This blog is part of a little paper Im writing. It's not particularly aimed toward music, but I thought it would be an interesting read for some of you. It's a little phenomenon I've noticed over the years, I tried to take it out of the abstract and throw in some simple analogies so it doesn't sound like the rantings of a sleep-deprived Scientologist. I hope you enjoy. Give me your two cents or even ten cents if you got it.
Staying in the same exact place physically, emotionally or mentally, or an extended period of time will hault all of your “momentum” through time and thus increases your entropy, or chaos. Think of yourself like water: if you move you stay fresh, like a clean fast flowing river, if you don’t move you become stale, stagnant and unhealthy, like a dirty black swamp. Studies are showing (medical journals, websites, private studies, etc.) increasing evidence that this “stagnation” actually is detrimental to your overall health, which would seem to be the universe’s way of letting us know not do it. Sitting for hours on end in the same spot (physical stagnation) increases risk of death according to the New American Cancer Society. Dwelling on thoughts or past events (emotional stagnation) can lead to depression, anxiety, according to a researcher at the University of Missouri-Columbia. Simply not thinking or challenging the mind (mental stagnation) can lead to Alzheimer’s, Attention Deficit Disorder and overall lack of cognition and/or concentration. The observable detriments of not moving should be obvious indicators that human beings are not made to move or behave in such a way.
In his 1962 handwritten essay, one of my personal favorite people of history, Bruce Lee, states “Water is so fine that it is impossible to grasp a handful of it; strike it, yet it does not suffer hurt; stab it, and it is not wounded; sever it, yet it is not divided. It has no shape of its own but moulds itself to the receptacle that contains it. When heated to the state of steam it is invisible but has enough power to split the earth itself. When frozen it crystallizes into a mighty rock. First it is turbulent like Niagara Falls, and then calm like a still pond, fearful like a torrent, and refreshing like a spring on a hot summer's day."
Bruce Lee's whole spiel on the system of martial arts he developed, Jeet Kun Do, was to be like water. Once you could truly understand what that meant, you would never loose a fight. Once mastered, one would have an awareness of everything going on around and could react in a way that would diffuse incoming energy to nothing. It seems like water is an even better role model than Dr. Phil. Whoop. Also, water doesn't cheat on its wife.
The theme of this story would be: move. All the time. In every way. When you stop moving, the universe begins to make you get fat, dumb and stressed. Think of every moment you are not improving something, you are slowly becoming an emotionally vulnerable, quadriplegic Pillsbury Doughboy. The battle against entropy is a never ending one. So go for a run (or a walk). Read a book. Try to experience new sights, sounds and sensations. Go somewhere you've never been. Try new flavors, hear new sounds, try new hobbies and for the terribly lazy even new TV channels will get your mental cogs turning a little bit (like a TLC documentary on the origins of our solar system instead of a rerun of "Real Housewives of Orange County") Even a new beer or wine you've never had will stimulate your brain and help you from becoming a stale soul. Change up the pace you've established in your life. You'll stay fresh and clear headed and hopefully people will stop telling you you smell like a swamp.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
The Tough Mudder
Once again, its been too long since my last entry. Im just dying to get me hands on a digital camera so I can stop having to pester all my camera owning friends for pictures of the blog worthy events. But let's get to the real blog.
Last weekend I ran the Tri State Tough Mudder in Englishtown, NJ. It was the first race of my life and probably not the best way to ease into racing, but once I had registered it was too late. On its homepage, the Tough Mudder is described as follows:
"Tough Mudder is not your average lame-ass mud run or spirit-crushing ‘endurance’ road race. It’s Ironman meets Burning Man, and it is coming to a city near you. Our 7-12 mile obstacle courses are designed by British Special Forces to test all around strength, stamina, mental grit, and camaraderie. Forget finish times. Simply completing a Tough Mudder is a badge of honor. All Tough Mudder sponsorship proceeds go to the Wounded Warrior Project."
I ran the Tough Mudder as a 4 man team with two high school buddies and one of their college buddies, including:
Will - The Team Captain and Navy SEAL in training. He runs Ironmans as a cool down from his real workouts. It is rumored that he once ran the entire length of the Grand Canyon in fifteen minutes.
Mike - Seen here sniping unwanted cats, Mike is a weightlifter and another man of the military that informed us race day that he didn't start running until 7 days prior.
Sean - The unbreakable Polack who trained with me to prep for the race. He also loves pain almost as much as trees.
The journey starts inside of the awkwardly silent Toyota Prius on rt 4 north, destination: Jersey, baby. Snookie was not seen, although she was smelled briefly on the turnpike. After about 300 miles and $0.16 in gas money we arrived at our friend Christy's to stuff ourselves with gluttonous amounts of whole wheat pasta and begin the pre race slumber. Unfortunately for me, I couldn't sleep. So I stared at the ceiling for about 7 hours until everyone started getting up at about 6:00 A.M. After a light breakfast we all jumped in Christy's SUV, which spent all the gas we saved in the Prius in about 10 miles, and headed for Englishtown, about 25 miles from where we were.
We get out for a stretch in the parking lot. I've already been up for 24 hours and now a little wired from the 5 Hour Energy I just drank to take the fog away. Even less to my advantage, I realize I am wearing a pair of blinding white K-Swiss tennis shoes. I will later find I am quite possibly the only person in this entire race without a bad-ass pair of running shoes. A frigid northern wind is sweeping through the lot, biting our noses and ears. I look around the parking lot to see what look like members of SEAL team 6 stretching and lacing up. I am later relieved to realize that not all the race runners will look like the Expendables. These guys were the Mudder Elites, running this race for time and trying to qualify for World's Toughest Mudder, the 50 mile version of this 12 mile race. As we approach the registration booth, a woman on a megaphone is repeating "come sign your death waver here, you cannot register until you sign the death waver".
We all sign our lives away, get our paperwork, get our race numbers and I meet a couple of in line behind us that tell me they were up all night drinking and bar hopping and their friend flying in from Nevada might not even be registered. I suddenly feel less tired and less worried. We start our warm up run.
The air temp is about 38*F with the wind chill, but the cold air will soon be the least of our worries.
November 20, 2010. 9:40 A.M. We are tightly pakced at the starting line, which lies in the middle of an empty football stadium. We are in a mob of fellow runners, some with war paint, some in costume, all gritting teeth and clenched hands. A very enthusiastic man is guiding us through the Tough Mudder creed on a megaphone,
"As a Tough Mudder I pledge that…
* I understand that Tough Mudder is not a race but a challenge.
* I put teamwork and camaraderie before my course time.
* I do not whine – kids whine.
* I help my fellow Mudders complete the course.
* I overcome all fears."
Sounds great. My heart it pounding, my legs are coiled springs ready to run the length of the earth. Silence.
Then an air horn goes off, they throw a smoke bomb into the middle of the crowd and everyone madly sprints towards a monster truck that floors it though the first stretch of track. As we leave the obnoxiously sticky rubber track in the stadium we see several friendly reminders:
So we were off, establishing pace at mile one, and seeing fellow racers who had left earlier coming the opposite way on the track next to us yelling "It's not too late to turn back! Quit now while you still can! You WILL die!". Quite encouraging. After a good 1.5 miles we cross a pair of ropes tied taught over a river. No problem. We all get through easily and then come to a tall wooden platform with a rope. We climb up to see that there's nothing but a drop. And water. Dozens of other racers are jumping in, so without too much thought I plunge in, right next to a guy dressed as Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz.
When I hit the water, my body instinctively panics. Instant loss of breath, my skin is burning and my mind screams repeatedly "GET THE F#&^ OUT OF THIS WATER!! Im sure this is what most people were going through. To say it was cold is laughable. This water felt like absolute zero. People are being pulled out left and right by life guards and medical personal. Some people hit the water and instantly panic. One man, upon impact, goes into shock and is rushed to a nearby hospital. Water temp at the time is about 35* fahrenheit. About 10 minutes until hypothermia begins in this kind of water. This was no longer a nice jog in a cold morning New Jersey. The real race had begun. Move forward or die. Everyone, including myself, is scrambling as fast as our quickly numbing bodies allow only to find an obstacle in the water itself. Pairs of barrels blocking the way out. Can't climb over. Are you kidding? I take in a deep breath and go under. All the noises and screams of racers are muted by the water. Complete darkness. The water is so murky not even the slightest hint of light shines through to help guide the way around. The ice cold water is a piercing every inch of my face and body. Im frantically trying to feel my way to the opening and my breath is almost out after only a few seconds. I blindly take a guess and attempt to surface. My God, breathing air never felt so good. I have to do this twice more before Im out of the water.
I can hear Sean and a dozen other random Mudders screaming profanities over my own for a moment. He soon comes running out of the water, steaming and shivering with the rest of the team. Laughing at how absurdly cold the water was, we are off again. We have to trek through the water again before the water obstacles are over. Getting out the second time feels like my skin is coming off of my bones with each step. The 38 degree air felt like a warm afternoon on a California beach after getting out of the water. The course had many spots that almost overlapped itself, so we could see people who were earlier on and further ahead in the race at certain times.
It was easy to tell who had and hadn't gone in the water yet, not even by seeing who was soaked and who wasn't,
but by who was laughing and cheerful and excited
and who looked like they just left a concentration camp.
After that water, every Mudder's game faces were on. We climbed over and under cargo nets,
Ran at least three miles through waist high mud, hills, and turns
Slammed ourselves up and over walls
Climbed through cramped wooden piping lined with jagged rocks
Had to carry a car tire a half mile and then immediately run through field's worth of kerosene-soaked hay, flaming and smoking as much as the inside of a burning building.
Oh and lets not forget the 'suprise obstacle' that wasn't revealed until we were at the starting line. This last little gem was a roughly 20 square foot wooden frame with electrified wire dangling from the top, effectively named "The Jellyfish". What did it feel like? This gives you a little bit of an idea.
Then we see it. The home stretch. Right back where we started. My water-logged K-Swiss felt like Looney Tunes prison shackles with the cannonball attached. We joined arms and took one last sprint through the finish, to a massive and welcoming crowd.
After a brutal 12.09 miles, covered in mud, legs heavy, body shaking from the stress of the race and the extreme temperatures we all rushed to the post-race concessions where we ravenously ate the free energy bars, bananas and muscle-milks.
Immediately after finishing, Will went to the information booth to talk to the registrar. He had already paid for two days and since we weren't going to be in Jersey the next day like we had initially planned, he decided he was just going to get his money's worth by running the entire race over again the same day. But to raise the stakes, he grabs a 25lb kettle bell and begins the entire run over again!
