.) had me winded by the first song. I still had 45 more minutes to play and felt like an octogenarian the whole way.

J. Stayed at The Spur and had dinner with fellow showcase-ees Teresa Storch and Andrew Frink. At the bar: a bearded Robert Englund (Freddy Kruger) and Randy Quaid--also bearded--who was wearing a floor length fur coat. Randy Quaid is a giant.

K. Returned to Park City Saturday for my second showcase; many people had discovered my secret parking area. Luckily, we found a new one up the hill.

L. The second showcase was...Full bar and it felt like hardly anyone was listening while basketball played on TV. The game got a lot of applause, usually in the middle of a song.

M. After my set, I signed my first autograph. It was on a Sundance program and my name was just below Michael Keaton's--I've long suspected I was just a rung below Michael Keaton on the entertainment ladder. Also had my picture taken with a group and felt famous for a few minutes.

N. Hit heavy traffic on the way back to SLC. That night, we had pizza with our friends Joe & Shelley and their kids Max & Amelia. The kids were extra-extra rowdy just for us; I was asked if this was effective birth control.

O. Sunday morning, I played the most awkward gig ever. It was in a movie theatre lobby at 11am. The floor was covered with plastic and I kept getting in the way of people in line for popcorn. No stage, no mic, no signs. Saw Ashley--we met last year when I played at the Rose-Wagner gig--and some of the Sundance volunteers seemed to enjoy the music; I think I made all the other ticket holders uncomfortable.

P. Back to Park City to utilize our Sundance credentials. Saw Jesca Hoop and Sondre Lerche at The Star Bar/ASCAP Cafe showcase.

Q. Ate a delicious cinnamon and caramel-coated apple while two rappers walked down the street. They posed for pictures and were apparently well known...I didn't recognize them. We would keep running into them over the next couple of hours; they clearly wanted their picture taken.

R. It was around 20°F that weekend. Some young ladies in town for the film festival (usually wearing too much make-up and sporting fake tans) like to wear almost nothing in the freezing cold.

S. Hypothermia occurs most commonly at freezing temperatures, but can occur even at cool temperatures (above 40°F) if a person becomes chilled from rain, sweat or submersion in cold water.

T. Taking one last walk down Main Street before heading back to the car, we saw Jodie Foster signing someone's pants; she's very petite. I've had a crush on Jodi Foster since Freaky Friday.

U. Back in SLC for our final night and snow was in the forecast. Went out for Sushi with fellow music maker "Chicago" Mike Beck (one hell of a cool guy) and his friend Piper. Had an incredible dinner at Ichiban where I ate sushi for the first time in over ten years. It was delicious.

V. Woke up Monday morning to six inches of snow. Cleaned off the car using a little stick with a brush at one end and then we checked out of the hotel.

W. Jodi had wanted snow and she got it; she closed her eyes while I made the hazardous drive to the airport.

X. Got a plane and flew back to Seattle.

Y. Home again and either Miles or Bella had crapped on the floor outside their litter box. It was their way of saying welcome back.

Z. The End.

Night Of The Comet

2008-01-25T13:04:00.000-08:00

My show synopsis for this one got lost in the shuffle during a very busy week...more on that later...

THE COMET TAVERN
FRIDAY, JANUARY 11, 2008
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
SET LIST: Sweat Through / World Alive (Hank Williams, Sr.) / Skoal Bandits / The Reaper's Son / All You Shadows / Big Black Sleep / Way Down In The Hole (Tom Waits) / Cold, Cold Hands / The Final Blow / I Am The Rust

"Mama Casserole" (booker for The Comet) put together a perfect and appropriate four-band bill. This doesn't happen often, but it only makes sense that if you like band A and B, you'll stick around for band C, and maybe D; this worked like a charm as we had a packed house for the entire night--and I'm talking from 10pm to 2am!

Ben Rogers and his brother Matt kicked things off as an acoustic duo and really got things going with a rather boisterous crowd of Friday night hooligans. Portland's The Power of County were up next and made for a hard act to follow, putting a pseudo-electrified boot up our collective asses. Their "Ballad of Zeke & Ned" was a 2nd cousin to my own song "Skoal Bandits." Next, The Dark Pioneers and I melted some faces, even though it was one of our sloppiest performances in a while (and "The Reaper's Son" will be renamed "The Nicotine Song" as it signals a mass exodus for the smokers every time). It was close to 1am when Star Anna & The Laughing Dogs finished the night with a beautiful (hell, devastating!) set...and the crowd wasn't going anywhere.

Once the bar closed at 2am, a long day was in store for me on Saturday--I still had to finish mixing our the CD at Chroma Sound. I gave my snooze button a workout in the morning...

Thanks to: Michelle (aka Mama Casserole), Brad, and Loli at The Comet; Nick & Christine & Aaron & Laura, Joy, and Amber; a whole 'lotta folks who stuck around and clearly enjoyed the show. Oh, and the Pita Pit for the most necessary post-show meal ever.

Big Black Sleep & The Chroma Session Demos

2008-01-01T14:01:00.000-08:00

The Dark Pioneers and I have been recording at Chroma Sound studio, currently finishing work on a 6 song EP. During our recording frenzy--and while all those expensive microphones were pointed in our direction--we had time to cut four quick demos: "Big Black Sleep," "Rusty Blade," "I Am The Rust," and "I'll Never Get Out This World Alive" by Hank Williams, Sr. Not one of these songs will be on the EP, so I'll post the tracks exclusively on Myspace in the coming weeks, the exception being our rockabilly version of the Hank Williams tune (but you're a crafty bunch, and I'm sure you'll find a way to listen to it).

Everything you'll hear is 100% live with no overdubs; I allowed only two takes for every song and the second take was always the keeper. Little mixing was involved as Bradley Zeffren (producer, recording & mixing engineer) did them in a single pass--and things still sounded damn good, even if I managed to hold a monopoly over the musical blunders.

The tracks feature Brian Alter on drums, Sam Collins on upright bass, and me singing and playing Resolectric and acoustic guitar. Joining us on "Big Black Sleep" is special guest Lincoln Barr (of Red Jacket Mine) with some skronk-alicious lead guitar; if you're listening on headphones, his guitar is panned left while mine is to the right.

I'll let you know when the other tracks are up and when the new EP will be ready for public consumption; also look for my selection of handcrafted soaps and knitted tea cozies to be made available this spring.

Night Of The Living Muse

2007-12-31T10:41:00.000-08:00

Lincoln picked me up to meet with our friend, Brian, and then to see Bill Frisell, Eyvind Kang, and Danny Barnes play at the Tractor. There was a big SOLD OUT sign as we drove by the venue and a line outside the door; both Lincoln and Brian had bought tickets in advance, but I was screwed...Lincoln had to turn around and drive me back to my place. Bummed out, I wandered back to the apartment with my head hung low like Charlie Brown (Vince Guaraldi playing in the background). Jodi was at work and I had several unexpected hours on my hands, so what to do?

1) Read about National Write A Novel Month and then remembered FAWM.ORG (February Album Writing Month), where you write 14 songs in 28 days (29 this year). I had considered participating...

2) Realized I had yet to re-install my audio software after my unfortunate computer incident (long-story-short, all my applications were wiped out by a "back-up"/synchronizing program), so I figured I'd need to get things working if I'm going to record an album AND remember how to use all the stuff after such a long hiatus. Waiting for the install, decided to take a quick 20 minute nap.

3) A new song popped in my head as I drifted off, the lyrics already forming. I jumped out of bed and grabbed a guitar and notebook, writing the words as they came while singing over a simple chord progression.

4) Wrote until nothing but nonsense was coming out, so I finished loading software. Couldn't believe everything worked with little effort! Hooked up the MIDI controller (keyboard) and started playing with the Reason program, finding some really cool patches (including authentic mellotron flutes, strings, etc.) and came up with a possible violin line to go with the new song. Found another patch that sounded like a Morricone-esque surf guitar that devolved into a realistic, wailing feedback drone. This quickly inspired another song...

5) Frantically plugged in a mic before the feeling left and recorded the Morricone drone, then improvised a melody on top of it; a post-modern Appalachian dirge set to feedback.

6) It was late, time to think about sleeping. Had destroyed my work space in the rush to keep pace with my mind, so I de-cluttered and went to bed...and just as I drifted off again, the solution to another song from last week arrived. Without even turning on the lights, I stumbled back into the other room to find a guitar and then arranged the song in the dark (and from bed). Lucky for Jodi, she wasn't home to experience all of this...the cats were not so lucky.
----
The mere thought of writing 14 songs in 28 days was all it took to summon the Muse; it was like turning on the musical Bat-Signal, a giant quarter note lighting up the late-December sky.

(Re)Setting Sun

2007-12-19T12:35:00.000-08:00

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 12, 2007
SUNSET TAVERN
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON

SET LIST: Sweat Through [new ver.] / Cold, Cold Hands / Rusty Blade / The Reaper's Son / World Alive (Hank Williams) / Big Black Sleep / Dead Leaves / Dry Up Like A Dream / The Final Blow / Goin' Out West (Tom Waits) / I Am The Rust

Here we were, playing the late shift at the Sunset on a night where snow was in the forecast, a near-repeat of our December 1st show at the same venue. That show went extremely well but this was Wednesday night; the prospect of getting people excited about a mid-week, 11pm show seemed bleak. The gig itself came out of the blue after a last-minute cancellation prompted an open call on Myspace, so there really wasn't time to promote. Sam, Brian, and I were feeling solid as a band after a weekend in the studio, so if we were only playing for the bar and the sound guy, at least we were going to sound tight.

A decent number of people showed up to hear great sets by 17th Chapter and Facts About Funerals, but the audience was slowly filtering out the door come 11:00...and we still hadn't taken the stage yet. Just a few of our friends were in the house at this point, so it looked like we were in for a quiet night. And then another pre-Christmas miracle occurred: Sam's friend Cassie corralled a group of friends and acquaintances which ended up--to her surprise as well as ours--totaling around 25 people that came through the door all at once. More of our friends arrived while members of the other two bands and their friends stuck around, and then another anonymous group stopped by for a night cap; half-way into our slow-groove version of "Sweat Through," we suddenly had a crowd. The three of us looked at each other on stage like "what the hell just happened."

Sam coined the term "Professional Flash Mob": a group of 10 or more that suddenly show up at concerts or functions to get rowdy and have a good time (and I'm sure there are a lot of musicians out there who would like to have their number handy in case of an emergency). Well, they were certainly extra rowdy and having a good time, so much so that we threw in an extra song to keep the momentum going. When we finished after midnight, the Sunset seemed in no rush to push the flash mob out the door. The bar was making money, the bands all got paid at the end of the night, and we all went home happy. Can't beat that with a stick.

Thanks to: Holly, Bradford (sound), and Joe at the Sunset; Matt, Kimo, and Bob of 17th Chapter; Rob and Facts About Funerals; Phil & Hannah; Amber, Gary, and Doug; a very special thanks to Cassie, the patron saint of Flash Mobs, and all the folks she brought along; and thanks to all the newcomers that stuck around for the show then disappeared into the night.

Way Down In The Hole

2007-12-14T17:16:00.000-08:00

BAD LIVERS AND BROKEN HEARTS: A TRIBUTE TO TOM WAITS
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 7, 2007
CONOR BYRNE PUB
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON

SET LIST: Way Down In The Hole / Goin' Out West

The show had sold out about an hour after it started. Conor Byrne was full of musicians waiting to go on, but plenty of paying customers were crammed in there as well. I'd been shoved and bumped into a few too many times while trying to stay close enough to see AND hear the bands playing before I finally moved to the back of the pub, close to the door. This was when I saw the line waiting to get in. Already, Brendan (the M.C.) was asking the musicians if they could leave the building once they finished playing to allow more people to come in. Feeling pretty crappy (I was just getting over a cold), I decided to retreat to my car until it was time to go on at 11:15. Brian and Sam had not yet arrived, so I called them both to tell them to steer clear of the place.

I'd let the car run for a few minutes to warm it up (and help put an end to that pesky ozone layer) when Brian (drums) and his girlfriend, Amber, joined me. We listened to the radio. 20 minutes later, Sam (bass) joined the car party and we waited 'til 10:45 to finally head back to the pub, which was still crowded but minus the line outside.

Not sure what time we hit the stage, but visions of my Bob Dylan tribute were already flashing through my head and suddenly we were playing. The crowd was a rowdy bunch and they were right there with us...clearly enough PBR (free for the musicians) had flowed so that no one seemed to mind (or care) that Sam's bass and my guitar were just slightly out of tune with each other. Again, no real sound check with so many performers, so we just rolled with it as the crowd went ape sh*t. Not a bad way to spend a Friday night, and we even made it out by midnight to rest up before spending Saturday and Sunday in the recording studio.

I forgot my Memory Book this time, but I do want to thank Alana for setting this whole thing up; Liz, for bravely running sound in a musical gladiatorial event; Greg, for loaning me his amp; Brenden, for MC'ing over the rowdy din of noise; and all the great performers who turned in some mightily impressive versions of my personal Tom Waits favorites.

Snowfall On The Sunset

2007-12-07T12:25:00.001-08:00

THE SUNSET TAVERN
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 1st, 2007
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
SET LIST: Sweat Through / I'll Never Get Out of This World Alive (Hank Williams) / Skoal Bandits / The Reaper’s Son / Big Black Sleep / The Final Blow / Dead Leaves / Dry Up Like A Dream / Cold, Cold Hands / Rusty Blade / I Am The Rust

Things looked grim before the show: I was wiped out from a cold that hit me mid-week, and then it started snowing heavily in the early afternoon--the first snow of the season--in great flakes the size of a baby fist. As I loaded up the car to head to the Sunset, the snow was still coming down like sno-cones splattering all over the windshield. Expectations for attendance at the show was low low low...

...and then, like a pre-Christmas miracle, it started to warm up outside; the snow and rain stopped. Thank you, Baby Jesus. By the time Conrad Ford took the stage at 10:00, the Sunset was packed! The band played a beautiful, understated set and it was great to finally hear them live (lots of unexpected instruments making an appearance for a song or two). Next up was Carrie Clark and The Lonesome Lovers, who looked anything but lonesome as a 5 piece on this particular night. I've loved Carrie & Co's music for some time and have seen them play in the past, but they were really on fire this time. I probably would have enjoyed their set more if it weren't for all the nervous energy building up as I waited to go on; I paced around the green room for a good 15 minutes until we finally took the stage around midnight.

Sam, Brian, and I only knew a handful of the people there, so a lot of new faces in the audience (always a good thing). We had to blow them away in the first two or three songs if we wanted to keep an audience for the rest of the set. Mission accomplished. All of the rehearsing we've done for the sake of recording really helped us keep the energy up and my voice held out, too. No wacky stage stories, we merely put on a tight show and made a lot of new friends in the process.

Thanks to everyone at The Sunset: Holly, Adrian, Billy, and Ryan; to Conrad Ford and Carrie Clark & The (Less Than) Lonesome Lovers; to Jodi, Lincoln, Amber, Laurie & Nicole, Reece, Tom & Stephanie, Christopher, Kris, and all the folks who braved the weather and came out on such a potentially nasty night.

Backbone Campaign Benefit - Vashon Island, WA

2007-12-06T12:33:00.000-08:00

Rehearsals have been frequent and intense lately, so I'm playing catch-up on my show blogs...

SET LIST: Maggie's Farm (Bob Dylan)

November 24, 2007 - There are times when you'll perform a show and feel like you sucked a big one up there--where everything goes wrong and you can't win for losing. Invariably, these seem to be the shows that an audience loves. Unless you throw down your instrument and storm off the stage, no one knows the private hell you're in on the stage...so you keep playing and hide your shame.

This was one of those shows.

My friend Pete invited me over to Vashon Island to play a fundrasier for the Backbone Campaign, where tons of performers play a "Bob" song (Dylan or Marley). I was playing for less than five minutes on Bishop's stage and the place was packed from front to back. Since there was no time to do sound checks for each act, you pretty much had to plug in and go to keep things moving. I had decided to play one of my favorite Dylan songs as a Chris Whitley-esque slide/blues stomper, so I plugged in my Resolectric and my Stompbox and sang the first line--this was clearly a crowd favorite as they were already cheering--and then things went downhill on my part.

The following happened in a matter of seconds: I found my guitar sounded like mud coming out of the amp...okay, no big deal. Next, my Stompbox was just far enough away that it started sliding forward as I stomped. I kept trying to slide it back with my foot, looking like a Lipizzaner stallion doing tricks at the circus (which would eventually give me a shin splint and drop the rhythm about every four bars). My hands were getting sweaty, so my thumb pick twisted to where the plastic part that rests on top of my thumb was now catching guitar strings on the down stroke, causing the wrong notes to ring out with a loud "pop!" Suddenly my fingers felt like big, useless sausages and I couldn't seem to fret the right notes--it didn't help knowing that Ian Moore was in the audience, seeing me play something other than musical "air" saw for the first time...and then some guy started shaking maracas stage left. Where the HELL did he come from?

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah!"

At least my voice was keeping this song in the air--I was tempted to just go a capella and let Maraca Man carry the groove. I tried my best to hold it together and sing the right words until I landed the proverbial plane in a dozen pieces, a broken survivor of the longest and shortest five minutes yet. It was especially unreal how many compliments I got as I left the stage (to applause, thankfully) and squeezed through the crowd to get to the back of the room, clutching my guitar and Stompbox tight to my chest. It was a reminder that it doesn't really matter what I think about my own performance, but how it made other people feel. Clearly, it made them feel good.

Thanks to Pete, Shirley, Bob, Jordan, Bill, Kevin, Reuben, David, Kevin, Andre, Stefan, Mary & Joe, Ian, and a whole lot of kind folks that I met on my way from the stage to the musician's hidey-hole in the back of Bishop's. It was an extremely well-organized event and, my stage antics aside, I had a great time helping the cause.

White Eagle Saloon: Portland, OR

2007-11-20T18:36:00.000-08:00

I'm going to start posting show diaries on my blog instead of in the dankest, darkest recesses of my website. Playing live is one of the few things I do with regularity (blogging sure ain't it!), so I figured it was time for a change.

SET ONE: The Reaper's Son > All You Shadows / Maggie's Farm (Bob Dylan) / Dead Leaves / Season For The Crows / Goin' Out West (Tom Waits) / Suicidal Revival / Cold, Cold Hands / Lost Highway (Hank Williams Sr.)

SET TWO: Come Together (The Beatles) / Rusty Blade / The Final Blow / World Alive (Hank Williams Sr.) / Down At Silverdam / Sweat Through

Nov. 5th, 2007 - Sam Marshall & I had a great time at the White Eagle. Traffic was light on the way down to Portland so we showed up about 2 hours early. Plenty of time to eat and set up our own sound (no sound person for this one). Lightly attended, as could only be expected for a Monday night. I tried out my Dylan cover in preparation for the tribute show on November 24th. Sam sounded great as always. We were told we got a good grade by the bar (didn't know there was a test) and they want to have us come back on a Friday night. Sounds good to me! Actually, they said they wanted us to play Happy Hour, which I found hilarious as Sam and I both sing mostly about death, murder, and drug abuse. Unhappy Hour?

Sam drove us back home right after the show and immediately encountered some heavy fog that slowed us down to 40 m.p.h. on the interstate. (Cars still passed us at light speed, even though you couldn't see taillights until you were right up on somebody! Bunch of stupid mother f***ers out there.) Lot's of late night weirdness followed. By 2:30, I could barely hold my eyes open, even with James Brown cranked on the stereo. 10 miles outside of Seattle we saw a wreck that had just happened--a car was slowly backing out onto I-5 (!!!), it's front end destroyed after running off the road into a cement embankment; the driver must have fallen asleep at the wheel. This was sobering and the image kept Sam alert for the rest of the trip (that, and Tool's '10,000 Days'). We arrived at my place around 3:00am. By the time Sam reached his own apartment, I was probably sound asleep.

Thanks to Anna & Rachel, Pete & Patrick, Wendy & Stephen (who was from Indiana!), Mike, and a handful of folks who stuck around or wandered in an out through the night.

Sawyer Balzac

2007-10-24T22:47:00.000-07:00

Waiting backstage at the Tractor, I was listening to the band absolutely killing it on the other side of the wall. My bow was rosined and I was playing along on the non-business end of the blade, warming up for my musical saw debut with Ian Moore. It was the first time I've ever played saw on such a big stage (along with a five piece band, no less) and my mind had already jumped to all of the things that could go terribly terribly wrong when I got out there, number one being there was never a sound check (at least not for musical saw). How was I going to hear myself?

The trick with the saw is, it's all based on hearing the pitch as you play--you can get a rough sense of what note is going to come out according to the bend of the blade, but you're squeezing notes out of a piece of metal with a cello bow for crying out loud! There's no real way to know what's going to come out unless you hear and make corrections along the way. At the very least I found a stool to sit on--it was actually that thought more than the others that finally drove me backstage to wait for my moment, which I was told would come as the last song of the set...I had no set list, so I didn't know when that would be. But a stool was good. Can you imagine someone playing a saw while standing upright, hunched over and dramatically stroking a big metal wanger with a bow? I mean come on!

And there it was: the opening chords for "To Be Loved" were strummed. "The day will come..." Oh sh*t--not even a break between songs! I dragged my stool towards the stage. "...things will fall apart..." Cornbread (bass) and Johnny (guitar) watched me with my saw flapping in the breeze. They had no idea I was playing with them, but they had the look of "hell yeah," which was encouraging. "...the rusty [locks]..." I blundered across the stage like a three-legged race horse, trying not to knock Ian over as he was singing, and looked for the this mysterious extra mic I could use. "...the quited heart." Okay, BIG problem.

"Where's the mic?" I asked Kullen (keyboard, trumpet). Both he and Greg (sound) had said there would be a small amp with a mic on it. I didn't see either one!

"Yeah," he said, nodding his head--he was busy playing at this point, so besides not hearing me, I don't think he noticed I was in mid-panic attack.

I looked in vain knowing I had about a minute before my solo when I noticed the overhead drum mic next to me. The same idea crossed Cornbread's mind and he swung it over my way; I didn't have a chance to see what John (drums) thought of this maneuver, but my inner-sound guy had already pointed out the big tactical error: overhead mics aren't generally fed to on-stage monitors, but supplement the sound of the drums in the speakers over the stage. If Greg, across the room and at the sound board, was to add too much of my hornswaggled mic to the monitors (and it would take some inhumanly quick reflexes on his part, since none of this was planned), screaming feedback could be in our future. I put my theory to the test and ran the bow across the blade to hear...nothing.

With this moment of truth, we arrived at my saw solo.