Thats pretty damn tough. My hat goes off to you Will and all you other guys and gals who were carrying 30lb chains, rucksacks filled with weights and you crazy mofo's who dressed in full on suit and ties, briefcases included. The best part of the race was the overall sense of camaraderie. I saw people sacrificing race time to help strangers, groups forming human chains to pull competitors up huge mud covered hills and people pulling down the cargo net so everyone else could just jump over. Thats teamwork.
You don't see that much on the streets, but if there is a place to help that "every man is my brother" mentality, the Tough Mudder is the place where it starts.
We all were rewarded with orange Tough Mudder headbands, shirts and free Dogfish Head Beer. It was one hell of a race and I have nothing but respect for each and every one of you fellow Tough Mudders. Good racing, and I'm looking forward to seeing some of you in either PA or VT.
Dylan
Last weekend I ran the Tri State Tough Mudder in Englishtown, NJ. It was the first race of my life and probably not the best way to ease into racing, but once I had registered it was too late. On its homepage, the Tough Mudder is described as follows:
"Tough Mudder is not your average lame-ass mud run or spirit-crushing ‘endurance’ road race. It’s Ironman meets Burning Man, and it is coming to a city near you. Our 7-12 mile obstacle courses are designed by British Special Forces to test all around strength, stamina, mental grit, and camaraderie. Forget finish times. Simply completing a Tough Mudder is a badge of honor. All Tough Mudder sponsorship proceeds go to the Wounded Warrior Project."
I ran the Tough Mudder as a 4 man team with two high school buddies and one of their college buddies, including:
Will - The Team Captain and Navy SEAL in training. He runs Ironmans as a cool down from his real workouts. It is rumored that he once ran the entire length of the Grand Canyon in fifteen minutes.
Mike - Seen here sniping unwanted cats, Mike is a weightlifter and another man of the military that informed us race day that he didn't start running until 7 days prior.
Sean - The unbreakable Polack who trained with me to prep for the race. He also loves pain almost as much as trees.
The journey starts inside of the awkwardly silent Toyota Prius on rt 4 north, destination: Jersey, baby. Snookie was not seen, although she was smelled briefly on the turnpike. After about 300 miles and $0.16 in gas money we arrived at our friend Christy's to stuff ourselves with gluttonous amounts of whole wheat pasta and begin the pre race slumber. Unfortunately for me, I couldn't sleep. So I stared at the ceiling for about 7 hours until everyone started getting up at about 6:00 A.M. After a light breakfast we all jumped in Christy's SUV, which spent all the gas we saved in the Prius in about 10 miles, and headed for Englishtown, about 25 miles from where we were.
We get out for a stretch in the parking lot. I've already been up for 24 hours and now a little wired from the 5 Hour Energy I just drank to take the fog away. Even less to my advantage, I realize I am wearing a pair of blinding white K-Swiss tennis shoes. I will later find I am quite possibly the only person in this entire race without a bad-ass pair of running shoes. A frigid northern wind is sweeping through the lot, biting our noses and ears. I look around the parking lot to see what look like members of SEAL team 6 stretching and lacing up. I am later relieved to realize that not all the race runners will look like the Expendables. These guys were the Mudder Elites, running this race for time and trying to qualify for World's Toughest Mudder, the 50 mile version of this 12 mile race. As we approach the registration booth, a woman on a megaphone is repeating "come sign your death waver here, you cannot register until you sign the death waver".
We all sign our lives away, get our paperwork, get our race numbers and I meet a couple of in line behind us that tell me they were up all night drinking and bar hopping and their friend flying in from Nevada might not even be registered. I suddenly feel less tired and less worried. We start our warm up run.
The air temp is about 38*F with the wind chill, but the cold air will soon be the least of our worries.
November 20, 2010. 9:40 A.M. We are tightly pakced at the starting line, which lies in the middle of an empty football stadium. We are in a mob of fellow runners, some with war paint, some in costume, all gritting teeth and clenched hands. A very enthusiastic man is guiding us through the Tough Mudder creed on a megaphone,
"As a Tough Mudder I pledge that…
* I understand that Tough Mudder is not a race but a challenge.
* I put teamwork and camaraderie before my course time.
* I do not whine – kids whine.
* I help my fellow Mudders complete the course.
* I overcome all fears."
Sounds great. My heart it pounding, my legs are coiled springs ready to run the length of the earth. Silence.
Then an air horn goes off, they throw a smoke bomb into the middle of the crowd and everyone madly sprints towards a monster truck that floors it though the first stretch of track. As we leave the obnoxiously sticky rubber track in the stadium we see several friendly reminders:
So we were off, establishing pace at mile one, and seeing fellow racers who had left earlier coming the opposite way on the track next to us yelling "It's not too late to turn back! Quit now while you still can! You WILL die!". Quite encouraging. After a good 1.5 miles we cross a pair of ropes tied taught over a river. No problem. We all get through easily and then come to a tall wooden platform with a rope. We climb up to see that there's nothing but a drop. And water. Dozens of other racers are jumping in, so without too much thought I plunge in, right next to a guy dressed as Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz.
When I hit the water, my body instinctively panics. Instant loss of breath, my skin is burning and my mind screams repeatedly "GET THE F#&^ OUT OF THIS WATER!! Im sure this is what most people were going through. To say it was cold is laughable. This water felt like absolute zero. People are being pulled out left and right by life guards and medical personal. Some people hit the water and instantly panic. One man, upon impact, goes into shock and is rushed to a nearby hospital. Water temp at the time is about 35* fahrenheit. About 10 minutes until hypothermia begins in this kind of water. This was no longer a nice jog in a cold morning New Jersey. The real race had begun. Move forward or die. Everyone, including myself, is scrambling as fast as our quickly numbing bodies allow only to find an obstacle in the water itself. Pairs of barrels blocking the way out. Can't climb over. Are you kidding? I take in a deep breath and go under. All the noises and screams of racers are muted by the water. Complete darkness. The water is so murky not even the slightest hint of light shines through to help guide the way around. The ice cold water is a piercing every inch of my face and body. Im frantically trying to feel my way to the opening and my breath is almost out after only a few seconds. I blindly take a guess and attempt to surface. My God, breathing air never felt so good. I have to do this twice more before Im out of the water.
I can hear Sean and a dozen other random Mudders screaming profanities over my own for a moment. He soon comes running out of the water, steaming and shivering with the rest of the team. Laughing at how absurdly cold the water was, we are off again. We have to trek through the water again before the water obstacles are over. Getting out the second time feels like my skin is coming off of my bones with each step. The 38 degree air felt like a warm afternoon on a California beach after getting out of the water. The course had many spots that almost overlapped itself, so we could see people who were earlier on and further ahead in the race at certain times.
It was easy to tell who had and hadn't gone in the water yet, not even by seeing who was soaked and who wasn't,
but by who was laughing and cheerful and excited
and who looked like they just left a concentration camp.
After that water, every Mudder's game faces were on. We climbed over and under cargo nets,
Ran at least three miles through waist high mud, hills, and turns
Slammed ourselves up and over walls
Climbed through cramped wooden piping lined with jagged rocks
Had to carry a car tire a half mile and then immediately run through field's worth of kerosene-soaked hay, flaming and smoking as much as the inside of a burning building.
Oh and lets not forget the 'suprise obstacle' that wasn't revealed until we were at the starting line. This last little gem was a roughly 20 square foot wooden frame with electrified wire dangling from the top, effectively named "The Jellyfish". What did it feel like? This gives you a little bit of an idea.
Then we see it. The home stretch. Right back where we started. My water-logged K-Swiss felt like Looney Tunes prison shackles with the cannonball attached. We joined arms and took one last sprint through the finish, to a massive and welcoming crowd.
After a brutal 12.09 miles, covered in mud, legs heavy, body shaking from the stress of the race and the extreme temperatures we all rushed to the post-race concessions where we ravenously ate the free energy bars, bananas and muscle-milks.
Immediately after finishing, Will went to the information booth to talk to the registrar. He had already paid for two days and since we weren't going to be in Jersey the next day like we had initially planned, he decided he was just going to get his money's worth by running the entire race over again the same day. But to raise the stakes, he grabs a 25lb kettle bell and begins the entire run over again!
Thats pretty damn tough. My hat goes off to you Will and all you other guys and gals who were carrying 30lb chains, rucksacks filled with weights and you crazy mofo's who dressed in full on suit and ties, briefcases included. The best part of the race was the overall sense of camaraderie. I saw people sacrificing race time to help strangers, groups forming human chains to pull competitors up huge mud covered hills and people pulling down the cargo net so everyone else could just jump over. Thats teamwork.
You don't see that much on the streets, but if there is a place to help that "every man is my brother" mentality, the Tough Mudder is the place where it starts.
We all were rewarded with orange Tough Mudder headbands, shirts and free Dogfish Head Beer. It was one hell of a race and I have nothing but respect for each and every one of you fellow Tough Mudders. Good racing, and I'm looking forward to seeing some of you in either PA or VT.
Dylan
Monday, October 25, 2010
Blood Sweat and Tears came to my gig!
Ok, ok, long overdue for a blog entry. It's been a bit of a crazy month. One of my best friends finally landed a winning blow on the job market and got hired as a surgeon's assistant in Kentucky. Crazy how someone with a Biochemistry major has touble finding a job. Damn economy. This month I have also been frantically trying to locate the last few pieces of my authentic Sweeney Todd costume (for Halloween, of course). There was a court date I had to worry about (suspended registration for not doing a VEIP emissions test) but I decided to fight to $140.00 fine. The MVA screwed up and reported that I lived in a county I did not at my old address. In St. Marys (my current county) you aren't required by law to take VEIP tests. I explained my dilemma to the judge, despite the state attorney's best efforts to tell me I was guilty because I failed to present a specific document. Long story short,"Not Guilty". Booya. Hit a few local open mics as well. Not to mention a decent amount of gigs this month. So with all that paired with my uncanny propensity for procrastination, I must say I am sorry for such a long delay.
Anyways.
Last week, I was playing at Obrien's again, up in Annapolis MD. It was a wednesday night, not that many people at the bar at first. Sometimes its really hard to give your set all of your energy when you have to play 4 hours 2-5 nights a week, sometimes for only 4 or 5 people. Its hard to always want to play your best because when you play for a living, the job aspect of it really pushes you down at times. Thankfully, a few of my friends showed up, which always makes me feel like the last 3 men of a losing battalion watching 100 reinforcements come rushing over the hill to help them. One of the reinforcements being Ben Bays, a badass percussionist who had played with the Naptown band "The Higher Hands", an infectious groove oriented band with Funk, Go-Go and R & B roots. He just so happened to have his Conga on him. I figured the crowd wouldn't mind a little extra power to the rhythm for the last set. So we jammed out on "Sunday Morning", "Beg, Steal, or Borrow", "Hey Jealousy", and the place started dancing. Everyone was raising their beers, laughing bobbing heads; pretty much every sign you hope to see as a performer. One of them came up to us, introducing himself as Teddy and asked it he could play on a song, informing us that he was in a band. Good enough for us. So Teddy scooted up to Bens Conga and started throwing a cow-skin beatdown. I came in with the the chord progression from "Hotel California". And we rocked out in a fiery unison for the happy patrons. After finishing up the set Ben and I sat down at the bar with Teddy. Turns out Teddy was Teddy Mulet. As in the trumpet player for "Blood Sweat and Tears" and "Gloria Estefan".
(Wahumuna!? Its Teddy Mulet!?)
After looking around the room, I noticed it wasn't just Teddy, but half of band! They just so happened to be touring in Annapolis and were playing at Ram's Head the next night. They were in Obrien's to unwind after a long drive. Teddy was a really nice guy, he was telling us about lots of great spots to play in Florida, stories about the road and how about being a young man in the audience at a "Blood Sweat and Tears" concert, obviously before he himself was a member. He told me "I never could have guessed I would be up there playing with them about 20 years later." I'd say that's about as much inspiration as you can get playing a random local bar gig on a Wednesday night, wouldn't you?
I was actually happy I didn't really know who I was playing for, that would of probably made it a little nerve wracking. They are all such high caliber musicians, and its nice to see them off the stage, realizing they are just chill people who so happen to play music. So we hung out the rest of the night, talking to the rest of the band and having a couple pints. A few weeks before, an entire minor league baseball team from California walked in the door. I guess you should always be trying to play your best, you never know who will walk in the door.
Anyways.
Last week, I was playing at Obrien's again, up in Annapolis MD. It was a wednesday night, not that many people at the bar at first. Sometimes its really hard to give your set all of your energy when you have to play 4 hours 2-5 nights a week, sometimes for only 4 or 5 people. Its hard to always want to play your best because when you play for a living, the job aspect of it really pushes you down at times. Thankfully, a few of my friends showed up, which always makes me feel like the last 3 men of a losing battalion watching 100 reinforcements come rushing over the hill to help them. One of the reinforcements being Ben Bays, a badass percussionist who had played with the Naptown band "The Higher Hands", an infectious groove oriented band with Funk, Go-Go and R & B roots. He just so happened to have his Conga on him. I figured the crowd wouldn't mind a little extra power to the rhythm for the last set. So we jammed out on "Sunday Morning", "Beg, Steal, or Borrow", "Hey Jealousy", and the place started dancing. Everyone was raising their beers, laughing bobbing heads; pretty much every sign you hope to see as a performer. One of them came up to us, introducing himself as Teddy and asked it he could play on a song, informing us that he was in a band. Good enough for us. So Teddy scooted up to Bens Conga and started throwing a cow-skin beatdown. I came in with the the chord progression from "Hotel California". And we rocked out in a fiery unison for the happy patrons. After finishing up the set Ben and I sat down at the bar with Teddy. Turns out Teddy was Teddy Mulet. As in the trumpet player for "Blood Sweat and Tears" and "Gloria Estefan".
(Wahumuna!? Its Teddy Mulet!?)
After looking around the room, I noticed it wasn't just Teddy, but half of band! They just so happened to be touring in Annapolis and were playing at Ram's Head the next night. They were in Obrien's to unwind after a long drive. Teddy was a really nice guy, he was telling us about lots of great spots to play in Florida, stories about the road and how about being a young man in the audience at a "Blood Sweat and Tears" concert, obviously before he himself was a member. He told me "I never could have guessed I would be up there playing with them about 20 years later." I'd say that's about as much inspiration as you can get playing a random local bar gig on a Wednesday night, wouldn't you?
I was actually happy I didn't really know who I was playing for, that would of probably made it a little nerve wracking. They are all such high caliber musicians, and its nice to see them off the stage, realizing they are just chill people who so happen to play music. So we hung out the rest of the night, talking to the rest of the band and having a couple pints. A few weeks before, an entire minor league baseball team from California walked in the door. I guess you should always be trying to play your best, you never know who will walk in the door.
Monday, September 13, 2010
The Song for Ingrid Michaelson
So remember when I said I would write a song for Ingrid Michaelson? Well Im finally finished and I going to let you see the lyrics before I officially record it. Its called "Looking Up". It's my "shot in the dark but I'm still wishing to meet you" song.
Feel free to throw your two cents in, although Im unlikely to change anything about it since I went through about 5 drafts and Im quite happy with the way it sounds, musically and lyrically, I always like to hear feedback. Think Nick Drake, Paulo Nutini, and of course Ingrid. Simple pretty, diatonic finger-picking pattern style playing with soft mid-range vocals and earnest tone.
"Looking Up"
(verse, verse, refrain, verse, refrain, bridge, verse, refrain)
I can’t seem to find a good beginning
That plays as well as the reel my head’s been spinning
But I figured I
At least should try
You might think I am just a little crazy
Or I’m long lost in a sea of reverie
So I’ll just say
Please come my way
I’ve been looking up
Waiting for the chance to come
Maybe we could go out for a coffee
And we could trade a few funny stories
And then from there
Who knows where
I’ve been looking up
Waiting for the chance to come
If you are weary of my intentions
And I won’t ever win your time or your affection
Just tell me I’m looking in the wrong direction
So I can get this crick out of my neck
Til’ then I’ll be holding onto my wishes
Dreaming that the sound of all your kisses
In sweet array
Will gently say
I’ve been looking up
Waiting for the chance to come
(painting by Jim Thalassoudis)
So there it is. Im realizing as iI look at the lyrics more and more this can pretty be used for any two people, so it will be open up to a wider range of listeners who are looking up as well. Since you dont know what the music sounds like I'm interested in how what you expect will differ from what I've written. Hope you enjoy it and again, feel free to let me know what you think. It's one of about 6-8 songs Im going to try and get recorded and put on a new, entirely acoustic album. And Ingrid Michaelson, although your probably never going to read this, Ill be looking up.
Feel free to throw your two cents in, although Im unlikely to change anything about it since I went through about 5 drafts and Im quite happy with the way it sounds, musically and lyrically, I always like to hear feedback. Think Nick Drake, Paulo Nutini, and of course Ingrid. Simple pretty, diatonic finger-picking pattern style playing with soft mid-range vocals and earnest tone.
"Looking Up"
(verse, verse, refrain, verse, refrain, bridge, verse, refrain)
I can’t seem to find a good beginning
That plays as well as the reel my head’s been spinning
But I figured I
At least should try
You might think I am just a little crazy
Or I’m long lost in a sea of reverie
So I’ll just say
Please come my way
I’ve been looking up
Waiting for the chance to come
Maybe we could go out for a coffee
And we could trade a few funny stories
And then from there
Who knows where
I’ve been looking up
Waiting for the chance to come
If you are weary of my intentions
And I won’t ever win your time or your affection
Just tell me I’m looking in the wrong direction
So I can get this crick out of my neck
Til’ then I’ll be holding onto my wishes
Dreaming that the sound of all your kisses
In sweet array
Will gently say
I’ve been looking up
Waiting for the chance to come
(painting by Jim Thalassoudis)
So there it is. Im realizing as iI look at the lyrics more and more this can pretty be used for any two people, so it will be open up to a wider range of listeners who are looking up as well. Since you dont know what the music sounds like I'm interested in how what you expect will differ from what I've written. Hope you enjoy it and again, feel free to let me know what you think. It's one of about 6-8 songs Im going to try and get recorded and put on a new, entirely acoustic album. And Ingrid Michaelson, although your probably never going to read this, Ill be looking up.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
DC stands for Directional Cluster-f#*%
Honestly. I know Im a night owl and my job requires late hours but this is not cool.
I want to know who designed the roads and intersections in DC? Was it designed by a group of lemmings? Look closely at the time stamp on this post. Yes, 5:10 A.M. Why? Because it took me almost an hour and a half to make my way out of the intestinal track of satan that is currently known as downtown DC. Now the gig itself went pretty well (James Hoban's; an Irish pub with a really cool staff and lots o' drinks, wa woo wee wa). My Mapquest directions led me there correctly but the last tenth of a mile was absurd. Du Pont circle is pretty much the biggest shit show of city road planning you will ever see. It looks something like this:
("Welcome to Du Pont circle, please check your mental health and well being at the first stop light")
Yeah, Imagine that steaming dump of a traffic circle with fifteen side streets that all have the same name and stop lights every 12 feet that stay red for 5 minutes and green for .06 seconds. Seriously, why do pedestrians need 45 seconds to cross a 10 foot area? Is everyone in DC quadriplegic? Are they out walking their turtles? After already being late to my gig from having to circle the restaurant 5 times around figure A to find a parking spot I was a little on edge. The 3 hours of playing music to pretty girls and fellow Irish brethren helped me quell my heart attack for while. A couple of Jameson's on the rocks didn't hurt, either. However, after the gig was over and I was packed up and headed back home I pretty much had a full on aneurism within ten minutes of trying to follow the Mapquest directions backwards. On top of having to follow the directions backward and being in completely unfamiliar territory, every road sign in DC looks like this:
So you are lost in DC. It's 2:30 A.M. Everyone is drunk and seemingly a potential threat to your well being. You see a guy puking all over the road, two people are making out on corner (not romantically but sloppily and angrily), a girl gets her heel stuck in a crack and plummets into a fire hydrant. Now these sights can be amusing and/or hilarious, but not when you don't know how to get away from such an area. And just when you think you've taken every single road and you cant get any more lost you come to this little diddy:
(so do I just get out my car?)
I almost lost it after my second attempted escape was foiled by a construction detour that led me right back downtown after 40 minutes of what I thought was proactive driving. Apparently the city was not ready to let me go just yet. My nerves were tingling, my eyes were bloodshot, and people in cars next to me appeared to be uncomfortable when they timidly glanced over at me talking to myself in my seat, rocking back and forth. Just before I became Michael Douglass in "Falling Down", by some miracle, I made it out onto the interstate. I have never been so happy to see the beltway. As of this moment, I never want to go to DC again. Am I being dramatic? Of course, that's half the fun. Actually thats all of the fun because nothing else about this was fun. Getting out of DC when you don't know how is about as much fun as using a cactus as toilet paper. Probably a little less bloody, though.