So I played that mother f**king saw like Marcel Marceau, bowing frantically in total silence with my ear close to the blade...and still hearing not-a-damn-thing over the other instruments. The audience was probably hearing everything I couldn't while I blundered on, not even sure if I was in the right key.

My air solo complete, I sat out the rest of the song and looked over the crowd...just 15 minutes ago I was one of them, enjoying an incredible show. Now I'm like Courtney Cox in Springsteen's "Dancing In The Dark" video, picked out of the audience and invited to come dance on stage. "What me? Really? Look at me, I'm like totally on stage with Bruce Springsteen! And I'm dancing! Oh my God, look at me go!" I could easily bring this night to a stunning conclusion if I started running in place and snapping my fingers like an idiot right now--this was all being filmed for a webcast, so why not?
-------------Backstage. The band was discussing the encore while I had tagged along. Paul Hiraga (of Downpilot) was there. "Man, I wish we could have heard some more of that saw," he said.

"Me, too," I replied. Me, too. Then I stowed my instrument, put on my jacket, and followed the band out to the stage...only I didn't get on the stage but ducked back into the audience like nothing ever happened. Some people looked at me like "wasn't he just on stage?"

Yeah, that was me: Sawyer Balzac, the lone blade. And this saw's for hire, even if it's just sawing in the dark.

Backyard Voyeurs

2007-09-20T11:36:00.000-07:00

I hate not finishing things. All those little bits and pieces, all the potentially great ideas (and I have a lot of ideas; they keep coming like a bottomless box of Kleenex)--where would they be if I had time to see every project through to the end? Then again, is every project worth seeing through to the end?

Maybe. Maybe not.

Still, unfinished creative efforts gnaw at me, especially when I've put myself in a position to expose my successes and failures in public--even more so online. It's extremely vain (and self-flattering) to believe people pay attention--or have the time to care--about things like "when is he going to finish Oregon tour blog" or "when is he going to post demos of all those new songs he keeps talking about?" Isn't it really my own conscience turned into an imaginary audience, one that judges and rates and follows everything I do?

Maybe. Maybe not.

As an only child, I spent a lot of time playing alone in my room for hours and hours, drawing my own comic books and making "mind movies" with Star Wars figures, the plots of which were original ideas with no creative limitations. Playing alone in the backyard was a different story.

Swinging from trees or monkey bars and running around like an idiot (as only a kid can do), I always felt the need to play impressively on the off-chance that one our neighbors was watching. "WHOA! Look at that kid--he totally jumped off that swing after going really really high!"

I had cast myself as the object of imaginary neighborhood voyeurism, feeling the need to do something cool for no other reason than entertaining anyone who happened to look out their window at the right moment. As a consequence, being outside made me very self-conscious, playing under the assumption that someone could be watching at any moment, possibly calling Hollywood or the local paper about this crazy kid on a swing. That's a lot of pressure on an 8 year old trying to have fun.

And now here I am and here we are: it's an era where internet voyeurism is a piece of cake and I've recast myself in the role I originated in my own backyard. It's too easy for any of us to sit alone in front of a computer and read the same words, to listen to the same music, always searching for something we can relate to--a connection of any sort--and then to move on silently or come back unnoticed. Some of us decide to "play impressively" online; we send clever emails, we write blogs, we post our music or poetry. I wonder how many more like to be impressive outside of their own room, hoping to have complete strangers notice that they, too, are worth the attention without the need to actually see that look of approval, to learn the answer.

Was anyone really looking out their window when I jumped off that swing?

Maybe. Maybe not.

The Oregon Trail, Part Two

2007-09-03T14:49:00.000-07:00

EUGENE, EARLY AFTERNOON- JULY 28, 2007Then things got a little weird Saturday...like dancing dwarf/Log Lady weird. The day started off innocently enough when Colin suggested that we busk at the Eugene Saturday Market to do a little advertising for our show. We were playing at LUNA Jazz Club that night, which was attached to a rather swanky restaurant; it seemed wise to have a good turn-out for this one. We flipped our guitar cases open and attached show posters to each then proceeded to trade songs in the chaos of our corner spot, conveniently located next to a face-painting booth. 30 minutes and a farmer's tan later, it was clear that Colin's lap slide and voice were best suited for the attention span of the market crowd--you have to win them over in 30 seconds or they move on--and he was clearly the victor as the only one with spoils in his case; Sam and I let him do the business.

Earlier, I was giving Sam a hard time for being the only one pictured in the local ad for our LUNA show, even though all our names were mentioned in it; he had also managed to get the center stage position for our other two shows. As we both stood and watched Colin play his ass off, a couple zipped past us and paused long enough to read our show poster.

"That Sam Marshall is sounding really good," said the lady to her partner as they hurried across the street.

I gave Sam a way-to-go-champ punch on the arm; "He most certainly does," I said. Hell, he doesn't even have to play a note to be the center of attention.

Colin, now surrounded by kids waiting to have unicorns painted on their cheeks, was starting to wear down; we decided to call it a day and have lunch (it looked like Colin had made enough busking cash in an hour to pay for his meal). Afterwards, Sam and I found an actual ice cream parlor, complete with an old-fashioned player piano, that made some seriously generous banana splits (I can attest) and a $36 Fudge Volcano sundae that comes out on fire to the sounds of sirens and a rumbling drum, only to be doused out by a PITCHER OF FUDGE. There was also a birthday in progress where a young girl was delivered an enormous mountain of ice cream, one that I could imagine Julius Ceaser gorging on and sodomizing all at once (just before a "Technicolor Yawn" worthy of an Emperor). This Romanesque sundae was the kind of decadent touch you'd expect at a 10 year-old's birthday party. The girl and her friends eyed it greedily while the player piano banged out an unrecognizable melody like it was possessed.

Don't let me lead you astray--while I was thankful that I faced this place stone sober, this was not the strange part of the story. No, that would come once I slept off my sugar coma and after Sam, Colin, and I began our LUNA show.

TO BE CONCLUDED

I'm Only Sleeping

2007-08-27T15:32:00.000-07:00

1. Indiana. I'm here and it's hotter-than-Hell right now. Actually, humidity is the real scale-tipper, but I knew what I was signing up for when I flew out in August. Right now: I'm hiding out in the family basement where it's cool, comfortable, and where I have access to a computer with a DSL connection. Who could ask for anything more?

Before you answer, I wanted to let you know that, with a sudden wealth of time on my hands, I've finally posted a year's worth of show photos on Myspace (and eventually my website, but that takes about three times as long). They've been littering my hard drive at home for too long, so check 'em out when you have a chance. And in case I forgot to mention it, there are videos posted of my Egan's performance from (::choke::) back in April. Here's "Rusty Blade" right now:

Nathan Wade: Rusty Blade - LIVE

2.For all my friends in Indiana and Ohio: I'm playing a show at Charlie's Coffee Bar here in Richmond on Wednesday, August 29th (7-9pm). I should have my voice for this one, too; last year, laryngitis reduced it to a croak the day before my MidPoint showcase.

3.While I'm recharging my batteries, it also seems like a good time to finish my Oregon Tour blog, which has been 3/4 finished for over two weeks. While I'm at it, maybe I'll catch up on some movies I've been meaning to watch, some long-overdue emails, and...sleep.

Sounds like a plan.

The Oregon Trail, Part One

2007-08-06T13:02:00.000-07:00

PORTLAND - JULY 26, 2007Sam Marshall and I decided to work up a three night blues/roots music tour of Oregon with our Portland pal Colin Lake. Colin could only make the last two nights of the tour, so we shared the Portland show with a local performer we'd never met, playing at a venue neither of us knew much about; nothing unusual about that. The venue usually (hopefully!) finds a compatible act with a good draw and puts them on late in the evening. The out-of-towners get to play for the local act's audience and make new fans and...it didn't work out that way.

Mr. Local (we'll call him) was...well, he was quite a character for lack of a better term. Dressing like a skater punk and tossing out hip-hop slang like "amens" on Sunday, it would be disorienting to later hear him sing with a high lonesome drawl more in step with 1950's country. But what's with these suburban white guys still trying to play like they're from the 'hood? I can't think of a more painted-on persona, especially combined with a back-woods drawled-out "y'all" at the end of your sentences. It felt like I was in Indiana again.

So anyway, to Sam's and my surprise, Mr. Local wanted to play first as he had "dinner plans" for later in the evening; he couldn't say how much later as, apparently, he didn't know (the guy was plenty high, so I can't blame his inability to see more than an hour into the future). Mr. Local played all of a 25 minute set and vacated the stage with a "peace out, y'all", while a half-dozen people he brought to the show left immediately; one guy didn't even finish his beer! The relatively short time this guy spent in our lives left a lasting impression, and it gave Sam and I plenty of material to laugh and bitch about for the next few days, so thank you Mr. Local; you the shiz...

All in all, 9 Muses Tavern was a good place to play--the owners were friendly and cared about creating a good acoustic music scene in what is essentially a very big house converted into a venue (including some really nice sound equipment); the co-bill snafu was easily forgotten. Luckily, Sam had family in town, my friend Chad arrived, and we made a new friend in Matt, who stuck around until the very end of the night. If you're going to play in a new city, it's nice to play for more than the sound guy.

After the show, a friend of Sam's dad let us crash in his living room. That night, surrounded by guitars, gear, and CDs, we tried to sleep while the neighborhood came alive. We had been warned about Meth addicts breaking into cars and, having been a victim of car theft in the past, I lobbied to take everything of value out of the truck, not just the guitars. Laying in the dark on the couch (since I won the coin toss), we could hear people yelling to each other down the street as they wandered home from the neighborhood bars. The last conversation overheard before falling asleep: "man, those meth-heads will steal, like, anything around here." Point well taken.

COTTAGE GROVE - JULY 27, 2007Sam and I got an early start the next day and arrive at his Aunt's house in Eugene. She was kind enough to give us a place to stay for the next two nights--we even had our own rooms and more hospitality than you could ask for on a road trip. There was plenty of time to see 'The Simpson's Movie', which was well worth the bargain matinée price of $5.25 (I can't remember paying less than $8 for a first-run movie), then we ate at a Taqueria before making the short trip down to Cottage Grove.

It was still pretty early when we met up with Colin Lake at the Axe & Fiddle. It was a much bigger venue than I expected and located in a two-story building that was also home to a used bookstore and a bakery; they even served beer in Ball Jars. [Historical Note: glass canning jars, or Ball Jars, were originally produced in Muncie, Indiana, home of Ball Brothers Glass Manufacturing as well as my alma mater, Ball State University.]

I guess you could call the town "sleepy", and by sleepy I mean the locals must go to bed early. Sam, Colin, and I each meant to play two 30 minute sets starting at 8:30. Instead of the usual surge of business that happens at most bars around 10:00, patrons were leaving by twos and threes, and very few took their place. I never found out if was us, or if this is the norm for a Friday night in Cottage Grove, but I realized that Colin, who would close the night, was destined to play to a near-empty house. The two of us combined sets and traded a song back and forth until quitting time, which was just shy of 11:30. I guess I've been living in Seattle too long, where the party doesn't stop until at least 1:00. Slow Friday night aside, I would love to play the Axe & Fiddle anytime--I wish there were more venues like it in Seattle.

[Speaking of Ball State/Muncie: there was this bar near campus called The Chug that stayed open until 4am, capitalizing on all the displaced drunkards from Dill Street and Headliners (both of which closed at 2am). Trust me, once the bartenders turned on the fluorescent overhead lights at 4am, you DO NOT want to see what people look like after six+ hours of binge drinking; this never failed to drive the disheveled masses out into the pre-dawn within a matter of seconds.]

It was after midnight as Sam and I headed back to Eugene, following sign after sign that promised the interstate was just ahead (one had turned so that it was almost facing away from the road). After driving miles deep, deep into the middle of nowhere and wondering if we were being led into a 'Deliverence'/'Texas Chainsaw Massacre' inspired trap, an on-ramp finally materialized. Safe and sound in Eugene, I fell asleep almost instantly, oblivious to the fact that our next gig at LUNA Jazz Club would turn into the unscripted lost episode of Twin Peaks.
TO BE CONTINUED...

Decoy

2007-08-03T15:21:00.000-07:00

Okay, my bad...somehow a month went by and I haven't posted anything. Tons goin' down plus plenty of stuff worth writing about, all of which will have to wait a little longer. Fear not: I'm editing the tales of my Oregon mini-tour with Sam Marshall as you read this decoy blog--and no, it was NOT a minibar tour, where we went from hotel to hotel drinking tiny little bottles of Jameson Whiskey and Grand Marnier. It was so much better!

Also, in a few short weeks I will head back to Indiana for my annual trek to see the family. As a new tradition, I will be playing a show in Richmond for friends, family, and ne'er-do-wells (sometimes one in the same). I may buy an RV from Tom Raper, and will certainly eat my weight in Pizza King pizza, but I hope there's no bronchitis-laryngitis fiasco like last year. Sure, it was fun to write about, but to hell with that noise--I'm ready for a quiet trip to my homeland.

We'll see...

Making The Band

2007-06-26T12:15:00.000-07:00

My whole concept of "Fragmented Life" blogs fell by the wayside. You get busy and then writing about things that happened six months ago seems almost...irrelevant; not the actual events, but the "writing about them" part (because marriage was a pretty big deal!).

From my earliest blogs, it's clear how much time I used to have. Dissecting the recording process of my first album at length, and speculating what I might do once it was released--it was pretty gratuitous. Now that I find myself living in the present (and isn't that the best place to live?), I still try to find a little time to look back at it all. So here it is, one hour to reflect and then I move on:

FEBRUARY-MARCHI met two drummers. Well, technically I met one in late 2006, but the prospect of playing music together wasn't brought up until March. In fact, the night after it became clear that talented Drummer X would never be available to rehearse and/or play a gig in the foreseeable future, I had drinks with Drummer Y; we'll call him Brian, because that's his name. Brian and I met on Myspace by chance and the fact that we both hail from Richmond, Indiana. I will lay out the similarities and coincidences for you as I did for him:

1) Grew up an hour east of Indianapolis, Indiana - check
2) Leo - check
3) Played music in Richmond - check
4) Former DJ at WECI - check
5) Attended Ball State 1994-1995 - check
6) Probably spent too much time at The Sunshine Cafe - check
7) Has a thing for obscure films - check

If I hadn't moved to Liberty at age four, we probably would have gone to school together--as it turns out, we can't recall ever having met in the past, even with a dozen mutual friends in common. Small world, but not small enough.

Not thinking he'd be into playing music he lovingly refers to as "that hillbilly shit", I never brought it up as a possibility. But he offered and I said "you bet"; soon we were in his basement where I proceeded to make fun of his stoner rock pounding and bullied him into playing my hillbilly s**t very quietly (also demanding he buy brushes and hot rods). Surprisingly, he didn't tell me to piss off and we met in the middle; I was looking for a harder edge on the new material and Brian delivered the sound I was after.

MARCH-APRILBefore I had met Drummers X & Y, I also made a minor attempt at auditioning bassists. My Craigslist postings brought out very few prospects, but of the two actual auditions, it was clear that one guy was waaay wrong for what I was doing, plus he less-than-gently shoved one of my cats off a chair so he could sit down; it took self-restraint not to shove him off the same chair and ask "and how do you like that, motherf****r?" But I didn't want him to land on the cat.

Next!

The second bassist was actually very nice, very good, and very into Chris Whitley, but we just didn't click; I'm into pushing the musical envelope and he was into regular postal delivery. While I remained on the fence about whether there was a future in working together, I played a show in Bellingham and witnessed the kind of bassist I was looking for.

Sam was in Matt Coughlin's band, who I was sharing the bill with at the Green Frog Acoustic Tavern. Ken (Creeping Time's bassist & songwriter) and I were playing as a duo that night, and while I love playing with Ken, Creeping Time and family leaves him little time to do much else. As we both watched Sam play, we looked at each other like "holy s**t". He had chops to burn and could put a bow to the bass like a cello, so when I found out he lived in Seattle, I had to ask if he wanted to play music sometime. It didn't hurt that I landed a gig at The Tractor Tavern not long after and invited him to join Brian and I for my biggest show in Seattle (so far).

MAY-JUNETwo rehearsals later, the three of us played a short opening slot at Highway 99 with little fanfare--it was rough at times, but not bad considering how disorienting going from the basement to the stage can be. Two more rehearsals and The Dark Pioneers were "unveiled" on the Tractor stage...lots of pressure to do well, but it seems we hit one out of the park-- and that's not a bad way to start any working relationship.

With the grand debut out of the way, let's see where we can take it next.

(And my time is up. That was way more than an hour.)

From Blown Speakers

2007-06-11T16:09:00.000-07:00

Maybe you remember a few months ago where I went off on a rant about the supposed DEATH OF THE ALBUM. Once I calmed down, I had to agree that the death of the CD was indeed coming and suggested other possibilities, like downloading and subscribing to an album online--getting updates, demos, access to videos, etc.--for an additional fee. Even I thought I was full of crap, but after reading a recent Pitchfork article, it appears that Matador Records and The New Pornographers are taking this idea and running with it. The future is now, baby!

Apocamon Now!

2007-05-29T23:13:00.000-07:00

REPENT, SINNERS, THE END IS NEAR!Quite frankly, it's always been near. We've been one step away from the Apocalypse for as long as I can remember, and each successive generation feels the sting. Perhaps, thanks to the pervasiveness of mass media, we now get to feel it a little more sharply and in High Definition. My e-friend, Urban Djin, wrote a great essay about The Rapture and the (ever)impending Battle of Armageddon that speaks to my own sensibilities--in fact, it was my fixation with what the rest of us will be doing after the Apocalypse that caused our paths cross in the first place.

BIBLE THUMPINGHaving already spent my childhood and teenage years studying the Bible according to the Jehovah's Witnesses, a couple of years ago I decided, on a lark, to do a little "research"--this meant reading the Book of Revelations in it's entirety and then writing a song from my current perspective, free of any religious affiliation. "The House Where Many Heads Are Gonna Roll" hasn't found it's way into my set for over a year, but the impact of the experience has kept me writing more songs that get down and dirty with music from that imagined Post-Apocalypse.

HELLFIREIt was during the writing of new songs for the next CD (a format that's having it's own Apocalypse) that I thought about what kind of artwork might be fitting. Suddenly I had a childhood memory resurface: little palm-sized comic books, fastened tight to my family's door handle by a rubber band. These would show up every so often and I remember opening one and seeing the Grim Reaper, the fires of hell, and some worried jackass that was having his nose rubbed in all the bad things he did in life. I did an internet search trying to figure out what I was remembering and couldn't find anything...but I found something else--TWO somethings, in fact!

BEHOLD!This is a scan from a 1974 Bible comic, based on There's A New World Coming by Hal Lindsey. This blew my mind, and not in a good way.

And on the other side of the shekel, how about the literal and (intentionally) hilarious view of the end presented in Apocamon: The Final Judgement. I actually find this less offensive than the New World Coming comic.

(Warning: a few of the chapters feature audio, so it's probably NSFW. Unless you work at an art school or something.)

AND IN THE ENDThe Universe provided a sign yesterday morning that prompted me to finally write this blog: while waiting on the bus I noticed a piece of paper, folded and laying next to the curb. Once I saw what was on it I had a minor freak-out moment, then grabbed it and quickly stuffed the dirt-covered page into my messenger bag as the bus arrived. It was a Xerox from THIS WAS YOUR LIFE--the very comic from my childhood memory, which is also known as a Chick Tract (as in Chick Publications). It all came full circle. In a moment of irony that I only wish was writer's invention, what I could not find on the internet I finally found in the gutter.

Scenes From A Fragmented Life (Part 3)

2007-05-20T22:21:00.000-07:00

SANDY, UTAH - JANUARY 24, 2007
It was getting late and I was on my way back from dinner with my friends Joe and Shelly. It's been nearly a decade since I've seen them; they have two kids now. They asked what I thought of the haze hanging over city, which had turned a murky beige-orange in the glow of the streetlights. They called it "The Inversion."

Since SLC is located in a valley, warm air from above sometimes traps colder air down below, especially on windless winter days; this causes a temperature inversion. When that happens, the warmer layer acts like a lid, trapping air pollution underneath. Without wind, the smog has no place to go and the resulting haze looks like a thick, grimy fog hanging over the city. According to local news, the air quality was two-and-a-half times worse than Los Angeles. Driving my big, gas sucking SUV down the interstate, I was now a proud contributer to The Inversion.---I was staying at the Comfort Inn in Sandy, which is at the south-most point of SLC and just off the interstate. It was the cheapest place I could find on short notice, even though it was 40 minutes away from Park City and Sundance. Unfortunately, Joe and Shelly couldn't have me over--Shelly runs a daycare business from home, making it against the law for me to stay there. My friend Cynthia, who also lives in SLC, was a newlywed. She and I used to date before she went off to college...that might have been a bit awkward for all parties involved.

Money issues aside, I was perfectly happy to have a room to myself; located on the first floor, my window opened to a snow-filled "courtyard" with a view of the parking lot and a car dealership just beyond. There was a single computer in the hotel lobby for guests; I was happy to get my email/Myspace fix on. For potential entertainment, the lounge adjacent to the hotel boasted an enormous sign proclaiming "Wet T-Shirt Wednesdays" and oil wrestling on Thursday nights. If this hotel had a personality, it managed to pull off both wholesome and seedy all at once--kind of like staying the weekend at your Grandma's, only your Grandma runs a whorehouse just outside of Vegas.

Once in my room, I tried really hard to operate a humidifier purchased at WalMart--which was meant to combat the dry desert climate and which I'd planned on returning for a full refund before leaving--but I finally gave up, unable to bend the laws of physics and cheap plastic to my will. No matter how many times I read the overly-simplistic directions and no matter how I assembled it, water would come flooding out the side every time. Just when I thought I was sticking it to Sam Walton's Empire, the last laugh was on me. I left the hunk of crap in the tub to dry and put new strings on my guitar while watching Myth Busters on TLC. It was about 1AM when I went to bed...

...and about 5:30 when I woke up. I heard what I at first thought was a fire alarm; deet deet deet deet deeeeeeet it rang down the hall. And then silence. There were no screams or commotion, so I decided it was safe to drift back to sleep. Hell, if there was I fire, I could step out my hotel window as easily as stepping over a couch.

And then it happened again. And again. Eventually I heard the hum of conversation and laughter. Was it one of those automated heart defibrillators, commandeered by a bunch of thrill-jockey insomniacs shocking each other for kicks? I drifted around the edge of sleep until 7:00 am when I finally got up, got dressed and went to see what the commotion was about. What I found was the continental breakfast crowd and one very obnoxious waffle maker, which would beep furiously as the waffle neared crispy perfection. Some bastard had left one to die when I got there, so I pulled the blackened disc off the grill and chucked it into the trash. When in Rome, I decided to make one for myself, grabbed an apple and some orange juice, and then went back to my room to play music until lunch. Sundance awaited and I was getting nervous as hell.