If you are reading this and you, either wholly or in part, are/were responsible for the designing of the roadways in the downtown area of the District of Columbia, please contact me at 1-800-jump off of a bridge with rocks tied to your feet.
You have a blessed day.
I want to know who designed the roads and intersections in DC? Was it designed by a group of lemmings? Look closely at the time stamp on this post. Yes, 5:10 A.M. Why? Because it took me almost an hour and a half to make my way out of the intestinal track of satan that is currently known as downtown DC. Now the gig itself went pretty well (James Hoban's; an Irish pub with a really cool staff and lots o' drinks, wa woo wee wa). My Mapquest directions led me there correctly but the last tenth of a mile was absurd. Du Pont circle is pretty much the biggest shit show of city road planning you will ever see. It looks something like this:
("Welcome to Du Pont circle, please check your mental health and well being at the first stop light")
Yeah, Imagine that steaming dump of a traffic circle with fifteen side streets that all have the same name and stop lights every 12 feet that stay red for 5 minutes and green for .06 seconds. Seriously, why do pedestrians need 45 seconds to cross a 10 foot area? Is everyone in DC quadriplegic? Are they out walking their turtles? After already being late to my gig from having to circle the restaurant 5 times around figure A to find a parking spot I was a little on edge. The 3 hours of playing music to pretty girls and fellow Irish brethren helped me quell my heart attack for while. A couple of Jameson's on the rocks didn't hurt, either. However, after the gig was over and I was packed up and headed back home I pretty much had a full on aneurism within ten minutes of trying to follow the Mapquest directions backwards. On top of having to follow the directions backward and being in completely unfamiliar territory, every road sign in DC looks like this:
So you are lost in DC. It's 2:30 A.M. Everyone is drunk and seemingly a potential threat to your well being. You see a guy puking all over the road, two people are making out on corner (not romantically but sloppily and angrily), a girl gets her heel stuck in a crack and plummets into a fire hydrant. Now these sights can be amusing and/or hilarious, but not when you don't know how to get away from such an area. And just when you think you've taken every single road and you cant get any more lost you come to this little diddy:
(so do I just get out my car?)
I almost lost it after my second attempted escape was foiled by a construction detour that led me right back downtown after 40 minutes of what I thought was proactive driving. Apparently the city was not ready to let me go just yet. My nerves were tingling, my eyes were bloodshot, and people in cars next to me appeared to be uncomfortable when they timidly glanced over at me talking to myself in my seat, rocking back and forth. Just before I became Michael Douglass in "Falling Down", by some miracle, I made it out onto the interstate. I have never been so happy to see the beltway. As of this moment, I never want to go to DC again. Am I being dramatic? Of course, that's half the fun. Actually thats all of the fun because nothing else about this was fun. Getting out of DC when you don't know how is about as much fun as using a cactus as toilet paper. Probably a little less bloody, though.
If you are reading this and you, either wholly or in part, are/were responsible for the designing of the roadways in the downtown area of the District of Columbia, please contact me at 1-800-jump off of a bridge with rocks tied to your feet.
You have a blessed day.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Emergency Songwriting
My friend Sean and I were making some food at my house. His friend-girl (not girlfriend) was planning on meeting us for some Balderdash later in the evening. By some turn of events, she texts him on his new, amazing Droid that she can't make it. It's always an unfortunate time when the prospect of being in the presence of women, in all their splendor, is impeded. So rather than sulk in the corner and spend the night playing Halo and crying in a puddle of urine (foreshadowing), we decided to try and turn the events back around. He texts back "No way, you have to come, I'm making food and I even wrote a song for you I was going to play, its called peeing in your pants". "Aww, really!?" she replies hinting that there may be hope after all. I wasn't entirely sure how a song about peeing yourself would get such a response, but whatever. It's still a shot in the dark, and more likely will just make her feel guilty than actually change her mind and decide to come over. She replies "I'll be there in fifteen". Wahuh!? We look at each other. We realize a new predicament. We have no such song. Sean doesn't want to look like a huge, lying d-bag, so that means we have fifteen minutes to write a full song, lyrics and melody, about "peeing in your pants" while still maintaining a lighthearted, slightly romantic and funny tone without being too ridiculous (assuming that would be the appropriate style for this situation). I also have never met this girl, so she may hear it, be completely offended and say "You guys are dicks" and then leave. We run upstairs, abandoning the veggie burger on the stove and we get crackin'. Sean was preoccupied guiding her, via the Droid, to the house and time was of the essence, so I scrambled to crank out some lyrics as fast as I could. My degree has finally come in handy. The lyrics go as follows:
You've got the prettiest smile
And I love the way you move when you dance
Something about your hair falling in your face makes me a little crazy
But its not as half as cute as when you pee your pants
So come a little closer
I'd like to give you a little
Tickle, tickle So I can watch you
Trickle trickle
Tickle, tickle So I can watch you
Trickle trickle
You shouldn't feel ashamed at all
It's something I can definitely overlook
Because the only thing that I really can be concerned about
Is the heavy beating heart you recently took
So come a little closer
I'd like to give you a little
Tickle, tickle So I can watch you
Trickle trickle
Tickle, tickle So I can watch you
Trickle trickle
If it would make you feel better
I don't mind clothes a little bit wetter
I never told anyone, bit I do it too, we can pee together
So come a little closer
I'd like to give you a little
Tickle, tickle So I can watch you
Trickle trickle
Tickle, tickle So I can watch you
Trickle trickle
Song Form (be careful, advanced songwriter use only):
Verse, Pre-Chorus, Chorus, Verse, Pre-Chorus, Chorus, Bridge, Pre-Chorus, Chorus
Yes, cliche lyrics everywhere, but that happens when you have to crank out a song in about ten minutes. Also I've never seen her dance, but it rhymed with pants, so leave me alone. I finish just as Sean is going back downstairs to let her in the door. He walks her up the stairs and through my bedroom door and I'm just finishing printing out the lyrics for us to read. Just as we are introducing one another, Sean goes "what's that burning smell?". Veggie burger. Fire. Death. He sprints downstairs and comes back up with something that looks like a veggie burger on one side, asphalt and charred seagulls on the other. He still ate it, though. Anyways she loved the song. Maybe we'll put up a recording of it sometime soon. In hindsight, I feel this may have been a little bit creepy to sing to a girl the first time meeting her. A very interesting way to make a first impression, but I think it was a worthwhile endeavor. I know what you're thinking. "Wow, Dylan, how much did it cost to harness such awesome skills that allowed you to write a song about peeing your pants in ten minutes!?" About $100,000 from Berklee College of Music. Dammit.
You've got the prettiest smile
And I love the way you move when you dance
Something about your hair falling in your face makes me a little crazy
But its not as half as cute as when you pee your pants
So come a little closer
I'd like to give you a little
Tickle, tickle So I can watch you
Trickle trickle
Tickle, tickle So I can watch you
Trickle trickle
You shouldn't feel ashamed at all
It's something I can definitely overlook
Because the only thing that I really can be concerned about
Is the heavy beating heart you recently took
So come a little closer
I'd like to give you a little
Tickle, tickle So I can watch you
Trickle trickle
Tickle, tickle So I can watch you
Trickle trickle
If it would make you feel better
I don't mind clothes a little bit wetter
I never told anyone, bit I do it too, we can pee together
So come a little closer
I'd like to give you a little
Tickle, tickle So I can watch you
Trickle trickle
Tickle, tickle So I can watch you
Trickle trickle
Song Form (be careful, advanced songwriter use only):
Verse, Pre-Chorus, Chorus, Verse, Pre-Chorus, Chorus, Bridge, Pre-Chorus, Chorus
Yes, cliche lyrics everywhere, but that happens when you have to crank out a song in about ten minutes. Also I've never seen her dance, but it rhymed with pants, so leave me alone. I finish just as Sean is going back downstairs to let her in the door. He walks her up the stairs and through my bedroom door and I'm just finishing printing out the lyrics for us to read. Just as we are introducing one another, Sean goes "what's that burning smell?". Veggie burger. Fire. Death. He sprints downstairs and comes back up with something that looks like a veggie burger on one side, asphalt and charred seagulls on the other. He still ate it, though. Anyways she loved the song. Maybe we'll put up a recording of it sometime soon. In hindsight, I feel this may have been a little bit creepy to sing to a girl the first time meeting her. A very interesting way to make a first impression, but I think it was a worthwhile endeavor. I know what you're thinking. "Wow, Dylan, how much did it cost to harness such awesome skills that allowed you to write a song about peeing your pants in ten minutes!?" About $100,000 from Berklee College of Music. Dammit.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Miley Cyrus Death Metal
Usually at OBrien's on a tuesday night, there is a very, very small and quiet crowd. Sometimes an occasional bar patron will bob their head and seem to be into what Im playing. The bartenders are always great, they always give a good applause after every song. But nonetheless, its usually a quiet night for the most part, without much suprise, because its tuesday. This only one day after terrible monday, the worst day the world will ever now. The dreaded workweek is only 2/7th done, lots of pain to suffer through, so understandably, the morale of the tuesday nighters is about equivalent to the Jonas Brothers before a bare-knuckle bar fight with Jason Statham. However, last night was a little different.
A small group of my good friends came (about 10) and made OBrien's sound like a baseball game, which may or may not have been enjoyed by the manager. I'm sure he didn't mind that much when he saw the bar tab, though. I was loving every second of it. Judging by the applauses after the songs and the volume of the voices singing along, it was like playing for a family of Tazmanian devils with megaphones, every solo artists dream come true. Well, at least mine.
My dear friend Danny had a few sips of a couple beers and was Gobstoppin' (Annapolis jargon meaning "dancing") and singing opera style vocal harmonies. He's a jazz vocal major from Towson with a larger than life personality. To give you an idea, this is Danny:
(The piercings are fake)
A couple of my lovely lady friends from home, Steph and Erin, all gussied up and looking fine, made the one and a half hour journey all the way up from Leonardtown to come see me. I was quite happy about that. So they walked over and sat at the bar near the table the rest of my friends were at and began whaling away to all the lyrics of the songs also while also making the view even better. Soon after they arrived, by some strange scientific anomale, almost 30 people trickled in over the next 45 minutes. Obriens was packed with a bunch of singing, dancing fiends and it couldn't have been more wonderful.
The highlight of the night, had to be when of my friend at the table began singing along with "Party in the USA". He has a God-like volume to his voice and was screaming in death metal style "YEEEEEAAHH-EEEYAA-EEYA-EEYA, ITS A PARTY IN THE U.S. A." Now I'm aware that this glass shaking, bird-exploding, baby killing screaming (which was as loud as my voice going through the P.A.)cannot be fully described in text, but imagine M. Shadows from Avenged Sevenfold wearing Darth Vaders Helmet. Also keep in mind it was enough to make almost the entire bar stop mid- conversation in awe of what they heard.
After hearing his Miley Cyrus death metal voice, I started laughing while I was trying to sing. My attempt at trying so hard not to laugh made it even harder not to laugh, and my friends, especially Danny, whose two sips of beer had him buzzing like a neon sign, absolutely lost it and almost coughed his beer all over the table. The chain reaction spread to everyone else at the table and it just snowballed between us. I began to laugh so hard I stopped mid-song, keeled over in hysterical pain and almost fell to the floor. It was the first time in my life someone had made me laugh enough mid song to make me stop during a show. I really hope it wasn't the last, either. I finally composed myself and finished my set with half the bar singing "Wonderwall". Not my favorite song of all time, but people seem to like it.
After the show, we all headed to the famous "Double T" after an overzealous douche bag of a police officer screamed at us for standing around my car, quietly discussing plans of where to go and eating a bag of organic almonds. Then he gave Danny a stare down, as if he had just sexaully assaulted a small rodent in a public place. I guess officer douche-bag doesn't like almonds. Maybe he's having family problems. Maybe he just pooped his pants. All in all, it was a great night, definitely my favorite time at Obriens so far. Thank you guys for coming and I'm looking forward to more shows like that.
(Hey, get the hell out of here! There are no almonds allowed on this street!)
A small group of my good friends came (about 10) and made OBrien's sound like a baseball game, which may or may not have been enjoyed by the manager. I'm sure he didn't mind that much when he saw the bar tab, though. I was loving every second of it. Judging by the applauses after the songs and the volume of the voices singing along, it was like playing for a family of Tazmanian devils with megaphones, every solo artists dream come true. Well, at least mine.
My dear friend Danny had a few sips of a couple beers and was Gobstoppin' (Annapolis jargon meaning "dancing") and singing opera style vocal harmonies. He's a jazz vocal major from Towson with a larger than life personality. To give you an idea, this is Danny:
(The piercings are fake)
A couple of my lovely lady friends from home, Steph and Erin, all gussied up and looking fine, made the one and a half hour journey all the way up from Leonardtown to come see me. I was quite happy about that. So they walked over and sat at the bar near the table the rest of my friends were at and began whaling away to all the lyrics of the songs also while also making the view even better. Soon after they arrived, by some strange scientific anomale, almost 30 people trickled in over the next 45 minutes. Obriens was packed with a bunch of singing, dancing fiends and it couldn't have been more wonderful.
The highlight of the night, had to be when of my friend at the table began singing along with "Party in the USA". He has a God-like volume to his voice and was screaming in death metal style "YEEEEEAAHH-EEEYAA-EEYA-EEYA, ITS A PARTY IN THE U.S. A." Now I'm aware that this glass shaking, bird-exploding, baby killing screaming (which was as loud as my voice going through the P.A.)cannot be fully described in text, but imagine M. Shadows from Avenged Sevenfold wearing Darth Vaders Helmet. Also keep in mind it was enough to make almost the entire bar stop mid- conversation in awe of what they heard.
After hearing his Miley Cyrus death metal voice, I started laughing while I was trying to sing. My attempt at trying so hard not to laugh made it even harder not to laugh, and my friends, especially Danny, whose two sips of beer had him buzzing like a neon sign, absolutely lost it and almost coughed his beer all over the table. The chain reaction spread to everyone else at the table and it just snowballed between us. I began to laugh so hard I stopped mid-song, keeled over in hysterical pain and almost fell to the floor. It was the first time in my life someone had made me laugh enough mid song to make me stop during a show. I really hope it wasn't the last, either. I finally composed myself and finished my set with half the bar singing "Wonderwall". Not my favorite song of all time, but people seem to like it.
After the show, we all headed to the famous "Double T" after an overzealous douche bag of a police officer screamed at us for standing around my car, quietly discussing plans of where to go and eating a bag of organic almonds. Then he gave Danny a stare down, as if he had just sexaully assaulted a small rodent in a public place. I guess officer douche-bag doesn't like almonds. Maybe he's having family problems. Maybe he just pooped his pants. All in all, it was a great night, definitely my favorite time at Obriens so far. Thank you guys for coming and I'm looking forward to more shows like that.
(Hey, get the hell out of here! There are no almonds allowed on this street!)
Monday, August 30, 2010
I Appreciate my Fans More and More
Although my following is still a very small one, there seems to be a slightly increasing amount of people who come out to see me from time to time. This is always a wonderful thing to see, of course, not only because it gives me a little bit of confidence in yourself (if I were atrociously, pants-shittingly terible this probably wouldn't happen) but also because (and I never really noticed this until recently) you begin to develop relationships, however seemingly minute or ephemeral, with new probably would have never known. It can be enjoyable, interesting, enlightening, maybe even strange, but I find myself sitting down during breaks or after shows and enjoying the company of my listeners more and more. It's comforting to connect with a complete stranger through a God-given medium (music)and begin mapping out each others souls over a beer and soft bar chatter. It seems to me alot of tension between strangers on the street that end in conflict seems to be linked with each person fearing something in the other. Singing along with people and then talking with them between sets gets the underlying social tension melting like snow in april.
I wanted to say thank you to all of you (every single one, and especially all my friends!) who have come out to see me at a show. I really enjoy seeing your faces in the audience and it always gives me a little rush when I see you guys walking in the door during a set.
Dylan
I wanted to say thank you to all of you (every single one, and especially all my friends!) who have come out to see me at a show. I really enjoy seeing your faces in the audience and it always gives me a little rush when I see you guys walking in the door during a set.
Dylan
Friday, August 27, 2010
Wakey, wakey
So being employed as a full time musician, a.k.a. being a rockstar, I have an extremely late schedule. Waking up at and/or after noon or one doesn't make you a slacker when you work til' 1-2AM with a several hour drive back home. Anyone who says "wow, it must be nice to sleep til' noon" I would quickly reply "yeah and it must be nice to be able to fall asleep at ten P.M. and not just be just starting work.........douche". Anyways, that having been said, in the event that my blog posts are time-stamped, you may be asking yourself "why, Dylan, why would you be awake at 9:08 A.M?" If they are not time stamped, then guess what? Its 9:08 A.M. Anyways , you may be saying, "Well Dylan that's not very Rock-star of you, my grandma sleeps later than you" Well, my faithful blog reading buddy, its because I am renting from my family (which has up's-like a pool and really low rent and a living space I could never afford on my own......and down's-like being awake right now). And for the last few days and for the next few we are baby sitting some of our relatives little dog. This little dog is cute and fluffy, it is a Yorkie.
(Pwease, wuv me?)
Now before you go "AWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!" stop. This dog is not as nearly cute, and for some reason also seemingly less fluffy, when you are awoken at 7:30 AM for 4 days and counting because the dog begins to barking obnoxiously loud outside of your door when it's social anxiety disorder kicks in and it wants to get into your room. This repeated association (Pavlov, Pavlov Pavlov) of "cute little animal" with "extreme exhaustion and unhappiness" will immediately take the cuteness of it down several points on the 1 to 10 scale, possibly into the negatives. The rockstar schedule does not allow for the repeated waking up at a time when you can still catch the weather on the news. It is not a schedule that one should think about coffee and the sunrise and morning rush hour. This should all be slept through, like that skit on Saturday night live when Chris Farley is in a commercial for cold medicine that he drinks 3 gallons of and sleeps through the entire cold season. I should be sleeping through the morning grind; my cold season. But no, I am awash in a sea of torment, sitting next to a happy Yorkie, wagging its little demonic tail and smiling at me.
(Pwease, wuv me?)
Now before you go "AWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!" stop. This dog is not as nearly cute, and for some reason also seemingly less fluffy, when you are awoken at 7:30 AM for 4 days and counting because the dog begins to barking obnoxiously loud outside of your door when it's social anxiety disorder kicks in and it wants to get into your room. This repeated association (Pavlov, Pavlov Pavlov) of "cute little animal" with "extreme exhaustion and unhappiness" will immediately take the cuteness of it down several points on the 1 to 10 scale, possibly into the negatives. The rockstar schedule does not allow for the repeated waking up at a time when you can still catch the weather on the news. It is not a schedule that one should think about coffee and the sunrise and morning rush hour. This should all be slept through, like that skit on Saturday night live when Chris Farley is in a commercial for cold medicine that he drinks 3 gallons of and sleeps through the entire cold season. I should be sleeping through the morning grind; my cold season. But no, I am awash in a sea of torment, sitting next to a happy Yorkie, wagging its little demonic tail and smiling at me.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Song a Brewin'
Hey guys,
Its been a while since I've posted, I need to get into the habit of doing this every few days instead of sporadically. Well yesterday I finally decided to stop being a douche and put some hours onto a song I half completed. Its turning out great and as soon as I finish it, Im going to be recording it and posting it up on Youtube for all of you to see/comment/critique/enjoy. Its actually a song about Ingrid Michaelson. Now you're probably asking yourself why would I go ahead and do that? Well thats, simple; because I am stalking her. No, actually Im just really into her music and writing and I watched a few interviews with her and she seems like a really interesting person. I have a very distant dream of trying to date her. Of course this probably will never happen, but I think its a much better dream than trying to go for Katy Perry, since she seems secretly evil and is married to Russel Brant.
So this songs intention, of course, is for me to gain national success with it and her to hear and swoon like in Disney movies where all this crap starts orbiting around the head of the person who is swooning, you know what Im talking about, right?
(See, look at that face!? How could I not write a song for her?)
Anyways, when I finally crank this out, Ill post it up here and I hope you guys let me know what you think!
Its been a while since I've posted, I need to get into the habit of doing this every few days instead of sporadically. Well yesterday I finally decided to stop being a douche and put some hours onto a song I half completed. Its turning out great and as soon as I finish it, Im going to be recording it and posting it up on Youtube for all of you to see/comment/critique/enjoy. Its actually a song about Ingrid Michaelson. Now you're probably asking yourself why would I go ahead and do that? Well thats, simple; because I am stalking her. No, actually Im just really into her music and writing and I watched a few interviews with her and she seems like a really interesting person. I have a very distant dream of trying to date her. Of course this probably will never happen, but I think its a much better dream than trying to go for Katy Perry, since she seems secretly evil and is married to Russel Brant.
So this songs intention, of course, is for me to gain national success with it and her to hear and swoon like in Disney movies where all this crap starts orbiting around the head of the person who is swooning, you know what Im talking about, right?
(See, look at that face!? How could I not write a song for her?)