Live Tracks: "Rusty Blade" & "Dead Leaves"

2007-05-14T10:48:00.000-07:00

I've posted a couple of live tracks on my Myspace page for your listening and downloading pleasure. The first, "Rusty Blade", is from my show at Egan's back on April 10th--part of Charlie Spring's "Songs-In-The-Round" series. It's a brand new tune that I've yet to record, so aside from some hiss and a few audio glitches, this makes for a good demo. Soon, I hope to post some (*gasp*) video from this performance as well, but you can find two more audio tracks from the night on my website ("Seen The Glory" and "Dead Leaves"), both featuring Charlie Spring on harmonica. Many thanks to David Guilbault for video recording the evening.

The second is a live bootleg from my show at Conor Byrne on March 31st. It's part of a suite of songs (Dry Up Like A Dream > Goin' Over > Dead Leaves) performed with the sextet incarnation of the band, featuring the following hot shots:

Kjell Anderson - violin
Lincoln Barr - electric guitar
Dave Forrester - drums
Ken Nottingham - bass
Michael Spaly - violin
and me - singing, screaming, and resonator pickin'

I've only posted the "Dead Leaves" finale as Myspace is a cesspool of short attention spans, but the entire trio of songs (all 10 glorious minutes) is downloadable from my website as a single track. Be warned, the audio quality is low, despite my friend Brian Alter's best efforts; there were over 200 people crammed into Conor Byrne during the night, and at least 150 of them were doing there best to talk over the music. Brian bootlegged the show with my blessings, but was condemned to the far corner of the bar, away from the majority of the talkers, but also away from the front-of-house mix (what you're hearing is mostly from the stage monitors). Still, this version is more rockin' than you've ever heard before, with Lincoln's nod to the Pixie's in the bridge, some creepy Morricone-esque strings during the outro chorus, and a crashing finale that would make the Allman Brother's wet their pants.

Download it, enjoy it, and pass it on!

Scenes From A Fragmented Life (Part 2)

2007-05-13T20:44:00.000-07:00

SEATTLE, WASHINGTON - JANUARY 16, 2007
Jodi and I were trying on rings for the wedding next month. The Ring Lady at the counter was kind and excited for us. Since I'm pretty low key, I wanted a ring that was understated, with no diamonds or jewels to speak of; I have no tattoos or piercings either. Someday I may decide to work for the CIA, so you have to be ready for these things.

Having never worn a ring before, I didn't want my first to to be visible from space, so I went for the titanium. They were inexpensive but looked pretty good; definitely not flashy. "Here, try this one on," said the Ring Lady. So I carefully slipped it on over the index finger on my right hand.

Ring Lady and Jodi both looked at me like I just put ice cream on a Porterhouse steak. With sprinkles on top.

"Uhmm, you want to put it on this one, dear," said Ring Lady, tapping the ring finger of my left hand.

Did I mention I've never been married before?

VASHON ISLAND, WASHINGTON - FEBRUARY 7, 2007
I was in the middle of maybe the 7th take of my musical saw solo. The muscles in my left forearm started cramping up, a tight pain in my hand was flaring, and the phrase "carpel tunnel" tickled the distance. The nasty thought that took hold on the ferry trip over came calling again: what if I can't pull this off? And I was thinking this while expecting to play some crazy "whoo-OOO-ooo" sounds on one of Ian's songs; instead, I had 16 bars to run the gauntlet as a featured instrument. It was a difficult melody to play on the saw (for me), so I hoped that I could deliver a performance he could use...and that I could actually straighten out my left hand before my wedding the following night.---I finally met Ian Moore in 2005. Given his Austin roots, it surprised me when I found out he lived in Washington state, so I kept waiting for him to play locally; my chance came on a pre-Thanksgiving eve at The Tractor Tavern--a truly strange night of coincidences already immortalized in blog form. When I heard And All The Colors and Luminaria years earlier, Ian's music instantly won me over--not only was he an incredible guitarist and an equally gifted vocalist, but the music kept me guessing; he took tangents and risks in an honest way, not out of self-indulgence. While his guitar playing gained him a lot of well-earned praise earlier in his career, he was clearly focused on writing great songs, and the more I learned about his past, the more I admired his commitment to making music on his own terms.

After our first conversation, it was refreshing to also find out that he was a very genuine and down-to-earth guy. Among other things, we talked about the musical saw; I appreciated the fact that he featured the instrument prominently on several of his recordings, and it ever would have occurred to me, at the time, that I would be playing the saw on one of his albums--in fact, after admiring his work from a distance for years, it was kind of surreal to be hanging out in his home studio, talking about movies and eating eating avocado and Wheat Thins in his kitchen.---As I prepared for another take, I pushed the pain and self-doubt away and decided it was time to saw like I had never sawed before. Ian, in the meantime, had grabbed a digital camera. "Let me get a video of you playing," he said, "my kids'll want to see this."

"This better not end up YouTube, tommorow," I warned as I sawed like the wind.

Scenes From A Fragmented Life (Part 1)

2007-04-27T14:27:00.001-07:00

SALT LAKE CITY - JANUARY 24, 2007
About 5 minutes after leaving the airport in my rented SUV, I discovered that Salt Lake City is home to some of the worst radio stations I've ever heard; a Clear Channel sea of "classic alternative" rock that reminded me of Seattle's own 107.7 "The End" (yes, the one from Real World Seattle). In fact, one of the stations was "The End"--I didn't realize it was a franchise, but apparently the auditory disease has spread. There were at least six or seven stations playing the exact songs I heard in college during the mid-90's: Bush, Foo Fighters, Collective Soul, Stone Temple Pilots, Rage Against The Machine, Korn--plus a slew of new bands that sound EXACTLY like all the above. The Grunge backlash is still washing up on our shores, in perpetuity, like a great flannel-clad beached whale. (Sadly, it took me 48 hours to realize that the SUV had an audio input below my arm-rest, allowing me to plug my iPod directly into the stereo.)

I finally settled on Pearl Jam's "Daughter"--probably my least favorite song by a band I once adored, a band whose charms were pulverized by over-saturation. Their second album, Vs., was released during my freshman year at Ball State and you couldn't go anywhere without hearing it blasting from a dorm room, out of cars, or booming across the lawn of a frat house. Especially at the frat houses. The parade of cover bands that played Dill Street and Headliners on a Friday or Saturday night had Pearl Jam songs in their repertoire; one band mangled forever the song "Black."
-----
Here's how I loved Pearl Jam: after my friends and band mates from Oxford, Ohio had played me the Ten album (we would eventually cover "Alive" and "Evenflow"), I bought the CD--and keep in mind, I didn't even own a CD player yet! But I knew that once I finally got that tax refund check it would enable me to buy my very own boom box, and I wanted Pearl Jam to be the first thing that came out of those speakers. This was back when they used to over-package CD's in long, shrink-wrapped cardboard boxes; I bought it at Target and stuck it under my bed for safe-keeping. When that Sony CD player was finally mine (which I still have and it still works), I proceeded to play the living shit out of that CD.

A few years later I was doing my best to avoid hearing Pearl Jam at all. By the time I came back to them (shortly after Vitalogy), whatever magic that once was there was now lost. Maybe I wasn't the fan I thought I was, or else their first album found me at the right time and I just outgrew them. Still, I continue to admire and respect how they've approached their career and sustained it over the years, how they've managed to last long after the Grunge truck drove off the cliff...but I can't seem to get into them again, even though I've bought just about all of their official releases. (SIDE NOTE: Soundgarden--a band I loved even more than Pearl Jam--managed to make music that I still listen to; unfortunately, they broke up...and Audioslave most definitely DID NOT do it for me.)
-----
So there I was, tooling down the highway in a Ford Explorer, looking for the interstate and thinking how easy it is to blame a bunch of frat boys for ruining Pearl Jam for me. They probably all work for corporations now and plan ski trips to places like SLC and Park City in their fancy over-priced clothing and luxury sports vehicles; after they've had too much to drink and hit on at least one waitress (to no avail), they'll get nostalgic for the days when they used to get trashed at keggers while "Jeremy" blasted from their stereo speakers, Eddie Vedder's voice booming like a god and urging them to rock out.

It occurred to me that I happened to be wearing a fairly expensive wool cardigan(made much less expensive by a clearance sale and gift certificate). Suddenly, this equation appeared like a vision on the dashboard:

SUV + Pearl Jam + Cardigan = One of THEM

Shit! I'm a Yuppie.

Dead Records Society

2007-03-09T14:04:00.000-08:00

I felt like I got up on my high horse in my last blog, so I might as well stay up there a bit longer. My friend, Scott Andrew, recently started a discussion on his blog based on this post by Bob Lefsetz. I'm not sure that Bob's an authority on anything, but it caused my neurons to fire a bit.

NOT DEAD YET
The notion that musicians should stop releasing albums because the masses have lost interest in buying them is completely ridiculous. Since when should any creative individual conceded to popular trends--trends being the keyword--instead of following their own muse? And Bob has clearly never written songs; who sits down with the intention to write one great (hit?) song at a time...except Desmond Child or Dianna Warren? [Editors note: In re-reading the article, he's talking about hyping one song at a time...but still...]

STAND ALONE
Dander-raising article aside, I've become very aware of the fact that each song I write needs to stand on it's own, that some music lovers will pick and choose a song off of iTunes or Napster, or Rhapsody (or wherever) and not even listen to the other 10--that's fine by me, because one song is better than none, and I'm not looking to endear the casual listener anyways. My goal is to gather 10-12 songs that I not only think are great in varying degrees, but songs that have some sort of thread to hold them all together; this can be in the lyrics, in the music, or in a common theme. So what if I write a couple of "deep cuts" to help reinforce that fact, because I see it as nod to those who do love to listen to the whole shebang, no matter how many (or how few) are among that number.

GET PHYSICAL
Discussion on Scott's blog turned to the demise of physical product associated with music. I agree that it's headed for extinction--or at least a deep hibernation--in the years ahead. On one hand, I'll miss holding that physical object, reading the lyrics, checking out the liner notes, finding out who's endorsed by Vic Firth drumsticks, etc., etc. At the same time, I'm madly in love with my iPod. I've purchased very few CDs in the past couple of years and instead subscribe to eMusic and go to iTunes for my music fix--it should be noted that I almost ALWAYS download the full album. It should also be noted that I'm seriously reconsidering the inclusion of a booklet for my next album; it's a lot of money to spend on tricked-out packaging when that CD will be ripped and shelved within a matter of days.

PIMPED
Since the internet is the place to be, I'd like to see more web pages dedicated to albums, no matter how archaic that last word has become; this is in addition to the artist's website. Instead of booklets, you can have an interactive experience with your music collection. It could be as simple as photos and lyrics with a media player. If the rise of the DVD has proven anything, it's that a market is out there for the super fans and completeists, hungry for more than just the movie. You can always get a pimped-out version of the movie, complete with multiple commentaries, deleted scenes, interviews, and so on. Why not translate this to the online world of music--better still, why not subscribe to an album? Just for downloading the music (at a reasonable cost) from the Album Website, you can get free videos, unreleased tracks, "making-of" movies...make it an event, or a series of events that make it worth anyone's while to keep coming back. I've seen this happening on iTunes already, where you can download the booklet or videos along with the purchase of the full album, but the idea still has room to grow.

LOVE LETTER
Back to the iPod. Nothing is more brilliant than creating a playlist out of a few dozen albums that share something in common and then letting the whole thing play out at random. Instant mix tape! This has had an impact on me as a songwriter as well; how can I not get inspired hearing an obscure track from an Italian Western (by Morricone), followed by Blind Willie Johnson, segueing into Tom Waits, Califone, and then the Carter Family...and it's amazing when it all makes sense together. Eclectic, but under the same umbrella. In the era of the short attention span, diversity rules in music. The albums that I admire always have the ability to step out of that "sameness" without being too diverse, but I blame the modern recording industry for selling albums that are actually two or three singles and a whole lot of filler. It's this mentality that's been giving the album a bad name for decades, but there's still hope for it yet.

Those are some of my half-formed thoughts on the matter; feel free to weigh in. As it turns out, I've been reading more of Bob Lefsetz and I'm really liking what he has to say (I just don't agree about the death of the album, and you can't make me believe it!).

January Lost

2007-03-06T22:52:00.000-08:00

I remember January. It's all coming back to me now: the bad weather that began in December continued with rain and heavy wind. Real heavy wind--so heavy that trees, with roots loose in the wet top-soil, came falling down. Falling down on houses, on cars, on people. It was knocking power out all over the place; some would be without power for weeks. People were dying trying to heat their homes, pulling gas grills and power generators indoors; desperate and careless people.

The wind was fading by the time Jibran and I played Trabant Chai House, but it was still heavy enough that a gust took me by the guitar case and shoved me up against a brick wall. The following Tuesday I played a completely wind-free special event for the Washington Blues Society. It was here that I came to the conclusion that blues lovers really get it. Unlike the lukewarm reaction I've been getting with the folk community,here was an audience willing to take the leap with me.

*****
It makes sense. The foundation of the blues is turbulent at best, shot through with anger and sex and violence while a voice, often strained to the breaking point, lays it out there for you to take it or leave it; folk music--especially the model reintroduced in the late 50's--often plays the other side of aggression. With little malice read into those centuries-old verses, updated over time to remain topical and timely, a sense of reverence evolved around old music that sometimes bordered on pretension. By the sixties, this reinvigorated music of the folk became synonamous with protest and the counter culture. How unfortunate that our modern (and often innacurate) vision of folk is a graying hippy singing "The Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald" or "The Ballad of Casey Jones", or moreso the modern balladeer plaintively preaching to the choir about politics. So much pretension lingers around the edges, with a self-righteousness that would have Woody Guthrie doing a back-spring in his grave. This wealth of misperception is something I try to distance myself from, but playing an acoustic guitar and singing songs that pull ideas from the "American Folk Rulebook" landed me in that corrall.

It was always the darker aspects of those old folk songs that drew me in, spoke to me. What it said about society a hundred years ago, and how little things have changed--except maybe the concept of death, which was handled in an almost off-handed manner. Was it because there's always a savior to welcome us in the end, a heaven to go to, a river Jordan to cross? There was plenty of senseless violence in those lyrics too; those lyrics became "Knoxville Girl" or "Banks of the Ohio" or a hundred others, and were dealt without an eye blinking or a head turning. There was always justice in the end which had the perpetrator rotting in jail, burning in hell, or just dealt the God-given torment of a guilty mind. That music still says plenty about our truer nature, the stuff that Americans seem hell-bent on denying these days. It wasn't too long ago that religion wasn't such a back-seat driver but sat behind the wheel. And it was driving down a road free of phone poles and t.v. towers while public hangings, lynchings, and beatings drew a crowd of spectators. And the crowds were cheering for it, too.

*****
It shouldn't have taken me by surprise that my show went well (and later I'd get a great write up in the WBS Bluesletter). They wanted CDs, they wanted to sign up for my mailing list--things I couldn't throw at a folk audience for free. Here I was, afraid that not being a "blues artist" in the traditional sense (something else I've tried to distance myself from, though not as adamantly), that I'd strike out in the eyes of the blues purists--a much less pretentious bunch than the folk purists; apparently I won some of them over as well. It was good to walk away from a show for once with a better understanding of the audience. There was also plenty more buzz as I left, not about the music, but about the next winter storm that was closing in on the Northwest. 24 hours later, Seattle was covered in snow and ice again.

*****
After calling the C&P and hearing that the roads were a sheet of ice around the coffee house, I had to pull the plug on my second show with Jibran in West Seattle. It was a wise choice, justified by the evening news, which singled out West Seattle as having some of the worst driving conditions in the area. Lots of footage of cars and trucks getting half-way up hill, then sliding back down and crashing into parked cars and phone polls.

The snow was gone the next week, and thanks to Jibran's recommendation, I played my first house concert. Just me in a living room with 20 or so people. No microphone. One of the more intensely personal experiences I've had playing music and I can see doing it more often.

A few days later I was on a plane to Utah on my way to playing at the Sundance Film Festival. What would happen there? A lot of build-up in my mind about how it would go down, but then again that stuff we imagine--the best or the worst of it--rarely seems to come true. Instead, it's that place in the middle that you just can't bend your imagination around; it's either too mundane or too cruel to be the truth. But it is the truth.

Coming Attractions

2007-02-01T12:40:00.000-08:00

I've returned from the latter day paradise that is Utah and survived my really really brief journey into Sundance. Since I have a lot of personal and professional commitments going on this week and next, it'll be a while before I can sum it all up in a blog. But just so I don't forget, I want to thank everybody for their well-wishing, support, and/or smart-ass comments--you rock AND you roll (among other things), and I really appreciate it.

I have managed to at least post my set lists and "thank you's" on my website, which was no small task as I met a lot of people in a very short amount of time.

Check that out right here.

It was a great trip with way too many things to do and I only wish I could have stayed longer. One of the perks for performing at an official Sundance venue: I was given Sundance credentials (a laniard with an enourmous plastic badge), which meant I had access to all sorts of cool V.I.P. stuff...but, sadly, I had little time to do any of it; no movies, no director's forums, no hob-nobbing with the stars, schmoozing and boozing, etc. At any rate, look for the report on what did go down within the next week or two.

December: The 50m Dash

2007-01-10T09:03:00.000-08:00

I was supposed to take it easy in December; that post-Thanksgiving sound design wore me down and I had hoped to do nothing but record a batch of new songs for the next record. Before I knew what hit me, gigs came from out of nowhere, one of our cats got really sick, I turned into a saw-playing studio musician, I unearthed my inner-Beatles fanatic, had a phone conference with a record label, played my first double-header show (two cities in one day), played an outdoor gig in 45 degree weather, was bummed out by the X-mas death of James Brown, got my first taste of Tacoma super-stardom, and then, suddenly, it was a whole new year. There was no time to look back over 2006 as I was hustled out the door so quickly, and since I don't have much time to write about it now, I offer the 50m dash rather than the marathon:

1. Gigs galore. The X-Mas show at Jules Maes was a hoot (see Sam Russell's blog for the full scoop) and it led to an outdoor, Pre-Christmas Eve gig at Guitar Center in 45 degree weather; this was more fun than it sounds. On Dec. 16th I played a 5:00 show in Everett, WA and drove another hour north to play a 9:30 show in Bellingham; a great write up in the Cascadia Weekly helped bring a lot of folks out to the show and I had a blast, exhausted as I was. Finished off the year with my first Tacoma show, opening for the exceedingly cool Micheal O'Neill at The Mandolin Cafe.

Click here for set lists, show diaries, and thanks.

2. Our cat Bella spent over a week in and out of the vet's office. Blood tests, x-rays, and sleepless trauma for Jodi and I. The exact cause was never discovered, but eventually she could hold down liquids and solid food again and is back to making plenty of trouble (albeit as a much thinner version of herself).

3. Played my first session as a musical saw player on my friend Lincoln's forthcoming Red Jacket Mine LP. I can safely say this CD will kick our collective asses, so be on the look-out for it in mid-2007.

4. Read Geoff Emmerick's "Here, There, and Everywhere: My Life Recording The Beatles"; great fly-on-the-wall view of years recording The Beatles, helping them (and George Martin) push the limits of what is possible in a recording studio, and changing popular music forever. Highly recommended.

5. Had an awkward phone conversation with Shut Eye Records during a lunch break (my nerves, a cell phone, and a noisy dining room contributed to said awkardness); I like what Shut Eye stands for, they really liked my music, so they want to help me promote 'The Dead Leaves Sing' to radio stations geared towards Americana and roots music, paving the way for my next CD.

6. James Brown, R.I.P. Not a great way to start a Christmas day, but I did console myself by putting on James Brown's Funky Christmas...and danced with a mic stand when no one was looking.

Okay. I think this'll be my last blog for a while, but with my trip to Sundance coming up, rest assured I'll be back with the scoop.

November Rain...Then Snow...Then Sleet

2006-12-19T09:57:00.000-08:00

WEEK FOUR (11/26 - 12/02): Since Creeping Time maintains their busy schedule and rehearsal time is hard to come by, I've been in the process of putting together a full-time band; currently I'm auditioning bassists. On Sunday, while I was meeting with someone I met through Craigslist, it was snowing hard and heavy across the Puget Sound. When I got in my car to leave, there was a phone message from Jodi that the power had gone out at our apartment (it would stay out for the next 12 hours). There was also a message from Book-It Theatre: their sound designer left town before actually finishing her work on 'Bud, Not Buddy' and could I please step in and finish it. Oh, and the show opened that Friday.

Theatre is a lot like the mafia, because you're never really "out." And much like in 'The Godfather', I was finally called upon for that favor, like the kind Don Vito Corleone talked to about.

HOW THEATRE USUALLY HAPPENS
Typically, when doing a sound design for a show, I read the script months ahead of time, then meet with the director before rehearsals begin to talk about a concept; how are we going to create this world out of sound and out of music? Rehearsals usually run 3-4 weeks as I: a) build individual sound cues on the computer, b) compose music as necessary, c) pull prerecorded music from different sources to nail the mood of specific scenes (much like in film), and d) do a lot of technical stuff that I won't bore you with (including lots of paper planning and plotting). All along I'm visiting rehearsals and trying things out in real-time, fine-tuning my ideas as well as the director's. Are you with me so far?

Technical rehearsals usually last a week (often 12-14 hour days) where every single aspect of the show is finally put together on stage for the first time--costumes, lighting, props, set, sound, etc.--it's a very tedious and tense time as this is where a show lives or dies; hopefully everyone has done their homework so all goes as smoothly as possible. Next you preview the show in front of a live audience and figure out what works and what does not. Preview audiences love it when things go wrong--there's nothing like seeing a show suddenly stop while the director or stage manager corrects a major problem before moving on; nothing is more fun than live theatre on the verge of total collapse. Finally, the show officially opens and runs for weeks, or even months...that's how things usually go. Here's how 'Bud, Not Buddy' went for me:

MONDAY: Read the script for the first time and spoke with Mark (the director) by phone.

TUESDAY: Met with Mark that night after pulling some music and sound effects to listen to; the dress rehearsal that night was cancelled due to bad weather.

WEDNESDAY: Saw the show for the first time--with a full audience--and realized there was a lot of work to be done; had about two hours afterwards and an hour in the morning to build cues.

THURSDAY: Saw show again and Mark and I decided to change the music concept of the show; Monday's ideas no longer worked; two more hours to build cues that night.

FRIDAY: Opening night and I couldn't be there as I had a gig in the U-District with R.B Reed and Michael Vermillion; 'Bud, Not Buddy' ran with most of the original sound design (and a few supplemental cues by me).