Anyways, when I finally crank this out, Ill post it up here and I hope you guys let me know what you think!
Monday, August 9, 2010
Snorkeling in Florida
Ok so the gigs went real well. Sorry to leave you all hanging for so long for that last one. But yeah, my grandfather is fine, my mom is fine, the bike is fine (he is still riding, he is hardcore) and we all had a great time down in Fl. I got to try para-sailing, jet-skiing and snorkeling all for the first time, which were three of the most exciting things I have ever done in my life. I recommend that everyone go out at least one time in your life and snorkel if you get the chance. Don't waste your time in the Chesapeake bay trying with the dead seagulls and jellyfish stinging you in the face; on top of its completely bland aquatic life, we've polluted that bay so bad its like snorkeling in a Porta-Potty. Next time you are on vacation somewhere where the water is clear and the fish are bright make sure you snorkel. We were snorkeling on the 3rd largest barrier reef in the world, so it seemed surreal the whole time having never seen blue water in my life and then seeing that. When you get to the real deep areas its a terrifying, beautiful experience. Watching the sea floor drop down about 50 feet and thinking about the sluggish leviathans that rule the deep will probably get your heartbeat going. Of course if you spot a shark that will work wonders, too. I actually didn't see any sharks, although I tried by swimming about 300 yards away from the group away from the barrier reef, but I saw a ton of fish I have never seen before and a couple monster size fish that were just wandering around in no particular direction. Maybe a song is in order? Oh yeah I can hear it now...."you're my sexy little fish lady swimming around with your big empty eyes and shaking your fin my way, oooo la la la"
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Adventure to Key West (Part 2)
As we pass the scene of the accident by the off-ramp to a rest station, and now in a state of panic my mother picks up her cell phone, her hands shaking violently. She dials Poppop's number to make sure it was just a coincidence.......ring..............that the bike on the tow truck is another bike just like his.....ring.............and that he is safely riding his look-a-like bike a few miles ahead of us......ring.....his phone picks up. "Hello, mam, my name is Trooper Bonner with the Florida State Police". All our worst fears were confirmed in that moment. We cut across the 75 MPH traffic to the far left lane where we made a u turn a few miles down in the "Ambulance Only" U-turn through the median. We then had to pass the accident in the opposite direction and make another U turn to get back. We pulled up and all jumped out quickly. I walked over to the tow truck and started investigating the damage on the bike and the marks it left on the asphalt. My mother ran over to the squad car and started talking to the officer inside. From the scratches it looks like he must have been going 50 when he crashed...not a good sign at all. The officer told us he was at a nearby hospital, so we hopped back in the Lincoln and followed him to the hospital.
We stepped into a small room where Poppop was laying on a sterile looking bed with white sheets. He looked up at us with an exhausted smile and said something to the effect of "well, that was fun". It turns out, according to the doctor, he had no major injuries. A bruised buttock and a concussion were the only damages he incurred. For a 50 MPH crash on the side of a major highway, it was nothing short of a miracle. Trooper Bonner (almost bone-er, heh heh) walked into the room after his diagnosis and said "Hey Paul, Im going to need to ask you a few questions". As a short interrogation ensued, we stood in the room, pensively engaged at the dialogue between the officer trying to find who was at fault and our concussed Poppop. After the questioning, officer Bonner, with a slight air of patronization, made a strong suggestion to Poppop that maybe he should consider purchasing a smaller bike, as the Honda Goldwing is one of the heaviest bikes available. Poppop, even as he lay there in a hospital bed from his bike, stubbornly dodged the suggestion and retorted with something to the effect of "yeah, maybe Ill think about it"...
We met up with Zip out in the lobby of the hospital and got Poppop into Lincoln, where he instructed us we had to go back to the place where the bike was towed to inspect the damage. Im pretty sure by that point, we were all a little ready to be done with the bike, but we drove about an hour back up the way we came to see the damage. (Keep in mind we haven't even gotten to our destination yet and we had been on the road for almost 19 hours in the last two days). So after some old man grumbles and off the wall ideas of how to get it driving again, we convinced Poppop he must accept defeat and leave it. And we did. We high tailed it out of there, put him on a plane back home and we finally got to Key West at about 2:30 A.M.
I would tell you how the gigs went, but Im sick of writing.
We stepped into a small room where Poppop was laying on a sterile looking bed with white sheets. He looked up at us with an exhausted smile and said something to the effect of "well, that was fun". It turns out, according to the doctor, he had no major injuries. A bruised buttock and a concussion were the only damages he incurred. For a 50 MPH crash on the side of a major highway, it was nothing short of a miracle. Trooper Bonner (almost bone-er, heh heh) walked into the room after his diagnosis and said "Hey Paul, Im going to need to ask you a few questions". As a short interrogation ensued, we stood in the room, pensively engaged at the dialogue between the officer trying to find who was at fault and our concussed Poppop. After the questioning, officer Bonner, with a slight air of patronization, made a strong suggestion to Poppop that maybe he should consider purchasing a smaller bike, as the Honda Goldwing is one of the heaviest bikes available. Poppop, even as he lay there in a hospital bed from his bike, stubbornly dodged the suggestion and retorted with something to the effect of "yeah, maybe Ill think about it"...
We met up with Zip out in the lobby of the hospital and got Poppop into Lincoln, where he instructed us we had to go back to the place where the bike was towed to inspect the damage. Im pretty sure by that point, we were all a little ready to be done with the bike, but we drove about an hour back up the way we came to see the damage. (Keep in mind we haven't even gotten to our destination yet and we had been on the road for almost 19 hours in the last two days). So after some old man grumbles and off the wall ideas of how to get it driving again, we convinced Poppop he must accept defeat and leave it. And we did. We high tailed it out of there, put him on a plane back home and we finally got to Key West at about 2:30 A.M.
I would tell you how the gigs went, but Im sick of writing.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
The Adventure to Key West (Part 1)
So as some of you know my agent called me up and asked me if I wanted to play a series of shows at in Key West, Fl at Jimmy Buffet's own Margaritaville. But I wouldn't be going alone. My grandfather aka Poppop, his good ol' navy buddy Zip, my mom and her friend Janice. We decided not to fly. Now by "we" I mean "my mother" since she developed a flying phobia a fews year back. I was mostly indifferent since I wasn't thrilled with the idea of an airline making me check my guitar after I heard a horror story from a friend about a traveling musician who watched his checked guitar come around on the conveyer belt at the baggage pick up with its next broken off and hanging out of his destroyed gig case. Now with all of the luggage we would have it would be a real tight fit for the five of us, even in the SUV Linconln CR-X (with extra trunk space) we would be taking. But not to worry, Poppop and Zip would be traveling a different way. Despite my families best efforts to convince them not to, Poppop would be meeting up with Zip halfway and they would be riding their motorcycles. Keep in mind Poppop owns a Honda Goldwing. For you un-motorcycle riders, this is NOT a small bike. Well over 1,000 pounds, this baby sports AC, a radio, CD player, windshield wipers....I wouldn't be suprised if it had a sunroof and 4 wheel drive (somehow). Now, 1,400 Miles on motorcyles at 75 years old didn't make a large part of the family happy, but there is no arguing with a couple military men on a mission.
Poppop had already left more than an hour before us since he was coming from Upper Malboro about 50 miles north of us. We were coming from Leonardtown. I have to say that 6:00 A.M. is a terrible time. I would have woken up at noon and just driven the 1,400 miles non-stop, but you can't always get away with these type of all-or-nothing style scheduling when you bring family. I wish there was a Country wide decree that it is not legal for anyone to do anything at 6:00A.M. unless they are still awake from the night before. Nonetheless, my day started there. Like a malnourished POW, I shuffled to the car with my cables, guitar, clothes and thankfully, my Tempur-Pedic pillow (yes). A little morning chatter between sips of coffee amongst the husbands and wives and the three of us, my mom, Janice and I, were off to Key West.
The first few hundred miles looked like this:
Beautiful. My guitar kept my mind at bay, although at times it was hard to concentrate on what I was playing with all the beautiful scenery distracting me. (sarcasm). So hours pass and I basically take a short nap every hour or so. More than half way to the half way point, I over hear Janice and my mother talking about stopping to eat at McDonalds. Instantly I express my fervent objection to this, as I have seen "Supersize Me" and have vowed that day forth to never, ever eat anything at McDonalds for the rest of my life. On top of that, I remember being a kid on trips up north to visit family and stopping at McDonalds, only to feel like a woodchuck was giving birth in my stomach. So it took about 7 or 8 minutes to rant enough to change the choice of stop, but it was a successful attempt.
Not today, fat kids.
We got to our half way point at about 8 and stayed with their friend, Sam and her little Cocker Spaniel, Zoe. It was a quaint little beach house engulfed by large sweeping trees covered in spanish moss. It had perfectly manicured grass in the front and a figure eight shaped pool in the back, a great place for a summer escape or a break from a twelve hour drive. Poppop had finally reached Zips and would be leaving with him the next morning about an hour ahead of us.
I fell asleep immediately, at about 10, the earliest I have fallen asleep since I was in high school. Somehow by the time I wake up, even though I have assuredly fallen asleep before everyone, the house is moving with the sound of percolating coffee, soft chatter about weather, ceramic mugs clinking in a stainless steel sink. I guess there is some unspoken rule of biology that as you age, you just wake up earlier and earlier regardless of what time you fall asleep. Again, I am not really happy to be awake at 6 A.M. but the extra sleep made it a little more bearable. As we are getting ready, Sam busts out an old fashioned tape recorder so that we can play a tape that instructs us how to properly enjoy the tourist sites of Florida. Very old fashioned. We had to spend about 25 minutes opening up the back to wrap a rubber band around some of its little tape recorder gears where a belt once was. When we finally got it "working" and hit play on the tape, it was a horrible warbling you would swear was the voice of Joan Rivers in a later stage of Parkinson's or someone strangling a duck that was trying to speak English. So with our decrepit tape recorder with the intelligible instructions, we continued on our journey to our destination.
So we were a few hours into our second day (about 11AM) and I awake from a nap to hear my mother and Janice talking about the traffic report LCD warning of an accident a few miles ahead. As we pass the scene of the accident, we see the same motorcycle my grandfathers has, lying on its side, surrounded by police cars.
Poppop had already left more than an hour before us since he was coming from Upper Malboro about 50 miles north of us. We were coming from Leonardtown. I have to say that 6:00 A.M. is a terrible time. I would have woken up at noon and just driven the 1,400 miles non-stop, but you can't always get away with these type of all-or-nothing style scheduling when you bring family. I wish there was a Country wide decree that it is not legal for anyone to do anything at 6:00A.M. unless they are still awake from the night before. Nonetheless, my day started there. Like a malnourished POW, I shuffled to the car with my cables, guitar, clothes and thankfully, my Tempur-Pedic pillow (yes). A little morning chatter between sips of coffee amongst the husbands and wives and the three of us, my mom, Janice and I, were off to Key West.
The first few hundred miles looked like this:
Beautiful. My guitar kept my mind at bay, although at times it was hard to concentrate on what I was playing with all the beautiful scenery distracting me. (sarcasm). So hours pass and I basically take a short nap every hour or so. More than half way to the half way point, I over hear Janice and my mother talking about stopping to eat at McDonalds. Instantly I express my fervent objection to this, as I have seen "Supersize Me" and have vowed that day forth to never, ever eat anything at McDonalds for the rest of my life. On top of that, I remember being a kid on trips up north to visit family and stopping at McDonalds, only to feel like a woodchuck was giving birth in my stomach. So it took about 7 or 8 minutes to rant enough to change the choice of stop, but it was a successful attempt.
Not today, fat kids.
We got to our half way point at about 8 and stayed with their friend, Sam and her little Cocker Spaniel, Zoe. It was a quaint little beach house engulfed by large sweeping trees covered in spanish moss. It had perfectly manicured grass in the front and a figure eight shaped pool in the back, a great place for a summer escape or a break from a twelve hour drive. Poppop had finally reached Zips and would be leaving with him the next morning about an hour ahead of us.
I fell asleep immediately, at about 10, the earliest I have fallen asleep since I was in high school. Somehow by the time I wake up, even though I have assuredly fallen asleep before everyone, the house is moving with the sound of percolating coffee, soft chatter about weather, ceramic mugs clinking in a stainless steel sink. I guess there is some unspoken rule of biology that as you age, you just wake up earlier and earlier regardless of what time you fall asleep. Again, I am not really happy to be awake at 6 A.M. but the extra sleep made it a little more bearable. As we are getting ready, Sam busts out an old fashioned tape recorder so that we can play a tape that instructs us how to properly enjoy the tourist sites of Florida. Very old fashioned. We had to spend about 25 minutes opening up the back to wrap a rubber band around some of its little tape recorder gears where a belt once was. When we finally got it "working" and hit play on the tape, it was a horrible warbling you would swear was the voice of Joan Rivers in a later stage of Parkinson's or someone strangling a duck that was trying to speak English. So with our decrepit tape recorder with the intelligible instructions, we continued on our journey to our destination.
So we were a few hours into our second day (about 11AM) and I awake from a nap to hear my mother and Janice talking about the traffic report LCD warning of an accident a few miles ahead. As we pass the scene of the accident, we see the same motorcycle my grandfathers has, lying on its side, surrounded by police cars.
Friday, June 4, 2010
The Night Owl Network
You would probably never know during the day, but some of us seem to never sleep.
What is the Night Owl Network? Ever stayed up late? There you go, you've temporarily been in it.
I joined the N.O.N. sometime during my high school career as a result of destroying my circadian rhythm via late night sleep-overs chock full of Halo (yes Halo 1, when it first came out...old school), parties that went until God knows when, and fridge-raiding at my friends houses. To me, there was something so exciting about the idea of staying up so late it no longer became an option to remain conscious because of your body's daily requirement of sleep. I loved the whole idea of having to burn the midnight oil to find the most potentially exciting events of my young life. Some of my greatest memories were during sadistically late hours. After only a couple of these great nights, however, I became hooked. No longer were the late nights for just the weekends. The excitement became too strongly associated with staying up late and the next thing you know I was a night owl. I would stay up every single night. Even when everyone had gone to sleep, I persevered, often not knowing why I would continue to somber about, exhausted and alone. Computer, kitchen, TV, kitchen, computer....like some force was driving me, forcing me to stay awake as long as possible. Some nights I wouldn't even go out with my friends or to a party, I would just stay up late. I would draw or watch movies I had never seen or think of some random thing to do to fill the silent hours. The number of sunrises I would see in the years to come greatly dropped, almost to none, unless I was left with no other option than a 9-5 summer job or had to catch a plane somewhere (in which case I would simply stay up for the entire night).
In college (at Berklee) I have fond memories of walking about boston with my friend Andy, Jack Daniels, Little Stevie's Pizza at 2AM and of course, Halo (by this time Halo 3)...too many sleep cycle destroying activities to have a "normal" schedule. The biggest sleep pattern destroyer, however, was recording sessions that lasted until 6A.M. Good God these are tough. You have to try and give a perfect performance yet you are so tired you afraid you are going to burst out laughing in the middle of playing and then pass out on the floor. My friends and bandmates Al, Andy, Marty, Matt and Mike all went through these torturous night long sessions. Toward the end of it, we would begin to get slap happy and everything everyone says is for some reason hilarious. We would crank up the auto-tune and scream Cher's "Believe" into the mic....priceless.
Despite all these years of throwing myself off of balance with the rotation of the earth, I have landed the ultimate night owl career: professional musician. How perfect. We are the epitome of night owls. I will sometimes get out of a gig at 1:30 A.M. or 2:00 A.M. and have a two hour drive home. Thats 4 A.M. before I am even in my bed. That's being a part of the Night Owl Network.
As I have gotten a little older I still stay up late often, but the thrill of the night has died down, and I no longer have the fear of missing an indescribably fun time if I get in bed early or stay in. I used to get anxiety right when I tried to fall asleep almost every night. Its like my mind would all of the sudden become hyperactive and begin to think at a mile a minute....
This anxiety seems to have waned greatly and I found a few night owl secrets I have come across over the years that I would like to give some of you if you ever decide to leave the Night Owl Network:
1. Go to bed at the same time every night (even if its 3AM) really helps speed the falling asleep process.
2. Don't watch TV before bed, either!! You change your brain waves and this causes your sleep cycles to be less effective. This is a comfort thing for most people, but I recommend reading instead, you will feel better rested in the morning
3. Try stretching, yoga, or deep breathing for a few minutes before you try to get to bed
4. Take all clocks and face them away from you; when you need to fall asleep being aware of time is the worst thing you can do
5. Avoid sleeping pills at all cost! Its a last resort! I know people who CANNOT fall asleep without them, they can be very habit forming. Its better to be tired than hooked on something artificial.
6. Don't count sheep. I don't know what douche bag thought this really worked. I got to 50,258 one night. Then the sun came up.
7. Only get in/on your bed if you are about to fall asleep. This helps condition your brain to associate bed and sleep together.
I still am very much a night owl, but being such makes you easily susceptible to becoming an insomniac, which is not fun at all.
I hope some of this will help or comfort some of you night owls.
Another thing that has helped me in the past is making my self realize I am not the only one awake in the world. Anything at all helps. Thinking about people getting up for work in China, hearing the hum of a semi on a road out your window and knowing some trucker is on mile 120 en route to a delivery, remembering all the staff at the 24 hour diner you were at last sumer...anything at all to remind yourself you aren't the only person in the world who is awake can really help you rid some of that late night anxiety. At least it helped me. Anyways, what you just read is a small, hurried glimpse of the insomniac portion of my young adult life, and a song about it is in the works. This song, to be titled "Night Owl Network", is dedicated to every friend of mine who has adventured through the devils hours and lived to see the sun the next day, to everyone I have eaten with at Double T diner in Annapolis (or IHOP in St. Mary's) to all of you who have half of the late night infomercials memorized, all of you who have ever feared the digital numbers of the clock by your bed or have fallen asleep to the sound of car engines stating and birds chirping. To all you night owls out there, this will be for you.
Its about time we had some kind of anthem, don't you think?
And for all of you early birds, I wish you a friendly hello from the dark twin of the day and just remember, if you ever have trouble sleeping, never think you are the only one; some people are just starting their work day.
So, if any of you have stories of sleeplessness, or insomnia remedies to add to the list please share!
Dylan
What is the Night Owl Network? Ever stayed up late? There you go, you've temporarily been in it.
I joined the N.O.N. sometime during my high school career as a result of destroying my circadian rhythm via late night sleep-overs chock full of Halo (yes Halo 1, when it first came out...old school), parties that went until God knows when, and fridge-raiding at my friends houses. To me, there was something so exciting about the idea of staying up so late it no longer became an option to remain conscious because of your body's daily requirement of sleep. I loved the whole idea of having to burn the midnight oil to find the most potentially exciting events of my young life. Some of my greatest memories were during sadistically late hours. After only a couple of these great nights, however, I became hooked. No longer were the late nights for just the weekends. The excitement became too strongly associated with staying up late and the next thing you know I was a night owl. I would stay up every single night. Even when everyone had gone to sleep, I persevered, often not knowing why I would continue to somber about, exhausted and alone. Computer, kitchen, TV, kitchen, computer....like some force was driving me, forcing me to stay awake as long as possible. Some nights I wouldn't even go out with my friends or to a party, I would just stay up late. I would draw or watch movies I had never seen or think of some random thing to do to fill the silent hours. The number of sunrises I would see in the years to come greatly dropped, almost to none, unless I was left with no other option than a 9-5 summer job or had to catch a plane somewhere (in which case I would simply stay up for the entire night).
In college (at Berklee) I have fond memories of walking about boston with my friend Andy, Jack Daniels, Little Stevie's Pizza at 2AM and of course, Halo (by this time Halo 3)...too many sleep cycle destroying activities to have a "normal" schedule. The biggest sleep pattern destroyer, however, was recording sessions that lasted until 6A.M. Good God these are tough. You have to try and give a perfect performance yet you are so tired you afraid you are going to burst out laughing in the middle of playing and then pass out on the floor. My friends and bandmates Al, Andy, Marty, Matt and Mike all went through these torturous night long sessions. Toward the end of it, we would begin to get slap happy and everything everyone says is for some reason hilarious. We would crank up the auto-tune and scream Cher's "Believe" into the mic....priceless.
Despite all these years of throwing myself off of balance with the rotation of the earth, I have landed the ultimate night owl career: professional musician. How perfect. We are the epitome of night owls. I will sometimes get out of a gig at 1:30 A.M. or 2:00 A.M. and have a two hour drive home. Thats 4 A.M. before I am even in my bed. That's being a part of the Night Owl Network.
As I have gotten a little older I still stay up late often, but the thrill of the night has died down, and I no longer have the fear of missing an indescribably fun time if I get in bed early or stay in. I used to get anxiety right when I tried to fall asleep almost every night. Its like my mind would all of the sudden become hyperactive and begin to think at a mile a minute....