SATURDAY: Up at 5am and building cues like mad; from 2pm-5pm, the actors and stage manager were called in for a special rehearsal just for me and my new cues (no pressure); miraculously, everything worked; saw the show with an audience, took notes and prepared for one final round of work.

SUNDAY: Up early and finished all that I could. Watched the show one last time and called it DONE!

SUNDAY NIGHT: Collapsed in a heap and vowed never to do theatre again...until the next offer I can't refuse comes along.

November (Before I Forget)

2006-12-17T18:48:00.000-08:00

Week One (11/1 - 11/4): I played my friends Connie & Jay down the aisle with The Beatles song "Here, There, and Everywhere" (after agreeing my own music was thoroughly inapropriate for for just about any occasion, including weddings AND funerals). Embarrasingly, I got lost on my way to the rehearsal dinner the night before (I mean REALLY lost), so it was nerve-wracking to play cold in front of a very large audience, trying hard not humilate the bride and groom during one of the most memorable moments in their lives. Since a lot of my friends and fellow Empty Space alumni were at the wedding, we also held a small wake of sorts for our little theatre, which had closed down for good just the week before.

Week Two (11/5 - 11/11): I was the featured performer at Seabold Second Saturday Open Mic (minus the mic) on Bainbridge Island. It was good to see my friend Eddie (he engineered and mixed 'The Dead Leaves Sing') and it was also a hoot to play at Seabold again, where most of the CD was recorded a year earlier.

The audience was very polite and attentive, even after the open mic portion ran about a half-hour longer than intended, but I'm afraid that many just didn't get it. Pleasant folk songs and standards that everyone can sing along with (often in spot-on harmonies!) go over well here, but my aggressive reinterpretation of early folk and blues made people literally draw back in their fold-out metal chairs. Not a lot of singing along to "The Reaper's Son" or "Sweat Through" but I still received some great compliments afterwards...though quite a few people just nodded their heads at me with a blank stare; nothing warms a performers heart like total indifference after a show. Geesh!

Week Three (11/19 - 11/25): After my Humpty Dumpty epiphany during the Macy's Parade, Jodi and I made a lot of food and then had desert with our friends down the street. I also made contact with two different record labels--Rounder and Shut Eye--wondering just what would happen. (More on that in future posts.) It was only a few peaceful days before all hell broke loose, both weather-wise and professionally.

TO BE CONCLUDED...

Thanksgiving: Down The Toilet

2006-11-24T12:56:00.000-08:00

Since my mind is in the gutter pretty much all of the time, I thought I'd share with you some personal chestnuts from the past couple of days.

1.
In two very seperate and unrelated conversations, discussion turned to the question: why is saying "poop" so much funnier than "shit"? One anwer was that society is inundated with vulgarity--we pretty much expect it. Hearing such a childish word coming from the mouth of an adult is surprising in the right context, so it makes us laugh. Another suggestion was the onomatopoeic quality of "poop"--it's a word derived from a the sound it's associated with (and what a gross sound it is). However you want to analyze it, My all time favorite expression is "hot poopy."

Other favorite words: engorged and festooned.

2.
Yesterday morning, I caught part of the feel-good attrocity that is the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. Watching the giant floats and cartoon balloons, I did a double-take when I saw the Humpty Dumpty balloon; it looked like a huge testicle in a red suit coat. What the hell is up with that?

From here on out, I've decided to pioneer the use of the word "Dumpty" in reference to testicles.

Example #1: "Hey pal, how'd you like a swift kick in the Dumptys?"
Example #2: "I'm gonna humpty 'til my Dumptys fall off."

3.
Walking downtown this morning, I got caught behind this massive drunken chorus line of pigeons. Besides being diseased little rodents with feathers, pigeons have always amused me (especially after a friend shared his theory that pigeons are actually mechanical birds with little mice operating them from the inside). Just as I stepped into the middle of their little Busby Berkeley number, they suddenly erupted into flight all around me. Holy Moses! I ducked and covered as this line appeared in my head:

"They're all God's creatures...until one of them shits on ya."

Now read that line again, only imagine it spoken by Charlton Heston, and that he says "poops" instead of "shits." Holy Moses, indeed.

---------------

And those are some thoughts I'll leave you with as you enjoy your Thanksgiving leftovers this weekend.

October 2006 - FAQ

2006-11-13T10:55:00.000-08:00

Since I was a little overindulgent with my last few blogs--the sweeping Indiana trilogy--here's the recap of October, done FAQ style:

Q: How did you spend the first week of October?
A: Recovering from my Indiana trip while my cold turned into a nasty cough.

Q: How much crap did you haul to your October 14th gig with Jon Itkin (at Trabant Chai Lounge)?
A: 3 guitars (one as a back-up), a powered pedal board for my effects, a duffel bag full of CDs and my mailing list, a stool (just the right height for my legs), two collapsible guitar stands, my lyrics notebook, two microphones, my guitar tool kit (plus picks and strings), and last but not least, a music stand as I was playing several new songs that night. Excessive? At least I left my guitar amp and mic stands at home. (BTW, Jon only brought his guitar and a backpack.)

Q: When Tower Records announced they were closing all their stores across the U.S., how did you end up getting screwed in the process.
A: I had my CDs on consignment at two Seattle stores and one in Portland (about 20 CDs total)--they would help me sell my product and take around 30% of the profit. When Tower folded and sold their assets to a liquidation company, they included all their consignments with independent artists. How they managed to sell what was never theirs to begin with is beyond me. If I wanted to get my money for the CDs they sold (plus partial reimbursement on the stock that didn't sell), I had to submit a good deal of legal paperwork and wait indefinitely with no guarantee I would even get half of what they owed me. Thanks, Tower!

Q: Did you just sit back and take it?
A: No, I went to both of the Seattle stores and walked out with my CDs under my coat. F**k you, Tower!

Q: When did you decide it was time to go to the doctor?
A: When my cough got worse and I felt like the walking dead. I was diagnosed with severe bronchitis and spent the third week of October in bed.

Q: After your recent laryngitis fiasco, did this freak you out knowing you had two big shows, band rehearsals, and a whole lot of singing to do before October 27th?
A: Totally freaked out.

Q: How did Lincoln Barr break a bone in his forearm a week before your gigs together?
A: He was working part-time at a restaurant to help pay for the upcoming Red Jacket Mine CD and slipped in a wet patch on the floor--I really think he was busting a move to impress his co-workers, but he denies this claim. Fortunately, it was a minor fracture and he was able to continue playing music. Unfortunately, he had to opt out of playing with Creeping Time and I on Vashon Island--as well as our shared bill at The O Lounge the next night--when a serious and painful flare-up sent him back to the doctor. Luckily, he's back in action (and talk about a musician's nightmare).

Q: When did you realize you were totally screwed, sound-wise, at your Vashon gig?
A: When Creeping Time and I took the stage to do a sound check and noticed there were no stage monitors set up. After a forty minute (!!!!!) sound check trying to find a way to hear one another on stage, we proceeded to rock the house...tentatively. BTW, Vashon Islanders are cool folks and great tippers--but don't ever EVER make wisecracks at their expense or they will ride you out of town on a rail (or tied to the front of a ferry, in this case).

Q: What happened after you electrocuted yourself onstage, causing the stage lights to momentarily dim and a tendril of electricity to shoot between your lips and the ungrounded microphone you were singing into?
A: I said something intelligent like: "Holy f**ckin' sh*t!"

Q: Did you feel like a total dumbass when, after a 2am ferry ride back from Vashon, you went to pick up your car only to find they'd closed off the exits to the parking lot?
A: Like a total dumbass, unable to read the enormous sign that said "THIS LOT WILL CLOSE AT 11:00pm." Luckily, Michael and Kjell were willing to roll back some mini-boulders to allow me enough room to drive my car over the grassy median, the sidewalk, and onto the street to sweet sweet freedom. Let's just hope there wasn't a camera installed in the lot.

Q: Did folks show up in costume at your O Lounge gig the next night?
A: Surpisingly few, though the cast of Austin Powers arrived later on--a lot of folks were at Halloween parties on a Saturday evening. (Note to self: don't book a show on one of the biggest party weekends of the year.) The best news of the night for me was that my voice was back and better than even the night before. Oh, and the "Thank You's" for both shows are right here.

Q: How did you react when you found out you'd be playing a music showcase at the 2007 Sundance Film Festival?
A: You remember how Daffy Duck would flip out and "woo-hoo woo-hoo whoo-hoo" his way of into the sunset? Kinda like that. The only thing that brought me down to earth was that I had to arrange and pay for my own travel and lodging expenses ($$$).

Q: On the last day of October, did it upset you to learn that The Empty Space Theatre, your life altering first job in Seattle, closed down for good after 36 years in business?
A: It was like hearing an ex-girlfriend had passed away. The relationship was way over after six good years (and a fairly amicable split), but I still cared about the place. For many here in Seattle that were interested in such a thing, The Empty Space had a knack for creating groundbreaking theatre on a tight budget; it will be missed.

Q: Are you getting fed up with this FAQ business?
A: You bet your ass I am! Let's shut'er down...

Back Home, Indiana: The Final Chapter

2006-10-31T14:33:00.000-08:00

DEATH IS EVERYWHERE - SATURDAY, SEPT. 23rd (again)
When I mentioned my trip to Indiana last year--the one with the stress and the yelling, and the moving--there's one memory I can't let go of: Mom had taken me to my grandfather's plot in Abington cemetery where she and grandma had bought enough land to bury all three of them, side-by-side. With the financial problems brought on with the funeral and the new home, my family couldn't yet afford to buy a tombstone, especially one to accommodate three names. Consequently, there was no clear indication as to where exactly my grandpa was buried, so mom pulled out a photocopied map and walked the space to point it out to me. Plenty of time had elapsed since the burial, so a fresh patch of green had risen and blended in with the rest of the cemetery lawn. I studied the ground carefully, trying hard to imagine that this wasn't just any patch of grass. Mom picked helplessly at a cluster of weeds, tending to her father's unmarked grave. This image of her has remained with me in all it's mundane sadness.
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It was fitting that on the last day of my trip (and over a year later), we would return here to see the new headstone that they could finally afford; a small, morbid triumph. It was something to behold seeing that long stretch of marble rising about waist-high, if not a little ominous seeing all three of their names across the front (with open-ended finales for my mom and grandma). In a strange post-modern twist, a digitally engraved photo of my grandparents was etched into the left corner of the headstone--my grandma had mentioned having this done with a pride and wonder, but it was a shock to finally see it. Looking around the cemetery, there was a lot of this type of work on many of the newer headstones, some with what almost looked like Japanese lithographs of wilderness scenes; I could see this sort of chintz on crushed velvet at yardsales, but it looked almost elegant on marble.

And then I started thinking what would end up on my headstone if I died before my mom. It was almost certain that she'd put my horrible high school portrait on there: me in all my teenage gawkiness, crooked-necked and giraffe-like with enormous ears that my head would eventually grow into...and that bizarre futuristic background straight out of the movie Tron; I had pleaded to her for years to take that damn thing off of the wall and burn it, or at least hang it in the garage to scare off the bats. Now I was starting to see that image staring back at me, right there on a big slab of marble and above my expiration date. I shuddered like the very hand of death was already fondling my leg.

"I think we should go," I sputtered. It really was time.

And as the first drops of rain started to splash on the windsheild, we headed for Cincinnati. I called the stage manager for my MidPoint showcase. "Just wanted to let you know I'm on my way."

IT SEEMED LIKE A GOOD IDEA - SATURDAY NIGHT @ 10:40pm
And there I was again looking out over another audience, this time full of total strangers, not sure what was going to come out when I sang, but I knew I had to do this.

Kaldi's was a coffehouse, a bar, and a restaurant. One side was full of books and espresso machines while the other was full of beer drinkers and cigarette smoke. It also became the makeshift command central for late arriving artists to check in, and where the volunteers were gathered and sent on their mission. Mom and I had arrived there way too early, so we waited patiently; she stared around in awe while the organized chaos of a major festival swirled around us, but after a decade in live theatre, I was like "ehh." In between throwing back a few gallons of hot tea and gargling salt water, I met a kindred spirit in Bill Reveles from L.A. He had also had arrived very early and was subsequently scolded by one of the staff for asking questions. While we waited, I croaked to Bill about my vocal troubles and he hoped I would come off sounding like Richard Sterban, the bass vocalist from The Oakridge Boys...or was it Harold Reid, bass vocalist from the Statler Brothers? Why do I know these things?

The correct answer was none of the above. And as I started playing, I hadn't counted on how thick the smoke would be on this side of the room. In between verses and during instrumental breaks, I ducked to the left of the mic and broke into fits of coughing--coughing so violent that it made me gag--and then leaned back into the mic, eyes all watery, to keep a grip with my new bass/baritone voice (that just seemed kind of flat and dull, not aged and bluesy like the night before). Things got a little easier a few songs in, and wouldn't you know it, Walt from the Libertines showed up. It was encouraging to have another familiar face in the audience, and when I looked over towards his table, I noticed across from him was a guy writing something frantically in his notepad. "What was the name of that song," the writer asked after I finished "Dry Up Like A Dream." Oh hell, what a night to have a reporter in the audience. At least he enjoyed the music, though I have now gone from being the Appalachian Al Jarreau to the Tom Jones of Americana. The jury is still out on how I feel about this. Finally--thankfully--I wrapped up my set and rasped my thanks to the audience one last time while Andrew, the stage manager, came up to me.

"Great job, man! Really good...but you've got, like, ten minutes left."

Sweet weepin' Jesus! 10 more minutes? So I played a very rugged version of "Sweat Through" and had to call it good. Doing my best to meet and thank everyone I could after the set, I didn't sell a single CD and nobody attempted to carry me into the streets (though a homeless guy kept asking me for money). On the car ride home, mom seemed exceptionally proud that I went up there and did it, though it clearly upset her that the audience didn't get to hear what I really sound like.

When we reached Liberty, she pulled down South Street and drove by our old home. I confessed that I did the same the night before; a surreal experience since there were no cars in the drive and no lights on in the house. It had looked vacant and lonely Friday, like we'd left it alone to fend for itself, but tonight there were cars in the drive. It was sad but comforting to see our house had moved on, but knowing I would never see the inside again, at least not without the involvement of the police.

We pulled up to the Richmond house at 1:00am and I wobbled down to the basement where I finished packing. After just a few hours of sleep, I was back up again and saying goodbye to my family, arriving at the Dayton airport, and then I was on a plane to Seattle. This was, without a doubt, the most civil and unusual trip home I've ever had. Coincidentally, I would get home and sleep for about 14 hours straight; I'd like to think I earned that.

Back Home, Indiana (Part Two)

2006-10-22T23:01:00.000-07:00

And now for the continuing saga of my Indiana trip. Since I don't have time to finish it, this is part two of three, so it's sort of like "The Empire Strikes Back" where everything ends on a downer note: Han's encased in carbonite, Luke's got no hand but a new daddy from the dark side, and Leia is about to learn she's been making out with her brother... (BTW, I'm a total geek.)

SATURDAY, SEPT. 23rd
It was a little after 12:00 on a Saturday afternoon and I had just been on the phone with the stage manager for my MidPoint showcase. I asked how much notice he needed before I cancelled my performance--even though I knew the answer would be "right away"--and he said he'd call me back while he no doubt lined up my replacement. This was about to be the first time in my life that I ever cancelled a gig and, to make matters worse, this happened to be the most press and attention I'd received for any show I've played so far. Canceling this one just didn't seem like an option, and yet the fact remained: I had no voice.

FRIDAY, SEPT. 22 (the day before)
So that cold I was so confident I'd kick had taken a turn for the worse and settled down in my lungs. By Thursday my voice started to go and, stubbornly, I went to Cincinnati to see some of the MidPoint Festival panels; I was especially looking forward to meeting CD baby founder Derek Sivers and one of my funk heroes, Bootsy Collins. By chance, I would run into Walt from Cincinnati's local legends The Libertines, who called me out by name after one of the panels. "Who the hell knows me here?" I thought. Turns out he recognized me from my Myspace photo. Later, I would meet up with my high school friend Shawn and eat Thai food with his family. Okay, maybe I shouldn't have been out and maybe I shouldn't have been talking, but what am I gonna do? It's not like I see the guy very often and doing mime is not my thing.

Already dead tired and after a hell ride through a horrific thunderstorm (which would also wreak havoc on the festival), I had to do some vocal damage assessment once I got home. What songs could I still sing, even if an octave lower. My upper range was shot, along with my falsetto, and my lower notes had dropped down into Barry White-by-way-of-Lou Reed territory, so I revised my set list and cautiously ran through songs that were do-able, trying not to do anymore harm to my pipes. Miraculously, my voice took on this great timbre that made me sound 50 years older and world weary; this seemed like a great thing to play up tomorrow as I imagined a stunned audience hearing this grotesque blues-man voice coming out of this lanky white boy. Also in my imagination, I sold about 50 CDs and the crowd carried me out into the streets, celebrating this remarkable performer that came to them from the Pacific Northwest and moved them to tears.

This thought would carry me to bed, but sleep would never come.

SATURDAY (again)
By 7:00am, I still hadn't been able to fall asleep, and I would emit these little sounds about once an hour to see if anything would come out. "Ribbit." That was about all I had. "Ribbit." By 8:00, I had managed to doze off for an hour until the paranoia had me up again. By noon, I tracked down the number of the stage manager and called, croaking into the phone, not sounding like the gravel-voiced blues man of the night before, but more like a dying bullfrog. With asthma. I gave myself one hour after the call to continue trying everything I could think of to help resurrect my voice, even just a little. My family were worried for me and couldn't see what it would prove to go through with the show. I was slowly starting to agree with them. So, when my hour was up and I had agonized over the decision long enough, I made the call.

Back Home, Indiana (Part One)

2006-10-18T10:19:00.000-07:00

Here's the belated Indiana blog. Expect it to be a little chewy since it's now a month old and a bit stale.

PRELUDE
Let me back up a bit: a year ago when I went to visit my family in Indiana, the scene was chaos. After my grandfather had a made a very protracted exit from this life--his condition had deteriorated to the point that my mom and grandma were caring for him at home continuously night and day; efforts to hire a home nurse had failed and to put him in a nursing home meant putting the house up for collateral (or something like that). So, after years of stress and sorrow, my grandfather passed away at Reid Memorial Hospital in late 2004. It couldn't have been more than a few months later that mom and grandma decided to sell the house in Liberty; the house I grew up in, as well as my mom, and the one my grandfather helped to build in the early 60's. This was something they had talked about for years, but it really surprised me they would do it right now, trading one stressful reality for another. By Spring of 2005, they had already bought a great new house in Richmond without a buyer for the old one. Pushing ahead, they began the long and painful process of packing up and moving out of a place that had accumulated over 40 years worth of stuff. I come from a family of compulsive pack-rats, so this was no small task. Months later, when I came for my annual visit, I stepped right into this mess.

Having heard about The Big Move for some time, I expected to return home and help relocate the big-ticket items (couches, desks, tables, and such), so I completely freaked out when I saw the old Liberty house looking...well it looked about the same as it did the year before, only with a few boxes piled here and there. Due to some bizarre logic (and probably because they were a little rusty at the whole packing thing), they had also flat-out refused to rent a U-Haul and instead loaded things up two carloads at a time and drove them 40 minutes round-trip to the new house in the evenings (as my Mom works a full-time job). My Aunt and Uncle and friends of the family were pitching in to help whenever a new batch of boxes were filled and ready to go, but the task seemed almost helpless. Adding to this great unspoken stress, I came to visit during one hellishly muggy August in Indiana. After ten days worth of arguing, raging tempers, and hurt feelings, I could only hope that this years trip would be more civil.

THURSDAY, SEPT. 14th
By the time I had landed at the airport in Dayton, Ohio, I had already lost my goals. Literally. The notebook I had been keeping track of my career goals in for the next ten years (don't laugh, I'm totally serious), plus all of my monthly goals and lots of doodles and notes from 'The Dead Leaves Sing' sessions, remained tucked behind a seat on my flight out of Seattle; nothing irreplaceable, but a stupid way to kick off a trip. Luckily, there were no nude sketches, incriminating photos, or sexual poems about tractors in there; I keep that shit locked up at home. The good news was my guitar arrived not only with my suitcase, but in one piece. The last two times I checked a guitar as luggage, it was lost--both times!!--for over 24 hours. (I brought my cheap Yamaha guitar for this trip, just in case...)

Mom and I arrived at the new house, and it was good to see she and grandma had settled in. As in the old house, there was still about three-too-many pieces of furniture in every room and more evidence that, no matter how strapped for cash my family is, grandma was still addicted to the Home Shopping Network and the "As Seen On TV" store. It's both endearing and a little worrisome. Ambling up beside me in his lopsided gait, it was good to see Jake was still with us--that poor little guy has been the family pet for at least 15 years and still manages to get around. We all predicted that he wouldn't last long after grandpa died (they were attached at the hip), but here he was, blind and bow-legged with a skin disease, just as happy to greet me as any other visit home. It was late, so my folks were headed for bed. I took my stuff down to the furnished basement that would be my home for the next week (a definite upgrade from the old house), but not before I satisfied my internet fix. Go a full day without email and Myspace? Are you nuts?

FRIDAY, SEPT. 15th
Before even playing a note, I sat on the stage at Charlie's and looked out over all those people. I experienced a wave of something--stage fright maybe?--something I couldn't say that I've felt before, but something overwhelming. I don't have problems playing for large crowds (actually, I find playing for 4-5 people more intimidating than a thousand), but this audience was full of family, high school friends I haven't seen in many years, friends from college, some of my mom's co-workers, several Myspace friends that I finally met in person, and a whole group of Earlham College students there to see the band that would play after me. Also, by cosmic coincidence, my dad had flown in from Las Vegas to visit my Uncle Ron, who I haven't seen since the funeral for their mother (my Grandma Betty) nearly 10 years ago. In turn, mom and dad haven't seen each other in as long--they had divorced before I turned five, but remained civil and in touch over the years. This was a lot to digest all at once, and to suddenly be on the stage to show everyone what I'm doing with my life brought on a massive dose of self-consciousness. Plus, I was being videotaped; sink or swim, this one was going to be archival footage in the family time capsule.

If there was any comfort to be found, it was that the place was named after Charlie Chaplin. I'm a Chaplin freak--'The Circus' and 'City Lights' are two of my all-time favorite movies, and I strongly believe he was one of the most innovative filmmakers that ever lived, making movies in an era where there were no rules, no special effects, and no dialogue--so it was good to be flanked by a wall of Chaplin memorabilia in this beautiful old brick building converted into a very large coffee bar. There was nothing left to do but play knowing that The Tramp, Chaplin's most enduring character, had my back.

REWIND: Looking back at the videotape, the performance was not as bad as it felt while coming out of me. I still mangled the cover songs and the self-consciousness was clear--as clear as my between-song banter was mumbled and incoherent--but not an embarrassment. I would not be disowned and I had even sold some CDs after the show...so great news all around.

SATURDAY/SUNDAY, SEPT. 16th/17th
Relaxing now that the first show was over, I could spend the rest of the week preparing for the MidPoint Music Festival showcase, and do a proper visit with the folks. The mood of this trip was already sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows in comparison to last year, and it wasn't deep in the dregs of an Indiana summer for once. But in true Mid-Western fashion, the high of 80 on Sunday would give way to a low of 35 by the coming Tuesday night; it was no wonder that my Northwestern-acclimated, mild-weather-lovin' ass would succumb to this freakish temperature change. No big deal: I was coming down with a mild cold. I'd kick it before I had to play next week. Plenty of time.

If only the future-me could've jumped back in time to slap me with the ham hock of reality, I would have seen a doctor right away. Instead, I drifted towards my fate with a smile on my face and a slice of Pizza King pizza in my hand. It would get much, much worse from here.

Back In Time (Without Michael J. Fox)

2006-09-27T16:23:00.000-07:00

I'm going to jump back in time a little bit, and without the aid of a flux capacitor. Let's wind our clocks back to September 9th, where I made my first trip to Snohomish, Washington...

WIRED & UNPLUGGED
Let me say I really loved playing here. I had never been to Snohomish before, but I loved the neighborhood around the coffeshop. Wired & Unplugged also happens to have a wildy popular open mic that, had I been more keen to this, would have played there the night before my gig. As it stood, I had a pretty small turn-out that Saturday, but one of the best groups I've played for in a long time; two sets of music on my own (no Lincoln Barr or Michael Spaley to save me this time). I managed to debut a new song ("Weeds Grow Around") and dust off one that I haven't performed for over a year ("Safe Down In Here"), plus added covers by Gillian Welch ("Whiskey Girl") and Neil Young ("Lookout For My Love"). For the first time, the set list became pretty fluid, to the point where I could swap songs around depending on the mood of the room, or drop songs altogether if I just wasn't feelin' it--I've been hoping to get to that point, eventually dispensing of a list whenever I'm playing solo. Rick & Kathy run a great place in Snohomish and I look forward to playing there again.

Click here for Thank You's (and a lack of a set list).

This weekend I'll get to writing about my Indiana/Ohio trip and talk a little more about the MidPoint Music Festival; as if a family visit doesn't come with enough drama, my least favorite question "what if I lost my voice before a big show?" finally gets an answer.

MidPoints, Podcasts, and Bootzilla

2006-09-21T19:04:00.000-07:00

I'm here in Indiana with a spare moment or two, so I thought I'd play a little writing catch-up. This Saturday is my debut at the MidPoint Music Festival in Cincinnati, Ohio and I was fortunate enough to be featured in their 4-part podcast series. In Episode 3, you get to hear part of a phone interview that I did with Jay Hopper before I flew out to the Midwest (or rode a lawnmower, depending on who you ask). It features the song "The Final Blow" and you also get to listen to me sounding like I just woke up...I could've sworn I sounded more, uhm, alive at the time, but maybe I always sound like I just woke up. Thanks to Jay and MidPoint for graciously giving me some virtual air-time.

SMALL WORLD NOTICE: Ellen Cherry, the other featured artist for Episode 3, name-checks singer/songwriter Andrew Norsworthy, who I met through my friend Patrick Porter (Explone, Red Jacket Mine) in Seattle. This is helping me close in on a theory that Porter is actually the center of the musical universe. I'll be publishing my findings in next months issue of Starlog magazine.

Speaking of Podcasts, I'd like to mention PC Podcast with Pete Cogle, "an eclectic mix of music from all around the world, via a small village in Sussex." Pete was so kind as to feature "The Reaper's Son" on his September 16th episode. Thanks Pete!

And I'd also like to mention Radio Enigma, and especially give belated thanks to revRecluse (host of The Recluse Show) for playing "Dry Up Like A Dream." He even went so far as to create a banner on the Radio Enigma homepage that links back to my website. Thanks [R]ev!

Okay I'm up bright and early tomorrow to catch some of the speakers and panelists at MidPoint, including Derek Sivers, founder of CD Baby and--oh hell YEAH--William "Bootsy" Collins, baby!

The Appalachian Al Jarreau?

2006-09-13T12:38:00.000-07:00

There's a lot of colorful sayings that I recall from my Indiana youth, and I guess they've been a little closer to the surface recently, seeing as I fly home tomorrow. One of them asks the age-old question: "How long you gonna polish that turd?" Another one of my personal favorites: "It's time to shit or get off the pot." (What is it with the Midwest and feces? Cowpie Bingo anyone?) Well I've been sitting on this blog for way too long, and time has come to...I'll let you fill in the rest.

RING THE GLORY
One of my dreams has come true: "Seen The Glory" is officially a ringtone! You ain't lived until you've heard the polyphonic version; imagine the bonus round in Super Mario Bros., with Mario & Luigi, jumping over glowing mushrooms and collecting coins in mid-air...which is exactly what the song is about (not the lack of spirituality in Christianity, as my analyst once told me). Deedle-eedle-dee indeed.

NEVER TURN YOUR BACK ON THE AUDIENCE
Caffe Bella: It was great playing with Freddy & Darby (of Sneaky Thieves) and Or, The Whale, down to a six piece that night. Cool place, and I highly recommend sharing the bill with large ensembles--no matter how much of a crowd shows up (or doesn't), you still end up playing for a lot of people...what I don't recommend is playing music in a coffee shop after 10pm on a weeknight. As Ken took the stage to play some bass with me, I turned my back to the remains of a decent-sized audience to switch guitars. When I turned around, only the bands and a couple of friends remained. Poof! Like magic.

Bishop's: What a bizarre night and an unusual crowd. I suppose for the sake professionalism, I'll skip over some of the behind the scenes turmoil and talk about the audience instead. It was a large crowd (many there to eat dinner) but their energy felt really low and most songs ended with the polite applause you might hear at a PGA tournament. What surprised me was finishing my set, stepping out into the audience, and hearing nothing but enthusiastic comments--not CD buying enthusiasm, mind you, but you can't have it all. A lot of nice people were in attendance, but maybe they didn't know what to make of the music?

A little later, I met two cool girls from The Netherlands; quite a coincidence, running into them on Vashon Island in Washington! I told them I'm more popular with the Dutch than with Americans--there are probably more radio stations in Belgium and The Netherlands playing my CD than over here, and I had just received another great review from Rootstime.be that very morning (to add to Hanx.net and Altcountry.nl). Before I make any tour plans and head off to Europe, it looks like I'll be playing at Bishop's again in October--this time with Creeping Time joining me--and hopefully the crowd is just a little more excitable.

LOSER IN TRANSLATION
Speaking of great reviews that you can't read, it's unfortunate that a lot of great press for the CD is just beyond the realm of my interpretation. I ran my Dutch-language reviews through the Babel Fish Online Translator, but there were a lot of words that fell outside of the program's limited dictionary. I swear to you, though, that one reviewer actually referred to me as the Appalachian Al Jarreau...I don't think it was meant as a compliment.

TUMBLIN' TUMBLEWEEDS
Over Labor Day weekend, I played the Tumbleweed Music Festival in Richland, WA. After a getting caught in the holiday weekend traffic (1 hour and 35 minutes spent driving at 10 mph!) and a slightly surreal nighttime drive through the Cascades and through the desert on the other side, I finally arrived at the Bali Hi Motel.

The next day, I couldn't have asked for more beautiful weather. The park was located on the bank of the Columbia River and, unlike Bumbershoot or Folklife in the Seattle Center, it was very spacious. It drew a good-sized crowd but it didn't take 10 minutes to walk two steps like the Seattle festivals. I played a decent enough set for an early afternoon, and even the giant geese that wandered along the front of the stage didn't seem to mind. I'm talking HUUUGE geese--grotesque land-dolphins with pipe-cleaner necks and webbed feet; yes, I was a little intimidated, especially when one of them snapped up a small child like he was kipper. [::shudder::] Luckily, Creeping Time arrived to save the day, and they even had me up to play "The Final Blow" in the middle of their set. That night we all went for a cook-out at Kjell's folks, and the next day I was back on the road. Good times and well worth the drive.

COMING UP NEXT: Wired & Unplugged, Indiana, and the MidPoint Music Festival. And nothing about feces or Al Jarreau.

Truncated Recap

2006-08-15T22:24:00.000-07:00

Trying to do a recap of the last several weeks, I was again surprised at how something that happened less than a month ago feels like the distant past. Before my mind folds it away for good, here's a recap:

CD Release Party @ Tower Records, July 19th: good times in an awkward location (right in the middle of the sales floor). Playing with Creeping Time and Lincoln Barr as a mighty six-piece; it was also the first time CT & Lincoln had played together ever, but you could hardly tell it. Thanks a ton to Travis for making it happen. I even managed to sell a CD based on the sound check alone, and Don & Deb Slack made it to the show, as did Dave Quicksall, with his wife Rachel and daughter Maia. Dave has always been one of my favorite directors to collaborate with in town (we worked on Don Quixote together, among many other shows), and we share an equal love for the Spaghetti Western and the music of Ennio Morricone.
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Dearborn House, July 22nd: Cancelled...kind of a bummer, actually.
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Hotwire Online Coffeehouse, July 28th: Continued the trend of good shows that are sparsely attended. Lincoln and I gave it our best for the small audience and I met some cool new folks in the process. The kicker was being handed $3.25 as payment at the end of the night. Jackpot! A few more gigs like that and I can retire. After dropping off my gear at home, I high-tailed it to Conor Byrne to catch a great final set by Jennifer Lynn and her band (out of Portland). I "met" her and her husband Tim Cowan on Myspace, so it was cool to finally meet them in real life. They also had some tips on great places to play in Portland; a road-trip is forthcoming.
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Vashon Island Earthfair, August 6th: Jodi and I took an early ferry to Vashon and had a great little day on the island. When we went to check in at the front entrance (it was held at a state park), the check-in gal couldn't find my name on the list. I pointed out that I was right there on the program, and yet I was repeatedly asked what band I played in...no band, just me. After convincing her that I really was Nathan Wade and that I really was there to play music (by myself, without a band), we were signed in and given a parking permit, good for only two hours--one hour before and one hour after my performance; the parking area for musicians was pretty small. It gave me enough time to check out Michelle Dedman and Colin Spring, as I was performing in between; both were fantastic, and Colin was especially hilarious. I'll get a chance to see Colin again when we're both at the Tumbleweed Music Festival.

Got to play in a real tent (not one of those plastic contraptions) and through a solar powered sound system. Sold a CD and met another refugee from Indiana (why do we all end up in Washington state?). Also got to meet Pete, the great guy who signed me on in the first place, and Enoch, my emmcee, who asked me to come play another festival on Vashon.
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The Acoustic Tavern, August 12th: Lincoln and I drove up north to Bellingham to play at this one--nice little place at the end of what might have been the main strip of the city at one time. It was a beautiful summer evening, so we had dinner at the Boundary Brewery and sat out on their patio. Other than the part where a stealthy bird shit on my leg while we were waiting on our food, it was a good experience. After I cleaned up, I dropped Lincoln off at the Rougue Hero to inquire about a gig for Red Jacket Mine while I drove around doing vocal warm-ups.

Locally, this particular weekend was the big Subdued String Band Jamboree, plus another big festival nearby, which meant most of the folks who would normally come to check out an acoustic performer would have plenty of other options. Well, the scene was pretty bleak at the tavern: by 9:45pm, there were only 4 patrons in the place, including a schizophrenic homeless man who regaled us with tales of the Holy Grail (not the movie!) and Rasputin as we set up, plus Paula and Terry, who were working the bar. To my surprise, it was a tips only deal (I had originally been told there would be a charge at the door)--luckily, more people showed up as the evening progressed, and a few kind folks actually left tips, which is a very rare occurrence. I managed to sell three CDs that night, play two fairly solid sets of music, debut a Hank Williams Sr. cover ("I'll Never Get Out of This World Alive") AND a Nine Inch Nails cover ("Wish"), and had a good time overall.
------------------------------------------
I suppose there'll have to be a part II, since a lot more happened between then and now. Let me sleep on it and I'll get back to you...

(Re)State of the Union

2006-08-01T21:21:00.001-07:00

I've got newguyitits. It's no big deal--it's not like I've got herpes or diptheria or something--it's just a bit dislocating after playing music for close to 20 years. That's a lotta bands and a lotta high school gymnasiums, auditoriums, youth centers, music stores, clubs, bars, bars, more bars, etc. to learn one's chops in. My father is also a professional musician who's spent most of his life touring and travelling. My folks had divorced before I turned five, so his world was pretty far removed from mine. But when I started seriously playing music in my early teens, we found a great deal more in common, and I was eventually joining him onstage, gaining a lot of perspective on professionalism in the music business--or a total lack thereof, depending on who was in the band at the time.

I moved to Seattle about a decade ago, and I spent most of that time as a composer, sound designer/engineer, music supervisor, and playing live onstage in theatrical productions, 7 shows a week, for a month or more at a time. I gave the shows whatever they needed, learning to play instruments I'd never touched before and (usually) pulling it off enough to sound like I knew what I was doing. What I had proven to myself was that I could do whatever I set my mind to AND earn a living at it. Since there's nothing I love more than making music--especially my own--I set my mind to doing only that. So I quit theatre and found a day job to take care of the bills, and then I spent the better part of a year writing songs, re-iventing the way I played guitar and the way I sang, and consuming any book or article I could get my hands on about the music business.

With all that under my belt, I decided to skip a step in the Musician's Handbook that says you will play live for 1-2 years, build an audience, and only then do you record a nice 4-5 song EP to sell at shows. Instead, I started recording a full length CD with only three shows and maybe six open mics to my credit, both to test out the material and get used to my new role as the only guy on stage. Since I have spent untold hours in recording studios and did much self-engineering during my sound designer/composer days, I knew that technology has come far enough that you don't have to pay big bucks at an expensive studio to get great recordings: you just need a great engineer, some really good mics, and some killer musicians. I happened to know all of the above. Well, okay, I don't really "know" any microphones (Biblically or otherwise).

I wiped out my savings to do the recording--which wasn't much--and matched that amount on my credit card in order to get the CDs pressed. So suddenly I had this nicely packaged bundle of music (that I'm very proud of) and the tenacity born of almost two decades in music, plus an intense amount of book learning shoe-horned into my little brain, and overall I've found it very easy to book gigs just based on the strength of the songs (and a little used skill called "follow-up"). But there's one problem I keep running into...I'm still the new guy, whether I feel "new" or not.

Getting people to show up at all these gigs is hard enough when you've made a name for yourself, and though I've lived here in Seattle for quite awhile, I've only been a part it's musical merry-go-round for a year. There's no escape from paying some dues, and the only cure for newguyitis--hell, why limit this affliction by gender; let's call it newbieitis--the only cure for it is time and effort. So that's where I'm at today. I'm still positive I did the right thing recording the CD up front. And until there's some sort of vaccine for it, I'm looking forward to the challenge of tackling my case of newbieitis.

They Call Me Mr. Happy Pants

2006-07-16T22:10:00.000-07:00

You know you've hit rock bottom in the Title pool when you make any reference to happy pants. But, I'm happy, so why not.

The past couple of weeks have been quick and unusual, and the details may have to wait until next weekend, because in three days the big CD release party is on! As arbitrary a date as July 19th is, there's some comfort in knowing that The Dead Leaves Sing will be declared ready for the world (regardless of the fact that I've been selling it since late May). Of the many lessons in self-discovery learned while in theatre, deadlines are critical to the way I work. I mean I'm a really horrible procrastinator--I've even managed to put off this blog until the very end of the evening, allowing myself about 25 minutes to write--so a release date gave me the drive to get the music to radio stations and to reviewers, among many many other important career things.

I managed to drag Tom into my madness so that two websites are nearly finished (one personal and the other for the CD only), plus finalizing promotional materials, a business card design, and letterhead. Gigs were played, self-promoting was shamelessly accomplished, I helped pull the Post Office out of finacial difficulties with my generous donations (thanks to me, the price of stamps will now start going back down), Jodi & I got food poisoning, and yet we also managed a trip down to the Oregon Coast for some (faux) rest-and-relaxation and to celebrate her graduation from nursing school. Also in the past couple of weeks, I've been played on KEXP twice, got my music into rotation on Moozikoo Radio, made an unfortunate attempt at working with a publicist, figured out that I'm doing pretty damn well without hiring a publicist, and even received a spectacular review for the CD by Kevin Zarnett, of the webzine The Muse's Muse. Kevin, thank you so much!

Okay, times up. I am determined to be in bed before midnight for a change.

Feel The Byrne

2006-07-04T19:26:00.000-07:00

I've found myself getting so wrapped up in the process of pushing the CD, especially in preperation for the show on July 19th, that I only just realized it's been little more than a month since they were shipped to me. It feels like about four months. And given the food poisoning incident, a lamely attended gig at Wayward Coffeehouse, and the fact that I haven't been able to eat much of anything without feeling nauseous...well, it kind of put a little black rain cloud over my head, like Charlie Brown used to get. Submitting CDs for review and radio is also an act with very very slow returns (if any at all), so in my frame of mind, it was starting to feel kind of futile. The best thing to do is just send it out there and then forget about it with no expectations. It's a hard perspective to maintain.

And then, a big return came.

While Creeping Time and I were sequestered in a basement, sweating away in preperation for the Conor Byrne show, one of my songs (fittingly, "Sweat Through") was played on KEXP. Here's the excerpt from my Myspace blog:

I shall now extend a huge and gracious "Thank You" to Don Slack, host of KEXP's program "Swingin' Doors." If you've never listened to the program, it's an amazing show where you'll hear everything from honky tonk and western swing to alternative country and bluegrass (and all points in between) every Thursday night 6-9pm, Pacific Time. It also happens to be on the most amazing and diverse station I have ever heard in the States: KEXP.

Last night, just after 8:30, Don played "Sweat Through" on his show, right after a great--and highly appropriate--track by Kelly Joe Phelps (and right before another great track from Alejandro Escovedo); to boot, he also gave a great plug for the Conor Byrne show and bestowed the best compliment I could ever imagine: drawing comparisons to both Kelly Joe Phelps AND Chris Whitley. Wow. And to think that at that moment, I was in mid-rehearsal with Creeping Time as their amp head to their P.A. kept giving out. We assumed the problem was a short in the power supply, but it was clearly a tremor in The Force. I found out about the airplay [the next] morning and checked out the show via the station's streaming archive.

Don, you've made my months--I'm talking June and July!

That gave me a huge boost, and even better, the Conor Byrne show went tremendously well. Since Sam (The Harborrats) and I are both "the new guys"--plus there were a lot of great shows all over town that night--the gig was really well attended. Everyone who said they would show up DID show up and I even sold a few CDs. I got up there and played a few solo songs, then called most of Creeping Time up for a couple of brand new tunes, and finally added Kjell (fiddle) for the remainder of the set. Technical difficulties aside (including the death of my stage tuner--I've had that since I was in high school), we played a great set to an enthusiastic crowd. Later on in the evening, I even got up on stage and joined Sam on a few numbers and kind of strained my voice in the process. It's to the point now where I've been taking such great care of my voice that I can sing 45-50 minute sets at full voice with no harm or strain. I guess a couple of vodka-and-tonics later, I forgot to be careful and let'er rip. That's one of the reasons why I don't like to drink before I play. Aside from that, it was a good feeling actually getting paid at the end of the night. The last time I made more than 30 bucks from a gig was a year ago.

So, there you have it, some good things going on. I can also eat solid food again. With the CD release party on the way, plus 1-2 gigs every week until mid-August, I think that Charlie Brown cloud is lifting. Plus, tonight it's fireworks over the bay--who doesn't feel like a kid again when seeing big colorful tings blow up in the sky?

Got The Time...

2006-06-26T16:08:00.000-07:00

6.11.06-6.17.06
Hectic. Chaos! Jodi graduated from nursing school and her family in town for the weekend. She worked incredibly hard these past several years, quitting theatre about a full year before I left the Empty Space, and taking a year's worth of pre-requisites to be accepted into the program. It was very gratifying that she tied for the top grade in the class.

The remainder of the weekend was extremely tight, time-wise, as I tried to balance my career with being a good host, and doing things with Jodi's family. We had lots of great food all over town, but I felt a little guilty at times, locking myself away in the back-room over the weekend.

The big surprise was my acceptance into the MidPoint Music Festival in Cincinnati, OH. I had planned on heading home (to Indiana) in September to visit my family when I heard about the festival through Sonicbids. So I applied. Why not.

I guess I'll be flying with my guitar this trip! It's been quite a long time since I've even seen music in Cincinnati, let alone played there. This might be the first opportunity for my friends back home to see what I've been up to. Last time: I was playing Motley Crue and Aerosmith covers in the high school auditorium...yes, sad but true. (And NO, that wasn't a Metallica reference.)

6.18.06-6.22.06
Things got even tighter as I added day job and music rehearsals to career and host. Since Jodi & I let her folks have our room, we slept on an air mattress out in the living room. I was sleeping around 3-4 hours a night that week, so by Thursday I had a sort of zombie-like palour and was cranky as hell. I did manage one last rehearsal with Lincoln before the Wayward show, and even a rehearsal with Ken and Dave (Creeping Time) for the Conor Byrne show on July 1st. Before the rehearsal on Thursday--the night before Jodi's folks were going to fly back home--we ate at a restuarant down the street from us. I didn't care for the place the first time we ate there with my Dad, but I thought I'd give them another chance. I left for the Creeping Time rehearsal right after dinner, and when I got back around 10:30pm, Jodi was very, very sick.

6.23.06, 4:30am
Jodi & I were the only ones in the Emergency room, aside from the staff. It was the first time I had ever been to any E/R, so I guess I expected it to be something like the TV show (only with less gunfire, helicopter crashes, and hostage situations). Instead, it was extremely calm. It was also ironic that Jodi had graduated from nursing school the week before and now she was an outpatient at Swedish Hospital in Ballard, laying on the bed in the cramped little room while a bag of saline was slowly draining into her body. My job was to let the nurse know when it was time to add another bag, and look on helplessly while Jodi shivered so hard the bed rattled. Pumping that much fluid (at room temperature) into your bloodstream is about like pouring ice into your veins. We had left her folks at the house, the shuttle to the airport due to arrive at 5:15am. Just before we left, Jodi's mom started to get sick, too--at this point, I wasn't feeling so great either, though I hoped it was just a nervous reaction to circumstances. They did end up taking the shuttle (and a miserable flight for her Mom), while we stayed at the hospital for another hour. I could barely keep my eyes open right until we got into the car. On the trip home, I knew I had food poisoning as well. I only hoped Jodi would be well enough to drive me to the hospital, should it come to that.

6.23.06, 9:15am
I heard the glass smashing and jumped up off of the couch and back to the bedroom where Jodi had finally drifted off to sleep. Two hours earlier, I was sicker than I had been in many years. It's a tense trade-off sharing one bathroom when two people are desperately ill, but there was finally a lull where she was able to sleep and I was able to watch VH1 on the couch until I dozed off. When I heard the shattering from the bedroom, I was convinced the cats had knocked something over.

"What happened?"

"I think a rock just came through the window."

Sure enough, I pulled open the blinds and a piece of cement about the size of my palm had busted through the double-paned glass. The only thing that kept it from sailing on into the room was that the blinds and the curtains had stopped it.

There's an easy transition for me from desperately ill to seriously pissed, so I stormed out of the house and back to the construction that was going on just beyond our parking lot. They have been carelessly letting nails and debris land all over the lot, and this time they managed to launch a chunk of cement into our apartment. I only wish I owned a baseball bat as I charged up the alley, preparing to enter a site full of overweight men with beards and hard hats...instead, all I saw were two teenage boys with utility belts on, seemingly oblivious to what they just did. Hell, I STILL don't know exactly how they did it--sick and full of rage, I wasn't thinking clearly. Instead, I turned into Tourettes Man in a remarkably calm transaction (aside from the rampant swearing):

"Hey. Guys. You know you just launched a f***ing piece of rock into our f***ing window."

"Really? Where?"

"That window there, the one with the big f***ing hole in it."

"Oh, we're really sorry. The [?????] gets going and I guess we didn't notice."

"And look down here at the car port--you've got f***ing s**t and cement all over the f***ing place. People park their f***ing cars down there."

"We're really sorry. We'll make sure to clean it up." [The second (and youngest) kid immediatly did just that.] "I'll go tell Dad--he's inside. Let us know who to talk to."

"I guess I'll give our property manager a f***ing call. He'll be calling you, I'm f***ing sure of it."

"We're really sorry."

"F**k..."

6.23.06, 12:30pm
After I went back inside the f***ing apartment to clean up all the f***ing glass, and after our property manager came in to do a temporary fix until the f***ing window is replaced, Jodi and I were allowed to revel in our collective misery for the rest of the day in relative peace. Eventually, I would sleep for 12 hours.

6.24.06
And then I woke up, feeling slightly better, and spent the rest of the day preparing for my gig at Wayward Coffeehouse that night. F***ing hell!

Where Nathan Finally Runs Out Of Words

2006-06-11T22:29:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I blew my 40 minute limit and I only finished a single week. It's ironic that I started this blog to try and chronicle my career from the ground up, but I'm so busy right now that I hardly have time to left over to write. Good for me, I guess. What I've been up to lately is contacting bars, coffee houses, festivals, carnival side-shows, and Shriner's conventions trying to land some gigs. And land them I have. My calendar is filling up pretty fast and should force me to get on with things. I've also been submitting my CD to different publications for review (more on that in a second) and started selling the CD online through CD Baby (with iTunes, eMusic, Amazon.com, Tower, etc. etc. etc. to follow). Almost immediately I started getting requests to submit the CD for review, and to the least likely of places. Remember when I jokingly said that I perhaps had a cult following in Iceland right now...well I may be off by several degrees on the map. So far, two online e-zines from the Netherlands and an internet radio station in Belgium asked for music submissions. I guess there is a growing Americana/Roots music scene in Europe, especially in Germany and the Netherlands. I did not know this.

Lately the Post Office is getting a tremendous amount of my business. I love the Automatic Postal machine--people are so afraid of technology that they would rather wait in line for 30 minutes than use this thing, which is about as easy as using an ATM. I've also opened my first P.O. Box, which I just checked on yesterday. What I found was an envelope full of Money Saving Offers addressed to "Box Owner." My first P.O. Box mail! It's like someone took a dump in my mailbox as a way of saying "Welcome to the neighborhood."

Mailing CDs, mailing CDs, and mailing more CDs. I half expected to find I had burned through all 500 of them, when in fact I have gone through about 40 so far. Once I get a chance to REALLY check out places to send the goods for review and radio play, I expect that number to grow exponentially. Plus I owe quite a few fellow musicians my CD (I participate in the Inter-Musician CD Bartering Plan: "you've got a CD I want to hear and I have one too--why buy when we can just trade?").

Lincoln and I have been rehearsing for the Wayward Coffeehouse gig--a duo show--and I found out at Folklife that I will be playing the next week at Conor Byrne with all of Creeping Time joining me! Two weeks later is the CD Release Party at Tower Records, then a private house party three days after. A coffee house show the next week, another festival (yes, it was confirmed that I will play Vashon Island Earthfair 2006), and a trip up to Bellingham to play at a place I was only just made aware of...on top of this, there are a million little career details that come up on any given day. Time is not on my side, regardless of what the Rolling Stones may have you believe, so I won't write about any of them. Let's just say that I have sent more emails in the past two weeks than I probably have in the last two years.

For the sake of time (and sleep), I'll have to skip over my slightly surrealistic trip to the towns where Twin Peaks and Northern Exposure were filmed. There was also a very unfortunate incident involving a mother duck and her ducklings that same night (which, as an animal lover, it still upsets me to think about). I've also...forgotten what I was going to write about. A good sign that I need to finish immediately.

The Hard Way: A Sissie's Guide To Folklife

2006-06-11T21:44:00.000-07:00

This is my timed typing test as I will now try to encapsulate the past several weeks in about 40 minutes. As predicted, time went *fast* and Folklife arrived before I knew what hit me. The CDs arrived in plenty of time, only now there are piles of boxes in the living room full of CDs. (We threw a blanket over them and called it furniture.) It was also good to see my Dad again; it's been nearly six years since we've seen each other, both of us letting our personal lives get in the way of what was important. I told him this back in April and he agreed, and then he managed to get a cheap flight over the holiday weekend. It was also his first time in Seattle, so I spent much less time at the festival and more time showing him the town. As it turns out, the weekend was exceptionally soggy and cold and helped perpetuate the myth that the sun never shines in Seattle (at least in my Dad's mind).

When I finally played on Sunday night, the rain had thankfully stopped, but instead it had been replaced with a very cold and heavy wind. The temperature dropped some 15 degrees over the course of the day and the tent I played under was whipping around, threatening to blow away at times. It was kind of surreal to look out over the small crowd in front of me and see everyone dressed for Fall just weeks away from Summer. The amount of noise I was competing with was unbelievable--the full band that was playing behind me, the really REALLY loud busker just 20 feet away, the drunk who kept insisting I say his dog's name into the mic ("Flaherty...his name is FLA-herty for chrissake!"), and the flapping of the tent. It reminded me that there are two kinds of experiences when you play any outdoor gig. This was one of them.

Don't get me wrong: I was really glad to play at Folklife. There were a great deal of friends who braved the weather and showed up to see me play--to them I am most thankful. It was also the first time in a decade that my Dad has seen me play live music--the last time was in college at this awful rock club called Wierdos [sic]. I was also very lucky to even be invited so early in my career (I am the new guy, after all). No, I would have been happy to play the parking garage, but I did learn a few other things the hard way.

WHAT DID I LEARN?
1) Always sell your CDs directly from the stage. Even though it requires extra paperwork and an earnings report to the festival, even though the entrance to the CD store was only 10 feet away, and even with copious plugging from the stage, I sold not a single CD that whole weekend. Selling from the stage allows you to make personal contact with everyone as they buy, plus it's easier to turn into the Sales Rep to help make a sale. This is a role I am very uneasy with, but I'll have to suck it up if I want to survive in this business.

2)You can actually hang up posters advertising your CD inside the store. Here I had these incredible posters with the CD cover art and didn't bring any of them. I didn't know they would allow that.

3)You can sign up to play 20 minute sets IN THE STORE to help promote your set and your merchandise. I saw the sign-up sheet the day I went to pick up my box of CDs at the end of the festival.

4)I need to play with a band next time. Playing with a band increases your odds of playing on one of the main stages at Folklife, out where most of the people tend to congregate. The stage I played on was nice (as was the sound engineer and the MC), but it was also in the middle of the Merchandise Court. By the time I went on, everyone was pretty much on their way home; they were not buying clothing made of hemp or candles that smelled like patchouli oil.

5)I need to learn to stop being such a sissy and quit complaining about my outdoor festival experience.

Only The Highlights

2006-05-21T14:07:00.000-07:00

A month can get away from you pretty fast. Consider this the "highlights reel" for the month of May.

WEEK ONE:
Finalize proofs for CD graphics and the CD pressing begins. (Also receive lots of free stuff & special deals through Oasis by having CD pressed there.) Day job flies me to Los Angeles; 4 days without a computer; by day 4, rolling around on ground in convulsive fits. Manage to see The Black Rider while in L.A.: collaboration between Robert Wilson, Tom Waits, and William Burroughs. Amazing show (even from the cheap seats)! Return home and spend 10 straight hours on the computer while weeping with joy. Jodi and the cats are not amused.

WEEK TWO:
MON-TUES Contacted by promotions director of Tower Records (Seattle/Portland/Hawaii) and asked to do CD release party with them. In-store performance? Hell yes! CD to be officially released on July 19th. Twenty-four hours later, contacted by music coordinator for Vashon Island Earthfair about playing in August. "Please send press kit." (Note to self: make a physical press kit ASAP!) Meanwhile, building Sonicbids electronic press kit; free for one year, thanks to Oasis. Finish and apply for two more festivals online, one in Portland, OR and the other in Cincinnati, OH in September--will be visiting family in Indiana during this time. Convenient!

WED Attend Seattle Weekly Music awards. Largely rock n' roll crowd. Feel really REALLY out of place. Was not nominated for anything, so had nothing to lose.

THUR Can't even recall...

FRI Do a musical double-header with Lincoln and watch 2 shows @ 2 venues in one night. Friends Sneaky Thieves @ Q Cafe and friends The Bourbonites @ High Dive. See DJ Don Slack (KEXP) at High Dive, but can't work up nerve for personal introduction. Talk with Lincoln about our musical futures. Eventually get home and get to sleep at 3:00 am, deaf & exhausted.

SAT spent buying materials & building 6 temporary press kits at home. Takes most of the day, but fairly happy with results. Will work with Tom (graphics designer) to create the real deal. Go to see Creeping Time that night at Conor Byrne. Their CD release party. Fashionably late (shows NEVER EVER start on time), but turned away at door: SOLD OUT! Told to wait outside. Decide not to pull diva fit. Call Michael inside and leave message about being stuck outdoors. He and Ken come out...to smoke...and we talk. Enough people leave and 5 enter (me included). About to pay when Kjell walks by and tells doorman "this guy's cool, he doesn't need to pay." Sweet, will now be able to afford a beer. Thanks Kjell! See Sam Russell (aka Reverend Ippolet and/or The Harborrats)--played emergency show here with Sam and Creeping Time in November. He's now trying to set up a show for us in July. Also see Scott Andrew. Also feeling incredibly tired. Creeping Time goes on and plays a great first set. Stick around for half of second set when sleep comes calling. Leave and forget to buy new Creeping Time CD...

WEEK THREE:
Send out press kit to Earthfair coordinator, plus one to Tumbleweed Folk Festival. Could be busy this summer. Posters with CD cover art arrive from Oasis and look amazing! Hope the CDs are coming soon. Start sending out electronic press kits to coffee shops and bars. Introduced online to cellist (thanks Lincoln!); hope to play with her sometime in the future. Set up rehearsals for a 2nd Wayward Coffeehouse show--Michael is out of town, so just Lincoln and I, and sharing the bill with friend R.B. Reed. Practicing frantically for Folklife festival--it's only a week-and-a-half away! Receive call that CDs are being shipped and should arrive by next WED. My fate is in the hands of UPS now. Oh, shit...

SAT is very long: go to University District Street Fair to see a couple of different bands. Traffic bad, and it takes over 30 minutes to make 10 minute drive. Another 30 minutes spent looking for parking. Finally find a spot 12 blocks away! Completely miss Charmaine Slaven & Charlie Beck's set (after promising to be there) and feel really shitty about it. They are nowhere to be seen. Fight the crowds back to Tower Records to see Red Jacket Mine perform. Talk a bit with Travis, who hired me for July 19th show, and fight urge to buy any CDs (much like an alcoholic hanging out in a bar). Return home for supper and head back out that night to see friend Julia Francis at Mirabeau Room. Cool place, but bands have to finish and be off the stage by 10:00 sharp so the DJ can set up. NOTE TO SELF: Live music is not their priority or concern. At least a chance to get home early and spend time with Jodi. And to sleep before midnight.

WEEK FOUR:
Will go by faster than I expect it to...

Did It!

2006-04-19T10:40:00.000-07:00

The CD is now out of my hands (sort of). Tom finalized the graphic design this weekend and I burned THE master copy of the disc and, a lot of paperwork later, everything was FedEx'd to Oasis yesterday. Now...the waiting. There's a Tom Petty song in there somewhere, but I refuse to sing it.

Wayward We Go

2006-04-17T13:04:00.000-07:00

This is a total cop-out post that I wrote for my website. But I'm all about the cop-out. If I get a chance, I'll write with more explicit details. Yes, I said "explicit":

The Wayward show was a night of surprises, some planned, some not. It was also my most ambitious show yet, as I took on two full sets of music, debuted 4 brand new songs and 4 new covers, played the musical saw for the first time in years, and did a very raw version of "Wished I Was In Heaven" on the lap steel. Michael Spaley was so kind to come play some fiddle & mandolin on songs old and new, and Licoln Barr joined me for the first time with his electric guitar. It was great playing with the both of them and a lot of fun to reinvent the songs as a semi-electric trio. They also kept the wheels on the cart when I busted an 'A' string right at a climactic moment in "Skoal Bandits." I had to switch to my National electric guitar for the remainder of the song (and for "The Reaper's Son")--and, mind you, the National is not a guitar meant for strumming, but we carried on.

A great big thanks to Broenwynn, the owner/booker at Wayward Coffeehouse, for inviting me to play. Another big thanks to Don Slack, host of KEXP's "Swinging Doors", for the kind comments & on-air plug for the show. And most of all, thanks to everyone who came out: Paula & Jeff, for driving so far; Sam Russell (of The Harborrats); Charmaine Slaven (of Squirrel Butter & The Tall Boys); Erin Jordan (of her own bad self); the couple who sat next to the stage and who's names have escaped me--I'm such a bad meeter/greeter sometimes; the family of three (my youngest fan of all time among them), whom I did not catch their names; and all of the folks I didn't get to meet personally that came in for coffee or internet access and stuck around to watch the show. A great and receptive audience all around. Now, if I can just get over my inner-introvert, next time I might actually be able to meet them all...

Bumpy Ride?

2006-04-14T15:25:00.000-07:00

Things have happened...lots of things. And I only have less than 20 minutes to write about them. Maybe Sunday. It's hard to believe weeks have gone by, and tommorow night is my first show in some time--a two hour show at that. Last night, Don Slack, the host of "Swinging Doors" on KEXP, gave a nice compliment and plug for my show. You can tell what an amatuer I am at this whole "mentioned on the radio" thing when I'm jumping up and down like a baboon and going "he said my name! he said my NAME!" Luckily, only Jodi and our two cats (Miles & Bella) got to see this sad little spectacle. But let me put this one out to the ether: Thank you, Don! You made my week...hell, let's make it a month.

This is also the weekend to finalize everything for the CD; the plan is to ship everything off to Oasis on Tuesday. If there's not a hitch, I should just (barely) have the CDs back before Folklife on May 28th so I can sell them. NOTE: hitches happen to be my specialty, so we shall see...

Okay, times up. TO BE CONTINUED.

Let's Do It (Quickly)

2006-03-26T16:11:00.000-08:00

I'll make this quick, as several good things have happened just last weekend but time has been in short supply to write about it. Within a matter of days I recieved an invitation to play a 2 hour gig at a coffeehouse on April 15th (totally out of the blue), then Eddie I finished mixing & mastering the CD in a two day marathon session, and finally I received my letter of acceptance to play in this year's Northwest Folklife Festival. Hot damn!

So my goal of completing all aspects of the CD by the end of the month will be a reality. My second goal of putting together two 40-45 minute sets of music...well, now I have no choice but to accomplish that one by April 15th. And, if all goes well, I should even have my CD pressed and returned so I can acutally sell it at Folklife. If my writing is infrequent over the next several weeks, just know that I'm practicing like a fool. Over & out.

The Great Musician Directory Fiasco

2006-03-12T18:11:00.000-08:00

So this past Thursday, the weekly paper The Stranger posted their annual musician's directory, chock full of local bands, venues, studios, and record labels. They even upped the ante this year by providing an online service that allows bands to add MP3s, photos, and bios for anyone to check out at http://thestranger.com/bands. Very cool. And of course I sent my information with plenty of time to spare and of course I am very grateful for the opportunity, but the whole thing was tainted a bit when I finally saw the print ad.

For reasons unknown to me, someone went in and edited my info at some point AFTER I verified and approved my ad. In doing so, they not only ditched the area code of my booking line, but they also dropped the last digit from the rest of the phone number as well. I'm not sure why the editor took the time to UN-capitalize the "A" in Post-Apocalypse Americana (which was a conscious decision on my part) and yet did not notice that they had left me with a six-digit phone number. After fuming over the fact that I will come off as "the jackass who doesn't know his own phone number", I figured that at least my booking email address was correct...and then just to satisfy my troubled mind, I sent a test email from my Yahoo account. It immediately bounced back with a "Failure Notice." Aw, hell no! Sending an email to my main administrator account bounced back as well. Now I would also be known as "the irresponsible jackass whose email account was cancelled." After adjusting and readjusting the settings on my mail account, I finally had to contact Hostbaby to see if it was a server issue. Luckily, this was the case--and kudos to the Hostbaby crew for taking care of it so quickly. So my apologies to anyone--friends, potential employers, softhearted spammers--who might have tried to send me an email during the down time.

It's funny how fragile the system of business communication has become these days.

Realism Is Good

2006-03-12T11:17:00.000-08:00

I've given myself until the end of March to finish the mixing & mastering, and I think that is a very realistic goal. I go back to Bainbridge on March 18th to do one final mixing session. Eddie has already sent me the pre-mastered tracks to listen to and take notes on...and we are soooo close to done. And for those who are wondering what the hell mastering means--and it's something that I've had only a loose grasp on until this past year--here's the most down-to-earth answer I can think of, starting with an explanation of mixing:

Mixing tracks of music means to set the volume levels of each individual instrument, voice, etc. and their relation to each other. It also means setting the frequency and shaping the sound of the recorded instruments/voices so that they sound nice and natural together (or unnatural, depending on what you're going for). If you want a painting analogy, everything that is recorded via the microphone to an audio track is a color. Let's say you record a song with guitar, bass, and a voice, you now have three different colors to work with. Mixing is how you apply those colors to the canvas and blend them. And just like painting, if you combine too much of one color with another, you can create a sound--er, color--that you may not want. It's all about painting a respectable picture--unified in composition--with the colors you have. I've probably jumped in over my head here. Thanks to Wikipedia, you can find a more technical answer about audio mixing.

And if mixing is like painting, then mastering is like framing the finished product and placing it in a gallery with other paintings. The process of mastering is a lot more complicated when explaining the execution. At best, it "sweetens" the final mix of the song and makes it sound unified (both in volume and tone) in relation to the songs that surround it on the album. I'll let Wikipedia do my dirty work again when it comes to detailing the process of mastering.

Now let's steer away from Technicalville (*whew*). Emotionally I'm feeling really good about how things are sounding. You can drive yourself nuts wading through mix after mix wondering what sounds the best, why the version from two weeks earlier sounded better than the current one, or trying to figure out why you can't manage to make a guitar sound rich and full, but not boomy to the point of rattling your car speakers unintentionally. It's this kind of stuff that Eddie and I have been obsessing over for weeks now. Well finally, last night, I was driving around listening to the CD for about the 798th time when I suddenly felt like I could unleash this thing on the world and feel kind of proud. I only hope I feel the same when I listen to it for the 850th time.

Airplay

2006-03-05T10:03:00.000-08:00

So I found this helpful little how-to on getting radio airplay. It's from KEXP here in Seattle, which happens to be one of the best radio stations I've ever heard in my bi-coastal travels.

Meanwhile, I'm off to mix & master the CD today. My self-imposed deadline is to have everything wrapped up and sent off for pressing by the end of the month.

3 Day Weekend

2006-02-21T12:18:00.000-08:00

The past weekend was long and full of surprises. Saturday wrapped up the recording for Dead Leaves Sing with Ken of Creeping Time laying down some bass for the title track. That night I went to see my good friend R.B. Reed play, along with Correspondents and Brittain Ashford, at a house party in Wallingford. About 30 minutes before the show started, I was asked if I would like to play a few songs as well. With a quick round-trip home to grab my guitar, I ending up playing a 5 song set at the end of the evening. It was a blast to top off a great night of music and I made a lot of new friends in the process. Luckily, the O Lounge gig a couple of weeks ago pushed me over the hump so that I could play with short notice AND sound like I knew what I was doing.

Sunday morning rolled around early as I travelled back to Bainbridge Island to sucessfully finish mixing the CD with Eddie (okay, so about 95% finished). Later that night I met up with my friend Lincoln at Chop Suey on Capitol Hill to see Tom Brosseau live for the second time in months. I absolutely cannot say enough good things about Tom. He has this incredible voice & prescence onstage that reduced the noisy bar to total silence--it also happened at The Tractor when I saw him play in November--and offstage he's a kind-hearted, sweet guy. If he's coming to your town, you should make every effort to see him play.

Way too early on Monday morning, I went to have my taxes done, pick up some much need groceries, and back home to rest to see yet another show that night. This time it was Bill Frisell's Unspeakable Orchestra, featuring Eyvind Kang, Hank Roberts, Jenny Scheinman, Tony Scherr & Kenny Wollesen. I've been a big fan of Bill's music for over a decade and since he's a local, I've seen him play a good half-dozen times over the years. But this time. Damn. It was a jazz trio meets string trio and a phenomenal group of players. A big HUUUGE thanks to Brian for the ticket! The show had sold out, but Lincoln and I were on "the list", so I felt like a rock star when we waltzed (not literally) through the door and to our reserved seats a couple of rows from the stage. This was also the first time I've been to The Tractor when there have actually been seats--I guess they made it a concert hall on the fly (only with booze in plastic cups). It was a great capper to a hectic weekend. And sleep did follow.

As it will now, because I'm still tired.

Let's Talk About The Reaper's Son

2006-02-13T15:10:00.000-08:00

I have two blogs going at once. I cross-post from time to time, and sometimes I write completely different stuff over there. This is one I wrote for Myspace but felt like it could work on both...so pardon any redundancy about the recording session, which I have gone into greater detail on this blog. Confused yet? Me too...
--------------------------
Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale,
a tale of a fateful trip.
That started with this little song,
aboard this tiny...ah, to hell with it.

Some songs will land right on your lap, fully formed and ready to go. Others take their time. This is about a song that took it's sweet time, and if you've ever experienced the joys & pains of songwriting (or any creative endeavor), then this may be familiar.

ONE.
I suppose if there's any special significance to "The Reaper's Son", it's that it was both the first song of my solo career and my first attempt at a murder ballad. Plus it started out as a joke. The original first verse went like so:

I tried to wed/my love's severed head/and asked if her family would mind
But later that night/we got in a fight/and I woke up hung-over & blind

Yeah, so it was a mildly disturbing joke, and it went downhill from there, turning into a tale of debauchery and incest. It came across as a barroom drinking song meant to illicit some uncomfortable laughs. If there's any one thing I'm good for in life, it's being the cause of uncomfortable laughter. Frankly, "The Reaper's Son" version 1.0 stunk and was lost in an ever-growing pile of unfinished songs.

TWO.
Almost a year later, on a visit to Indiana (yes, I was born and raised a Hoosier), I was driving aimlessly down some unmarked country road at night while singing to Johnny Cash, when a chorus came to me:

It's a hard, a hard revelation/and I'm starting to see/there's no room for me in the end

The surroundings must have shook loose the memory of the song--I always imagined it was set in Indiana--and I could almost hear Johnny singing those words. There was finally conflict if the character in the song felt remorse, and once I went back to the lyrics, I stripped away most of the theatrical, Grand Guignol-ish qualities of the original (most of it, but not all), and turned to religion. The central character, who believed he was doing God's will, has to answer for all that he's done, and now he can no longer go on living with that knowledge. Another year later, the final cathartic verse would even give me an album title:

The Angel of Death/came for my last breath/and there I stood numb to the sight
She spread her black wings/so dryly they sing/like wind through the dead leaves at night

THREE.
When I finally left my six-year residency at The Empty Space Theatre and decided to pursue music full-time, "The Reaper's Son" was the first song I worked on. And worked on. And worked on. The structure and the words were there, but I couldn't figure out how to perform it. So I decided to play it live anyways, to see if maybe the audience reaction would tell me anything. I set myself up for the age-old songwriter's mind-fuck.

The first three times I sprung the song on an audience, it was met with stoney silence. Were they bored? Moved? Horrified? Looking for the nearest exit? When "Season For The Crows" had turned out to be such a laugh riot at my first solo performance months earlier, I wondered if I should have kept the black humor of version 1.0 intact. There I was, second guessing myself after putting my thoughts (and fears) into the collective heads of the audience. Maybe the solution was to perform it with a full band. Yeah, that'll do it...

FOUR.
Rehearsing with Creeping Time for the album sessions, my bright idea was to turn the song into what could be described as heavy Midwestern Gothic Soul. Because, clearly, if we played with enough intensity no one would notice I had no goddamn clue how it should be performed. The song got away from me yet again. The drums and bass were pounding, and the twin violins acted as a horn section. I also asked for total chaos during the break after the second chorus. When I finally listened to a recording of our last rehearsal, I heard how I had totally destroyed anything that was good about the song. Frankly, "The Reaper's Son" version 2.0 stunk, and I accepted full responsibility for the mess I had made.

And in two days, we were going to record it for real.

FIVE.
It took a lot of negotiating just to get schedules to work out for Eddie (the engineer), Creeping Time (a very busy band), and Seabold Hall (the old schoolhouse-turned-studio I was renting by the hour), and I had narrowed it all down to one day. During my theatre years, I learned that some of my most inspired moments happened during the desperate hours, which I proved repeatedly about 10 times a year for six years. Well, I was pretty desperate at this point, and since we were making good time in our recording session, I could afford a full hour just to re-rehearse "The Reaper's Son". I asked the band to pull it back. Waaaay back. It took us under 15 minutes to try the subtle approach and, for the first time, the song worked! Two years fussing over a single song, only to arrive at the solution in a quarter of an hour: stop trying so damn hard!

The truth was, the song arrived that night in Indiana, with just me and Johnny driving through the cornfields. The lyrical fine-tuning sealed the deal and I was done a year ago, but I didn't trust the song. I kept zooming in on it like a photograph until it blurred to abstraction, trying harder with every pass to understand a song that was/is, by nature, emotionally complex. And the words. They made me uncomfortable. I worked hard at distancing myself from them in performance, so I tried everything but an honest delivery. Personally, I still feel the recorded version is not free from artifice, but it did capture a moment of discovery.

CODA.
When I played it live a couple of weeks ago, I never once cared what the audience was thinking--or more accurately, what I thought they were thinking. I just played it as straight-forward and sincere as possible. It finally felt right.

SHOWTIME

2006-02-06T21:15:00.000-08:00

I played my first gig in a long time last Friday night, and this time I had more than a few hours to prepare for it. The place was called the O Lounge, the sound was great, the house was packed & lively, and the Thai food was amazing. It was also the first time I played 'Dead Leaves' and 'Long Black Lilies' in front of an audience--and of course I blew the lyrics to 'Lilies', you know, for old times sake. But the best part of the evening was playing with my partners in lyrical crime: Lincoln Barr of the band Red Jacket Mine and Patrick Porter of Explone. It's refreshing to work with two guys who are not only talented songwriters and musicians, but who are also grounded, driven individuals. It was inspiring to get a chance to share the stage with them, and the sense of camaraderie that prevailed Friday evening is all too rare in the world of live music. Though there was that punch-up in the men's room. But Patrick totally had it coming.

Now, the three of us happen to approach music from different angles--or maybe we're more like a series of overlapping circles--and yet our intense interest in the craft of songwriting, as well as the sum of our shared influences, turned into the great unifier as a triple bill. What I find hard to believe is that I met them both on Myspace a few months ago, and finally met them in person the week before Christmas. It felt like I've knew these guys for years.

Myspace, you great unifier of worlds...and unholy destroyer of time! That site has changed the rules of the game in astounding ways, even as it sucks up the few hours I have in the evenings to make music. How else would I have a chance to become virtual penpals with folks from here in the Northwest straight to the east coast, up through Canada, down in South America, and all through Europe and the UK? Well, it's already happened. This is music networking at warp speed, and it's addictive. Who knows where any one of the connections I'm making right now will lead. Or how I may end up helping somebody a few thousand miles away get a gig here in town. At this point, it's all about planting seeds. Maybe in five years one of those seeds will grow. I may have a cult following growing in Iceland right now and I don't even know it. It's cold in Iceland, right? Yeah, I can do cold.

Infrequent Blogger Miles

2006-01-29T20:27:00.000-08:00

I finally went to the doctor last Tuesday. It was the first time in eight years. There have been times where I've been sick and had a relapse...but a three-lapse? I knew something was really wrong this time. Bronchitis or walking pneumonia, maybe? The croup? Pleurisy? Black Lung? No, it turns out I transformed myself into a human petri dish. Generally, when sick, I take cold medications for a few days and lay off it as soon as possible--which I did the first time back in mid-Decemeber. By the second time, I said to hell with it, I've felt crappy for long enough so why not keep the medicine going day & night. You know, until it passes and I feel like a champ.

Let me say this about that: bad plan, REALLY bad plan.

All those cough suppressants and decongestants and whatnot, well they do many things to ease your week-long suffering, and one of them is dry up the most important bacteria-removal product your body has: phlegm. So the germs get to hang out in your body, much like those that settled in my lungs. And they grew and grew, just like they were in a petri dish. Nice. So I got the 5 day antibiotic treatment (which only does half the work) and I was told to lay off the cold drugs so my body could do it's job. So far, so good. I haven't felt this great in over a month.

But enough about my physical state, this is supposed to be about the music. I'll drop a post on the recording project as soon as I can. Right now I need to rehearse for my first gig since last November--the one I found out about eight hours before I played it. Maybe this time I will do the two most important things any singer/songwriter should do for a performance: remember your lyrics AND know how to play your own songs. That's, uh, pretty crucial. Or so I've been told.

You Take 16 Tons, And Whatd'ya Get?

2006-01-06T14:12:00.000-08:00

If there is one thing I have learned about my creative abilities, it's that they only arrive right when it's almost too late. Tomorrow I go in for what should be the last recording session and, of course, last night all kinds of new ideas started spilling out--instrumentation to add, ways to tweak the arrangements, etc. Ultimately, things are sounding really good and probably stand alone without the overdubs--only I would know what's missing--so if I don't get to everything, I think I can live with it.

However, a couple of weeks ago, I had the bright idea to bring Michael and Kjell of Creeping Time back to add some mandolin and violin to the title track (and album opener). Since this will be the first track folks hear, it has to set a standard for the rest of the CD. So I'm going all out, to the point of overkill. As this will be one of the few tracks featuring overdubs (just about everything else was cut live, vocals and all), I have the option to subtract things...you know, like normal people do when they record in the studio. Damn me for flying by the seat of my pants most of the time, but I do like that human interaction when it comes to music.

I also have had this long-running "bright idea" that I will add a second layer to the recording and create a sound design to sort of tie it all together. And make it creepier, haunted even. Any CD should have a great collection of songs, but I still like the concept of the album as a whole unit. Not necessarily a concept album, like 'The Wall' or 'Tommy', but just a unification of music, lyrics, and sound. I first noticed a trend when at least two songs featured leaves in the lyrics.

From "The Reaper's Son": She spread her black wings/so dryly they sing/like wind through the dead leaves at night

from "The Final Blow": You spend your days in doubt/an unwelcome frost comes calling/Cold winds are crying out/and crimson leaves start falling

So I went even further by writing the title track "Dead Leaves" and named the album The Dead Leaves Sing. When I wrote lyrics out to and intended instrumental ("Long Black Lilies"), I brought together images from other songs on the recording. It was the last track written after picking the track sequencing, so I had that luxury. And in my final act of unification, I added a long improvised tag with Creeping Time to the end of "Dry Up Like A Dream" that incorporated elements of that song as well as "Dead Leaves". If you listen to the end of the CD and set it to repeat, it's supposed to end as it began and cycle through again...clearly, I had some time on my hands. But, hell, I live for that sort of thing when I'm listening to other artists music, so it seems only fitting to keep a tradition alive, especially one that's sort of dying out. (I'll rant on that some other time.)

Well tomorrow is sure to be yet another learning experience that brings me one step closer to finishing. Another day older and deeper in debt.

2006 Has Landed

2006-01-02T21:37:00.000-08:00

Well happy new year! It looks like I'm already off to a bumpy start in blog-ville. There seems to be so little time to write lately, and tonight will be no different. While it's good to finally get over the nasty cold, I have to make a better effort to take care of myself and get some sleep. The initial intent behind this blog was to document the process of starting a music career from scratch, particularly in a time where the music business is shifting in dramatic ways. Thanks to the internet, the artists themselves are gaining more control over their careers, control that record labels used to hold a monopoly over. It's an exciting time to be making music and I want to keep on top of writing about it, as things are just starting to get interesting...well, okay, interesting to me anyways. I've yet to have the experience of actually recording something to CD that I intended to sell to the masses, and I'm also trying to figure out the best way to do that on my own. If this sort of thing floats your collective boats, I'll be sure to post as many details as I can and list the resources used to get a recording out into the world and all of the pain and joys that follow. One of these days I'll fill up that LINKS columns over there on the left with some great resources as well.

Currently I'm getting started on "How To Be Your Own Booking Agent" by Jeri Goldstein. So my big project this weekend has been to figure out my long term goals starting with a 10 year plan, next a 5 year, a 2 year, and finally a 1 year plan (as per the author's suggestion). Talk about putting it all in focus: writing this all down really gives you a guide to where you want to see yourself in the not-too-distant future and the best way to get there.

All right, I've reached my time limit for tonight. This week will be another tight one as I prepare for the final (please PLEASE let it be the final) recording session and Eddie and I mix this thing.

{COUGH}{COUGH}...

2005-12-29T22:14:00.000-08:00

December will go down as the Month of Illness. After a close call in late October (before the first recording session), I caught what was probably my first real cold in almost two years, and it just had to drag on and on. When I thought it was all over, I decided to be an idiot and go out drinking a couple of nights in a single week, as well as deprive myself of sleep for nights on end. So, naturally, it came back. With a vengeance! I spent Christmas weekend in a perpetual haze of cold medications, and just in time for Boxing Day, the Cold Part II had developed into a lung-busting cough-o-rama. I had postponed the Dec.18 recording session until January 7, so if I have one goal it is to be well by then. Today has been the first day in quite some time that I've had the energy to sit down and type a few lines, and tommorow will reunite me with the guitar and piano for some work on the overdubs. When I get a few more moments, I'll also write a little bit about my trip to see the Seattle Symphony last night (on a bevy of over-the-counter cold drugs). Right now: I'm going to bed. {COUGH}{COUGH}{COUGH}

This blog was brought to you by Vicks, the makers of NyQuil.

Still Kickin'

2005-12-21T15:06:00.000-08:00

Yes, I've fallen a little behind lately--and not just on the blogging. I'm hoping to sum up the best of the past few weeks before Christmas, when I finally have a little down-time. But that's not right now, so...{click} end of transmission...

Will Work For Egg McMuffins

2005-12-09T15:11:00.000-08:00

Another session and a little closer to done. My friend Mike (different from the Mike I sent the Tractor email to) went with me to add some backing vocals to 'Dead Leaves'--I had hoped to have him play some banjo on 'Seen The Glory', but there wasn't enough rehearsal time, and I didn't want to use up studio time to work on it. I felt a little bad dragging him over there to do such minimal work, so I paid for his ferry fare and even bought him an Egg McMuffin--cuz I'm that type of guy.
------------------------------------
A conversation that never happened:
MIKE: Whoaa! An Egg McMuffin...you shouldn't have. (wipes tear from eye and smiles)
ME: Hey man, you deserve it. You came all this way to do so little...(cracks bull-whip) Now SING, damn you, SING! (laughs maniacally and cracks whip again)
------------------------------------
After seven live takes of 'Dead Leaves', we had a winner--though Mike may never speak to me again. These things will happen. While I had hoped that Saturday's recording session would be the last, there's still one more to go--mostly guitar and backing vocal overdubs, maybe even re-recording a couple of songs (I've yet to be satisfied with "Suicidal Revival" and "Long Black Lillies" was played a little too fast, in retrospect). So back I go on Dec. 18 and--fingers crossed--finish the recording.

In order to cut costs, the last few songs were recorded at Eddie's house. This will save me a couple a' hundred dollars easily. The ambience of Seabold Hall and Island Center was traded in for some much needed cash, and Eddie even agreed to master the project saving me, oh...$500-$1000 probably. That's a very good thing. After many reccomendations, I also checked out Oasis for getting the discs pressed and it looks like 300 CDs will cost about $2000 (plus 1/2 price posters!). It's great that they do such small runs at a time--I've known so many people who order a thousand discs from some companies and still have over half of them many years later. I'm sure part of that's just bad (or no) marketing strategy, but I would be incredibly optimistic to think I could sell even 500 CDs in the next year or two, let alone a thousand. There's no distribution deal putting these things in stores across the country and I haven't built an audience yet, so who would buy them? Early next year, I hope to start selling them online and at shows for about $10 each. I've already figured on about a hundred of those being set aside for promotional purposes (reviewers, radio stations, booking, etc.) and giveaways. So that leaves me with 200 CDs to sell. That I can do (and I can always order more).

Notice that this doesn't even come close to breaking even, given the cost of recording, graphic design, promotion, etc. which will end up being about as much as it cost to have the 300 CDs pressed. Right now, it's all about finding an audience who would be willing to pay for the next 5 recordings--once that happens, then maybe it's time to approach an independent record label who sees that you: a)have an audience, b)can create great material for low $$ and c)sell them on your own. At that point, they may be more willing to talk business. It's surprising how many musicans think they will find a major label deal--let alone an indie deal--without proving any of the above. Me, well I'm not overly concerened about the sign-the-label game, so long as I can keep making music and maybe even earn something that resembles a living. But I digress...I haven't even finished the first CD yet. And I'm rambling.

Thanksgiving Digest

2005-11-30T12:06:00.000-08:00

I don't know if it's because of the holiday season or what, but it feels like time has accelerated. Things have gone downhill since October and, if my cluttered home studio/office is any indication, I am obscenely unprepared for the pace. We're talkin' landfill-esque with small mountains of paperwork, unread mail, half-eaten sandwhiches, and (to my surprise) two little Dutch children that had been living under year's worth of Guitar Center & Sweetwater Sound catalogs, subsisting on stale candy canes from last Christmas. Things have to change!

Well, at the very least I can play blog catch-up. I'll be taking a shovel and a pick-axe to the rest of my life later tonight.
-----------------
BACK TO WORK
After the Saturday night gig with Sam Russell and Creeping Time, it was right back to "The Dead Leaves Sing". I picked the keeper takes for Eddie to start mixing and actually started to feel really good about the whole thing again. There will be more episodes of self-flagellation to come, but in my gut I know I have some really good material. The initial recording will conclude on Dec.3 (fingers crossed).

CHRIS WHITLEY
The Tuesday before Thanksgiving brought some bad news. Chris Whitley, one of my favorite singer/songwriters, had died of lung cancer. In October I had read that
all of his remaining shows for the year had been cancelled, and just a couple of weeks ago I found out he had been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. It's unusual to feel grief for someone who I've only shared a few words with and really only know through his music. I guess it was that extension of his soul that I connected with, the part that shared an amazing gift in song for nearly 15 years. When "Living With The Law" came out in 1991, it became part of the Unholy Trinity of recordings that would slowly transform me from shreddin' metal-head guitarist into a serious songwriter. While it shared some odd company with the debut of David Bowie's "Tin Machine" an Soundgarden's "Louder Than Love" (soon replaced by their masterpiece, "Badmotorfinger"), "Law" was an album unlike any I had ever heard. While Bowie would move on to other things and Soundgarden would eventually break up, Chris remained a constant voice in my musical growth--even with the huge gap in time between his first and second album. Throughout the years, his sound travelled with me through many moves, relationships, phases in life, and I would always be eager to hear how he would reimagine his sound on each new release. The other night I was listening to a career-spanning compilation that I had made for friends who almost always asked "Who's Chris Whitley?"), and I felt the loss on a deeper level than I had expected. It's to any new listener's good fortune that he has so much music out there waiting to be discovered as long as there's someone out there willing to listen, but it seems he left the world all too soon.

A SMALL GOOD THING
Jodi and I went to see some live music at The Tractor on Thanksgiving-eve. It turned out to be a Six Degrees of Seperation night where I met a lot of people that knew at least three other people in the room who may not have necessarily know each other. What the hell does that mean? (Yyou can check scroll down and find my email to my friend Mike to read details). Anyways, Mark Pickerell was first up, and he and Johnny Sangster performed music from his upcoming CD. Next was Tom Brosseau doing a solo set, and Ian Moore closed out the evening and was joined by Paul Hiraga (of Down Pilot). It was a fantastic triple bill and I highly reccomend checking out all of the above. Aside from their respective websites, you can find Mark, Tom, and Ian all on Myspace.

TURKEY & GIBLETS
I'm running out of steam here, but Thanksgiving saw Jodi and I at some friends of ours down the street. Why is it that as soon as friends move within walking distance, you see them less than when you lived miles apart? Well, we had a great dinner and a good to visit too, but the only drawback: no leftovers! So, masochists that we are, Jodi and I made a second Thanksgiving on Saturday. Now I can rest assured that I will be completely sick of turkey, mashed potatoes, and stuffing by the end of the week.
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Enough of the bloggin' already. I'm busy preparing for this weekend where I hope to knock out the recording and move on with the rest of the process. And to send the Dutch kids packin' before they find where I stashed the good Christmas candy.

Chris Whitley 1960-2005

2005-11-30T08:22:00.000-08:00

Singer/songwriter and guitarist Chris Whitley passed away of lung cancer on Sunday, Nov. 20, in Houston, Texas, at age 45. (from chriswhitley.com)
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It was only a couple of weeks ago that I found out he had been diagnosed with lung cancer and I found out about this last Tuesday. I've been influenced by many great musicians in my life, but I can say--without a doubt--that no other artist has had a greater impact on me as a songwriter and a musician than Chris. For nearly 15 years now, he has made some of the most amazing music I have ever heard...may ever hear. While he remained painfully underrated in all those years, to the world he has left a very generous and diverse catalog of recorded works.

Farewell, Chris, and thank you.

A Week In Cliff Notes

2005-11-28T15:17:00.000-08:00

Well, things got away from me here. Much has happened in the last couple of weeks and I haven't had a chance to write about them. So, here's the Cliff Notes version:

SUN 11/13/05:
2nd recording session with Eddie. Island Center=Big Woodsy Lodge=Makeshift Recording studio+Big Natural Reverb. "Suicidal Revival" extremely hard to play 3 times in a row. Hands couldn't take it--have to build up strength and record it again next session. Went well, but forgot to latch the lid on brand new (and $$$$) Gibson Songwriter guitar. Picked it up & Guitar fell out Landed on metal latch--nicked fingernail-sized chunk out of the finish (down to the wood). Didn't know whether to sh*t, scream or cry. Did all 3.

WED 11/16/05:
Listened to rough tracks of both recording sessions. Had asked Eddie to bump level of acoustic guitar in keepertake of "The Final Blow"--may be out of tune. It was EXTREMELY out of tune. "For the love of god, turn it back down!" Suddenly nothing sounded right. Plungedinto immediate depression. Questioned whole project. Gnashing of the teeth, beating of the breast. Yelled "NOOOOOO!" to heavens. Set off car alarm outside and woke many dogs in neighborhood.

THUR 11/17/05:
Felt better. Listened to everything with fresh ears.
Smiled and took medication. Smiled more.

SAT 11/19/05:
12:00 pm
Phone message from Ken (Creeping Time). His voice was shot/Yoda-like. Had 3 hour gig at Conor Byrne. Would I like to play a solo set w/Creeping Time to join on 4 songs performed on "Dead Leaves Sing"? Hell yeah! Sam Russell (Reverend Ippolit) to join. Creeping Time played on his upcoming album, too. Sam=kickass singer/songwriter w/great voice. Excited. Shocked.

12:01 pm
Reality arrives: haven't played live since mid-August.
Terror. Weeping.

12:02 pm
Smiled and took medication. Smiled more.

12:05-4:00 pm
Practicing like madman.

4:00-4:30 pm
Nap.

4:31 pm
Resume practice. Overcome self-doubt. Replace with self-delusion.

7:15-8:30 pm
Leave for Conor Byrne w/ Jodi. Load-in and sound check. Sam has same look of fear & excitement. Me:Worried Creeping Time won't remember songs from 2 weeks ago. Sound guy nice, but unconcerned about sound, which makes me concerned.

9:35 pm
Packed house! Sam takes the stage. Plays one song solo. Has Michael Spaley join him on mandolin for a few songs--sound great together. Sound man reading paper at bar, occasionally walks to front to touch mixer. All of Creeping Time takes the stage and
proceed to rock the house. Really dig Sam's songs, looking forward to new CD. Great crowd reaction.

10:15 pm
Final song ends set with high energy. Suddenly worried crowd will turn on me if they have to listen to another solo guitarist after full band.

10:30 pm
Fight urge to regurgitate & take to stage. See friend Tom made it to gig! Play hard, break out into sweat(while seated). Blow lyrics to "Seen The Glory". Play new song "The Sharpshooter" and screw up complicated piano-turned-guitar line--also realize it is waaaaay too subdued for bar crowd. Tepid applause. Bust out Gretsch guitar and play some slide on "Sweat Through". Blow lyrics to "Sweat Through". Creeping Time joins and remembers songs from 2 weeks ago. I do not. Get lost in own chord progression on "The Reaper's Son" and stop playing for bar-and-a-half while still singing. Ken gives "what the hell" look. Blow lyrics on "The Final Blow". "Dry Up Like A Dream" goes well--sing all the right lyrics. We do extened/improvised jam at end. Crowd response good all around. Say "thank you" and unplug guitar. Screaming horrific feedback. Pull plug from D/I box to make it stop. Sound guy is startled awake and approaches stage. "Is that going to happen again?" No, we assure him, that will be the last time.

11:15 pm
Creeping Time goes to town on instrumental jams and house goes wild. Bartender suddenly appears with hula-hoop and goes to town as well. Michael sings Neil Young's "Powderfinger". One of my favorites. I forgive him for blowing lyrics, for obvious reasons. Creeping Time winds up set and people want more. Joked w/Sam earlier about singing "We Are The Champions" after victory over circumstances. (BTW: Favorite Queen Album=News Of The World.) Sam says we would have to sing "We Will Rock You" too.
Goes up to stage at end of Creeping Time set and confers with them. Jodi says: "I think he's asking them to do the Queen songs. Sh*t..."Buddy you're a boy make a big noise playin' in the street" what the hell comes next? Will certainly blow lyrics to this one too. Instead, Sam requests Dylan song I've never heard of and I am asked to come up to stage. Take beer with me for security. Embarrassed by lack of Dylan knowledge (how about something off of Nashville Skyline?). Manage to join song after listening/humming along with first chorus and finish beer during verses.

12:40ish am
Sigh of relief. All terror aside, a great time was had. Thanks to Sam, Ken, Dave, Michael, Kjell, and Conor Byrne.

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All right, that concludes Week One.

Coming soon: the Reader's Digest version of Week Two.

Tractor Pull

2005-11-25T00:18:00.000-08:00

Mike,
Happy post-turkey day. Had a weird experience (or series of experiences) Wednesday night which even involved you in a way, so I thought I should share.

Jodi and I went to see Ian Moore play at The Tractor Wednesday and, earlier, I had checked out the two opening acts online just to get a chance to listen--this would be Mark Pickerel and Tom Brosseau. I was excited to hear them both just from the audio clips on their respective websites, even used my last downloads of the month on eMusic to grab a live disc of Tom's. (Recorded at Schubas in Chicago a month ago.) The decision was made that I would finally get over the timid guy I've spent most of my life being and introduce myself to all three artists. This is where the internet stepped in to do some legwork for me while I parked my ass in front of the iMac.

Since everybody was on Myspace, I sent an email to Mark and Tom along with a friend request to sort of pre-introduce myself and then left a comment on Ian's page (he had picked up my friend request many months ago). Now at least I had a conversation starter so I didn't feel like random weird guy from the audience. Both Tom & Mark picked up my request and I even received a short email from Tom the next evening.

At the Tractor Wednesday, Jodi and I arrived waaaaay to early (7:30) for an 8:00 show because we were the only two there. A few more folks arrived as we stood at the bar to order the first of many drinks (for me) and then we found one of about four tables in the whole bar. I was immediately approached by two very familiar-looking women from the bar area. It turns out to be Susan and Karen, two of the maybe seven people that came to see me play the Kirkland gig back in July--and both of them had lived in Indiana. Whoa! Small world. We talked a bit and took a seat and waited. And waited. Clearly the show would not start at 8:00 as there was about a dozen people there. Eventually, as more folks started to trickle in, a couple asked if they could share the seating area we occupied. No problem. We sat talking with our sig-oths (significant others) as it got to be 8:30 and finally Barabara, there with her boyfriend(?) Michael, asked us what time it was and broke the ice. She was good friends with Mark Pickerel, who had played drums on her recent recording. Smaller world still. Soon the conversation turned to Myspace and Nick Cave and before you knew it, the bar was PACKED!

I won't do a live review, because that's not really the weird part, but both Mark and Tom played really great sets. Really great! Barbara and Mike left to meet up with Mark during Tom's set while various folks occupied one of the vacant chair in front of us for the next 30 minutes. After Tom did and encore (I've never seen this happen with a middle act), Ian took the stage with a familiar looking guy that I remember from his website. About that time, someone approached our table and asked if anyone was using the now empty chair. "I don't know, BHAMA, you tell me," I said.

It turned out to be a theatre friend that I've worked with on many a show at the Empty Space--you even saw her in "In Flagrante Gothicto"--and this includes "Under The Gaslight" where I performed "Beautiful Dreamer" on the musical saw while she was wooed by a dancing gorilla. (I've been waiting to write a sentence like that forEVER...) Anyways, she did a double-take and took a seat as the three of us caught up for a bit. Now get this: the whole reason I started listening to Ian Moore in the first place was through Bob Smolenski, who designed Ian's website for his live DVD. Bob had played cello on a couple of my theatre scores from the past. And who had introduced me Bob in the first place? Bhama! If the world got any smaller, I might've stepped on it. She was there to see Ian and her boyfriend play, who turned out to be Paul Hiraga of Down Pilot, the familiar guy joining Ian onstage. Whoooa--I remember you mentioning Down Pilot on more than a couple of occasions. As the coincidences kept piling up, Ian & Paul sounded amazing together. And while I was getting caught up in yet more great music, that goal of introducing myself to every performer was starting to fade. Time for action: I decided I would go to the bar for a final drink and, with any luck, maybe run into Tom or Mark just to say hi.

Well, I ran into Mark right at the bar and yes, Myspace had broken the ice. We had a great little conversation about recording our respective CDs, and the anxiety that comes with recording--the feeling of things sounding amazing one moment and then sounding like a pile of crap the next. I know this feeling well. Mark turned out to be a very cool guy and I hope to keep in touch with him. I excused myself after a bit and went back to Jodi with our drinks, spying Tom selling CDs off in a corner. After Ian played one of my favorites ("Cinnamon"), I grabbed one of my demo CDs and excused myself again to go say hello to Tom before he might possibly head out. Myspace cleared the air as he immediately remembered my name. I handed him the CD and bought one of his in turn along with a short conversation. Tom was a sweet, soft-spoken guy who makes you instantly glad to have made his acquaintance. He said he'd give my CD a listen and I agreed to do the same and wished him well.

We're in the home-stretch here! Ian and Paul finished their set and wished everyone that hadn't left (the crowd had thinned out by now) a happy Thanksgiving. Paul came over and Bhama introduced us. I asked about Down Pilot and said that my friend Mike in Chicago has told me I should listen to you, though I've yet to do so. Paul seemed shocked that anyone outside of Seattle was even listening. "Wow, I guess that's why I make records." He was clearly floored that some guy in Chicago had recommended his band to some other guy in Seattle. I was sharing my small world with others now.

Bhama and I related some theatre war stories with Jodi and Paul, then I finally went and introduced myself to Ian. He remembered my comment on his page, especially about playing the musical saw. We had a nice conversation and I told him how I had managed to find him on the internet and talked a little about an unfortunate incident in his blog involving a major airline and his guitar. Eventually, the bar had nearly cleared out as Paul and Ian struck there stage gear and we all talked about our Thanksgiving plans, salad shooters, and the Children's Theatre. It was getting late, so Jodi and I said goodbye and left The Tractor, out into a fog that had rolled off the lochs. It was either the alcohol or the series of strange coincidences that made my head swim (maybe both), but Jodi was definitely driving home. What a night, Mike! I'm glad you played a small part in it.

Later,
Nate

BTW--now that I read over this email, I hope you don't mind if I actually post it as a blog, cuz it reads like one...talk to you soon.

Crawlspace

2005-11-12T23:02:00.000-08:00

A few days ago, I finally had an opportunity to listen to the unmixed takes from the Oct. 30th recording session. I figured that I would either a) be really pleased that everything sounded as good as it seemed to when we performed it, or b) deposit my acoustic instruments into a wood chipper and retire to my crawlspace where I would cry and cry and cry.

Well, I've been given another good reason to stay out of my crawlspace! Sure, many of the takes were a little shaggy around the edges, but I was really impressed. My dirty job this week was to pick my top 1-2 takes for each song (there were anywhere from 3-5 of each) so that Eddie can get a start on mixing and clear up some hard drive space. Since the recording was done live and everybody could be heard to some extent in one another's microphone(s), this would make it difficult to punch in and fix any mistakes--vocal flubs or wrong notes, etc. And there were many mistakes, most of them minor, but a few of them were so obvious that it meant I had to ditch the whole take. This is fine when you have a choice of five, but it gets pretty dicey when the first four are all unusable. In a couple of situations, there may have to be some cutting and pasting in order to find one supreme performance, but I'm getting better at letting go of minor mistakes that, in the end, only I know the difference...Anyways, I'm sure this all very exciting. I'm about to doze of just writing about it, so to get to the point: I found at one good take for all of the songs, though one or two may be a "Franken-take", cobbled together from a couple of performances.

Tomorrow I will travel to Bainbridge Island again, this time it's just me and my guitars. One more session to go after this...

OK, I can barely finish a sentence so think I'm tapped for tonight. In the immortal words of those philosophers from Down Under, and I'm talkin' AC/DC, baby!--"It's a long way to the top if you wanna rock n' roll." And I'm sure Angus Young knew the restorative benefits of a good night's sleep. No doubt in a bed with several women and maybe even a goat thrown in to keep it interesting. Good night.

Just A Gigolo

2005-11-06T11:01:00.000-08:00

It turns out that Seabold Hall is actually booked for the rest of the year, and seeing as I want to finish recording before the end of December, Eddie (the recording engineer) was able to reserve another space on Bainbridge Island for a decent rate. So far, I've come in under budget for space rental and have managed to totally bypass using a traditional recording studio. Eddie has a set-up that's essentially a laptop computer, mixing board, an audio interface, and some great microphones. He also charges by the project (really good for my low budget), though I think this project's a little more ambitious than what he's used to working on. It's more like two projects. After that, Eddie will mix it all and then I'll take it somewhere for mastering and pressing.

This whole process has seen me turn into a small-scale business enterprise, and you have to be in order to stay an independent musician. Other than a tour, the full-length CD can really eat up your cash in a short amount of time. Since I have bucked the recording studio tradition this time, I've been able to set a $1,000 limit on the musician fees, travel, recording, and mixing of the album--which was essentially my payday for 'Don Quixote'. So far, so good. Now when it comes to audio mastering, graphic design, and pressing, this is all unknown to me. I have to set a separate budget for all of this and will have to earn the money to see it through, one way or another. This will mean I have to play a dozen gigs that pay about $100 each (yeah RIGHT!), land a decent sound design gig that pays well (hah!), or do it the old fashioned way:

Male Prostitution.

ANYWAYS...let's forget about the money side of things and focus on the creative stuff that comes before. The second session will commence one week from today and I'll knock out all of the solo guitar songs. Hopefully, only one more session after that to do a few overdubs, backing vocals, etc. And THEN I'll start worrying about going all "American Gigolo" to get this thing on the market.

Creeping Time vs. The Boy In The Bubble

2005-11-05T22:22:00.000-08:00

The recording last Sunday went extremely well: it's probably the most fun I've had at a session. Instead of trying to beat the clock, we actually finished everything an hour ahead of schedule. Seabold Hall turned out to be a good spot to record, though it took some arranging for everyone to hear one another over the very LIVE acoustics of the room. For the first two songs--the louder, uptempo ones--Eddie ran my voice and guitar through a small monitor that sat off in a corner. It gave me more confidence vocally to be heard over the (sometimes) overwhelming acoustics of the hall, and it created only a minimal amount of bleed into the other instrument mics. Since we were recording everything live to eight track, vocals and all, bleeding into one anothers mics was to be expected.

For the last two songs, we ditched the monitor and I sat in the middle of the circle of instruments we had created. 'Dry Up Like A Dream' and 'The Reaper's Son' both took a somber dynamic turn, so it was a little easier to hear one another. Speaking of 'The Reaper's Son', the song that I'd been worrying over the night before, the solution proved to be a simple one. I laid out my problems with the song to the guys: I had tried to make it hard-hitting number when a soft-touch was needed. It took all of ten minutes to work the changes! We brought everything down and simplified the violin parts so that Mike & Kjell added orchestral color rather than the wild country fiddle sound I'd had them chasing in previous versions. The song felt right for the first time since I wrote it over a year ago.

Another one of my big worries was not being able to hold out vocally for six hours. A few of these songs are pretty damn strenuous, and when I started to get sick earlier in the week I began to wonder if I'd sound like Kermit the Frog once we got down to it. Well, again, the worrying was uncalled for and I was amazed that I could keep singing--in tune!--for that long. This is where I testify to the power of a really good vocal warm-up.

The whole thing seems like a blur in retrospect, but the vibe before and after was a good one. As we all squeezed back into Ken's van at the end of the evening and drove off to catch the ferry back to Seattle, we had about a half-hour wait until the next one arrived. The guys played hacky-sack out in the lot as a light rain started. Me, I stayed in the van. I felt like a dodged a bullet, germ-ridden as it was, and didn't want to risk a relapse. Plus, I suck at hacky-sack. As I looked out the driver's side window and watched them kicking a wet bean bag around in the drizzle--feeling like the boy in the bubble or something--I had a weird out-of-body fatherly moment. Even though we're all roughly the same age, I felt like I was watching my kids, just back from winning some sort of sporting event, and I sat there feeling proud of them. Did I mention that I was also really REALLY f!@*ing exhausted? Well, the ferry arrived and after we were on board and hanging out above deck, the lights of downtown Seattle another thirty minutes away, I could tell we were all pretty exhausted. Some great work had been done that day and I still can't thank the four of them enough for the great playing they lent to this little project of mine.

My hat goes off to the fine fellas of Creeping Time!

The First Cut Is The Deepest

2005-10-29T23:20:00.000-07:00

In less than 12 hours I'll be boarding that Bainbridge Island ferry for the recording session at Seabold Hall. I've been fighting off a cold since Tuesday (dammit to hell!) and also took a header as I slipped in a patch of moss on the way to the car last night--down I went like a sack of hammers, first landing on my knee, which then slid out from under me and I landed hard on both my wrists. Fortunately, all of my tools are still working. I'm talking my HANDS and my VOICE, of course...

Aside from life's little tragi-comedy, the rehearsals with Creeping Time this week were very productive. I even recorded the last rehearsal so that I could finally get a chance to scrutinize what everybody's playing. For the most part, everything sounds damn good, maybe a few bumps here and there, but most of it can be easliy corrected before we start recording. There is one song that needs some work ('The Reaper's Son')--this song has been a problem child for me in the past, even in the voice/guitar version, but adding two violins, bass, and drums has created some new problems. While Kjell and Michael have been troopers as I've only given them half-ass directions on what to play, I need to scale back the violins in the song. Sure, double violins sounded like a cool idea at the time, but now it's starting to crowd the vocal line and adding some dissonance at all the wrong times. If we only had a few more rehearsals to nail down some great counter melodies. If only...the solution is to simplify things , drastically even. At least I've learned this much in theatre through the years: if it's not working and there's not a lot of time, don't beat it to death! I can't tell you how many times I've seen a director work something over and over again while just about everybody and their brother's sister-in-law can see that it's not going to happen. So many hours wasted. Cut your losses. In this case, I know the song works without the additional instrumentation, but I respect Kjell and Michael's playing too much to just cut them from the song all together, so I can only spare 30-40 minutes to come up with a happy medium. If I can't figure it out by then, the recording must go on. We have roughly seven hours to record four songs (about one and-a-half hours per song when you include a dinner break), so I'll have to make some quick decisions.

Well, I better wrap this up and get some sleep. It's the end of daylight savings time, so I guess I get an extra hour of it...Look for a post on the recording session sometime later in the week.

SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY!

2005-10-25T11:46:00.000-07:00

This Sunday, there will be much recording! Since Creeping Time is one busy band, tonight will be our first rehearsal in over a month, with the next one to follow Thursday night. I guess with a lot of my on-the-fly projects recording theatre scores, I put a band together after a week of frantic phone calls, then we would rehearse MAYBE twice, but never with the whole band present, before the one (and only!) day of recording. So all of this should not feel like something new. In fact, I seem to feel the panic subsiding the closer I get to the day...maybe it's the relief that this project will someday see the light of day...maybe it will cringe once in the light and limp back into the woods like a three-legged moose, but the hard part will be over.

Okay, okay, I can hardly keep a straight face when I talk about the "hard part being over", because I know better. There's still a second session of doing the solo stuff (with a little help from my friend Mike & his magic banjo), then a third for potential overdubs, then there's the mixing, the mastering, the graphic design, sending it all in for duplication/pressing, finding ways to sell it...well, it goes on and on. But, this is the three-legged moose I chose to ride, and I'm looking forward to what comes after this Sunday.

Right now, I just need to make it through tonights rehearsal.

Paranoia, Baby!

2005-10-12T10:29:00.000-07:00

With three weeks to go until the recording session, the paranoia is starting to take hold. That feeling that I'm not doing enough, the band's not rehearsed enough, the songs aren't ready, etc. Good times, good times. My creative Duracells have yet to fully recharge after 'Quixote', so I'm getting off to an infrequent start with this blog thing.

Anyways, to hold true to my word and provide some helpful links, here's one for a great open mic finder--whether you're looking for someplace to play locally or you're on tour and want to do some live advertising for an upcoming gig, check out openmikes.org.

I'll post some more thoughts soon...

Band On The Run

2005-09-30T14:41:00.000-07:00

Any dreams of making these entries on a daily (or bidaily) basis are starting to curl up and die. So here's what I've got:

I'm recording a full length album--and I have to use that term loosley these days--at the end of October. It'll be about half-n-half, partly solo acoustic stuff with a few overdubs, and partly with a band called Creeping Time. They're a great four piece who do quite a bit of playing around town. Mostly acoustic music on the bluegrass/folk tip with upright bass, mandolin, fiddle, and drums. I've know Ken, the bassist/vocalist, from many a recording session in the past. On our last ill-fated session that I recorded for some theatre music (more on that later), I also met Dave the drummer. Since I had already hired a drummer for the session, I was just looking for a percussionist--which meant that Dave basically shook sleighbells for 10 hours as this was for a Christmas show. Well he happens to be a terrific pounder of the skins as well, so it's great to give him some room to do his thang.

When I went to see Creeping Time perform for the first time about four months ago, I got to see Kjell and Michael in action. Kjell blew me away with his violin and Michael turned out to be a force of nature switching between mandolin, guitar, and violin. I had initially intended to ask Ken if wanted to lend some bass to my upcoming album, but the lightbulb clicked on in my mind's dusty attic and I ended up asking the whole band to join in. Well they excepted and here we are several months later, a couple of group rehearsals under our belt. It's sounding really good. Total shock to hear music I've been playing solo for nearly a year suddenly spring to life with a full band. I really had to change my performance to make room for everybody, but it was a welcome change.

I asked another good friend, Eddie Williams, to record it for us. He's also a veteran of many of my theatre projects and has an on-the-go recording setup. The whole thing will be done (mostly) live on Bainbridge Island in what used to be an old school house. I just hope the great acoustics of the space don't overwhelm the recording process. This is how you learn by the seat of your pants...

Well, gotta wrap it up for now. There's some 'hearsing and re-hearsing to be done.

Windmills & Rip Van Winkle

2005-09-27T11:52:00.000-07:00

I spent seven years making a living in professional theatre: first working as a sound engineer/board operator, then a sound designer, composer, and musician. Sometimes all five at once. Seven years at about 10-12 shows per year=total burnout. I dropped out of theatre about a year ago to devote my time to making music, and I've been much happier for it. Much healthier, too. Sometimes, though, a project comes along that'll make me come out of my hole for a bit and in this case it was a new theatre adaptation of 'Don Quixote'. It had been nearly 7 months since I'd done any theatre, but I couldn't pass an opportunity to compose original music for this one. Plus, it was a chance to work with one of my favorite directors again. So I said'yes', signed the contract, and --**BAMF**--I did a Rip Van Winkle trip through time. (Cue theme from "Vertigo" and fog machine.)

Two months and a full beard later, the the smoke has cleared. The show opened and almost everything was put on hold to get the music done on time (I didn't finish it actually, but no one noticed so let's keep it to ourselves). Just as I was getting my solo career underway, it all came to a halt. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed working on the show, but one of the major reasons I left theatre in the first place was the huge time commitment for little compensation. I'm gonna say this now, and I know it'll come back to haunt me but: I'LL NEVER DO THAT AGAIN!

At least the paycheck from 'Don Quixote' will go towards the album fund--recording starts at the end of October. I'll talk more about that later, right now I need to hit some open mics to get back in the game. Actually, I should shave first. It looks like there's a dead wolverine hanging from my chin.

Behind The Veil

2005-09-25T11:48:00.000-07:00

I decided to blog about what it's like to start a music career from the ground up in this new era of technology. Partly to sort out the whole experience for myself and partly for those who are interested in not making some of the stupid mistakes I may certainly make along the way. I'm using an alias for now so I can feel a little more candid about what I say, though I'm not in the business of talking trash about people, places, and things--who knows, I might drop the front in a couple of months. Since things could get about as interesting as paint drying, I'm also hoping that I'll be forced to take some action at times to keep me, you, and whoever else engaged. I'll also try to link to some helpful sites, books, resources, etc. for anyone who is interested. Here's looking forward to the long haul.

On The One...

2005-09-23T15:54:00.000-07:00

This is where I start.