This anxiety seems to have waned greatly and I found a few night owl secrets I have come across over the years that I would like to give some of you if you ever decide to leave the Night Owl Network:
1. Go to bed at the same time every night (even if its 3AM) really helps speed the falling asleep process.
2. Don't watch TV before bed, either!! You change your brain waves and this causes your sleep cycles to be less effective. This is a comfort thing for most people, but I recommend reading instead, you will feel better rested in the morning
3. Try stretching, yoga, or deep breathing for a few minutes before you try to get to bed
4. Take all clocks and face them away from you; when you need to fall asleep being aware of time is the worst thing you can do
5. Avoid sleeping pills at all cost! Its a last resort! I know people who CANNOT fall asleep without them, they can be very habit forming. Its better to be tired than hooked on something artificial.
6. Don't count sheep. I don't know what douche bag thought this really worked. I got to 50,258 one night. Then the sun came up.
7. Only get in/on your bed if you are about to fall asleep. This helps condition your brain to associate bed and sleep together.
I still am very much a night owl, but being such makes you easily susceptible to becoming an insomniac, which is not fun at all.
I hope some of this will help or comfort some of you night owls.
Another thing that has helped me in the past is making my self realize I am not the only one awake in the world. Anything at all helps. Thinking about people getting up for work in China, hearing the hum of a semi on a road out your window and knowing some trucker is on mile 120 en route to a delivery, remembering all the staff at the 24 hour diner you were at last sumer...anything at all to remind yourself you aren't the only person in the world who is awake can really help you rid some of that late night anxiety. At least it helped me. Anyways, what you just read is a small, hurried glimpse of the insomniac portion of my young adult life, and a song about it is in the works. This song, to be titled "Night Owl Network", is dedicated to every friend of mine who has adventured through the devils hours and lived to see the sun the next day, to everyone I have eaten with at Double T diner in Annapolis (or IHOP in St. Mary's) to all of you who have half of the late night infomercials memorized, all of you who have ever feared the digital numbers of the clock by your bed or have fallen asleep to the sound of car engines stating and birds chirping. To all you night owls out there, this will be for you.
Its about time we had some kind of anthem, don't you think?
And for all of you early birds, I wish you a friendly hello from the dark twin of the day and just remember, if you ever have trouble sleeping, never think you are the only one; some people are just starting their work day.
So, if any of you have stories of sleeplessness, or insomnia remedies to add to the list please share!
Dylan
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Expanding the Repertoire
I knew this day would come eventually. General rule of thumb that one of Berklee professors told my class was that ANY artist seeking to have a solid repertoire and grasp of classic songwriting should have 250 songs in the bag. I do not have 250 songs. Probably about 45 (and that's counting originals). They have gotten me to this point in my career, but its not cutting it anymore. It's time to add some more variety. So what songs am I going to be getting under my fingers?
Here are some that I am really looking forward to learning:
The Beatles:
All You Need is Love, Blackbird
Springsteen:
Dancing in the Dark, Im on Fire
Sublime:
What I Got
Norah Jones:
Sunrise
Sara Bareillis:
Love Song
U2:
Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For, With or Without You
Matchbox 20:
3A.M.
Sheryl Crow:
All I Wanna do is Have Some Fun, Favorite Mistake
Lucinda Williams:
Car Wheels on a Gravel Road
Paula Abdul:
Straight Up
Regina Spektor:
Fidelity
This will be one whole other set worth of music....but I have about 20 more full sets to learn! So what am I going to learn? Tell me! Leave a comment and let me know what songs you would like to cover! Tell me what you think of the covers I listed, too!
Dylan
Here are some that I am really looking forward to learning:
The Beatles:
All You Need is Love, Blackbird
Springsteen:
Dancing in the Dark, Im on Fire
Sublime:
What I Got
Norah Jones:
Sunrise
Sara Bareillis:
Love Song
U2:
Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For, With or Without You
Matchbox 20:
3A.M.
Sheryl Crow:
All I Wanna do is Have Some Fun, Favorite Mistake
Lucinda Williams:
Car Wheels on a Gravel Road
Paula Abdul:
Straight Up
Regina Spektor:
Fidelity
This will be one whole other set worth of music....but I have about 20 more full sets to learn! So what am I going to learn? Tell me! Leave a comment and let me know what songs you would like to cover! Tell me what you think of the covers I listed, too!
Dylan
Thursday, May 6, 2010
My Berklee Friends
So, in lieu of the momentum the last post has created (and honestly, the biggest THANK YOU to everyone who jumped into the fray with your insight and opinions, I loved reading every single word!) I want to share something with all of you in return for all the great recommendations.
While I was at Berklee, a few of my friends were outstanding songwriters as well as great musicians. They all had unique original sounds and it really made my time at the college even better getting to write and hang out with some of them. It was pretty cool to check out their music after class and hear these great songs written by the person I was just sitting next to. So who are these people?
For starters, my good friend and piano rocker, Mike Lombardo:
Mike was in a few of my classes at Berklee. We clicked quickly because of our mutual love for good music and Halo 3. His command of the piano is beyond professional and his writing is intelligent and frequently infused with his closet-nerd sense of humor. My personal favorite track of his is called "Joke", check it out for yourself. Mike Lombardos Awesome Website. Think a Ben Folds flavor with an aftertaste of jazz, rock and wit.
He instantly won my lyric writing class over, including our teacher, when he presented this extremely clever love ballad about Power Rangers, Dancing and Halo...(the XBOX Halo).
This dude really goes the extra mile to keep in contact with his fans. If you ever want to chat on interact personally him and I are both on a cool site where unsigned artists talk to their fans, its called Too Much Awesome.
Next up is my buddy Katelyn Clampett. Yes, that's Clampett like the Beverly Hillbillies, but she doesn't look like the daughter of a toothless imbred.
Katelyn was probably one of the best singers in the entire college as well. Her writing is a jubilation of infectious melodies and gracefully balanced instrumentation presented with flawless production. She is a well versed writer, but her current niche seems to be pop. If you want to hear a few of her songs, click here for Katelyn Clampett's Beautiful Website. The song that plays on her website is called "Sweet Tea", very, very catchy! Give it a listen.
She's playing at the US open this year, if my memory serves me right and also was in the midst of peaking the interest of Brittney Spear's A&R crew for some songs...so yeah, she seems be doing pretty well for only having been out of Berklee for about a year.
Next in line is Michael Greenberg.
His live shows are where he shines the most. WIth a loop pedal, a warm, full, almost symphonic sound and a sturdy jazz improv vocabulary he will leave the music snobs even more astounded than the music laymen. His voice is the aural equivalent of caramel. The song of his that absolutely gets me is called "See You Through", its a harmonic masterpiece of epic proportion. Click here to hear the Jazzy Goodness of Michael Greenberg. Another diverse writer; he implements funk, jazz, smooth jazz, soft rock, pop and even hip-hop.
Last on this little list is Blaze Mckenzie.
Yes his real name is Blaze. No, he was not in Dodgeball. No, he doesn't have two brothers named Taze and Laze. But I wouldn't be suprised if some day soon you and I hear one of his songs on a radio station or movie. He wasn't really a particularly active member of the Berklee songwriting crowd like the previous three, but nonetheless, his writing is obviously up to par with the best. He blends folk, blues, rock, bluegrass and country into a picturesque sound that you would swear was taken from some movie you've seen. People that love the indie artist sound will probably take a liking to Blaze. Its like Death Cab meets Tom Petty meets Bjork. I recommend listening to "Wretch" and "Might". Two finely crafted songs with tons of originality and character. Want to listen? Click here for Blaze Mckenzie.
So after the rant about how bad music has become, I had to even the score. These artists are all contemporary and are, for the most part, in the popular music category (with some rock and indie flair). Paired with all the great bands you guys suggested and the ones I didn't mention in the previous post, I think we can all rest assured music will never be entirely bad. Check out a couple of them, or all of them and let me know what you think about them. At Berklee, as well as being some of my friends, they were some of my favorite artists. I might do another one of these posts with another set of a few good songwriters if you guys really like the tunes. I have to split though, Im late for a gig.
Dylan
While I was at Berklee, a few of my friends were outstanding songwriters as well as great musicians. They all had unique original sounds and it really made my time at the college even better getting to write and hang out with some of them. It was pretty cool to check out their music after class and hear these great songs written by the person I was just sitting next to. So who are these people?
For starters, my good friend and piano rocker, Mike Lombardo:
Mike was in a few of my classes at Berklee. We clicked quickly because of our mutual love for good music and Halo 3. His command of the piano is beyond professional and his writing is intelligent and frequently infused with his closet-nerd sense of humor. My personal favorite track of his is called "Joke", check it out for yourself. Mike Lombardos Awesome Website. Think a Ben Folds flavor with an aftertaste of jazz, rock and wit.
He instantly won my lyric writing class over, including our teacher, when he presented this extremely clever love ballad about Power Rangers, Dancing and Halo...(the XBOX Halo).
This dude really goes the extra mile to keep in contact with his fans. If you ever want to chat on interact personally him and I are both on a cool site where unsigned artists talk to their fans, its called Too Much Awesome.
Next up is my buddy Katelyn Clampett. Yes, that's Clampett like the Beverly Hillbillies, but she doesn't look like the daughter of a toothless imbred.
Katelyn was probably one of the best singers in the entire college as well. Her writing is a jubilation of infectious melodies and gracefully balanced instrumentation presented with flawless production. She is a well versed writer, but her current niche seems to be pop. If you want to hear a few of her songs, click here for Katelyn Clampett's Beautiful Website. The song that plays on her website is called "Sweet Tea", very, very catchy! Give it a listen.
She's playing at the US open this year, if my memory serves me right and also was in the midst of peaking the interest of Brittney Spear's A&R crew for some songs...so yeah, she seems be doing pretty well for only having been out of Berklee for about a year.
Next in line is Michael Greenberg.
His live shows are where he shines the most. WIth a loop pedal, a warm, full, almost symphonic sound and a sturdy jazz improv vocabulary he will leave the music snobs even more astounded than the music laymen. His voice is the aural equivalent of caramel. The song of his that absolutely gets me is called "See You Through", its a harmonic masterpiece of epic proportion. Click here to hear the Jazzy Goodness of Michael Greenberg. Another diverse writer; he implements funk, jazz, smooth jazz, soft rock, pop and even hip-hop.
Last on this little list is Blaze Mckenzie.
Yes his real name is Blaze. No, he was not in Dodgeball. No, he doesn't have two brothers named Taze and Laze. But I wouldn't be suprised if some day soon you and I hear one of his songs on a radio station or movie. He wasn't really a particularly active member of the Berklee songwriting crowd like the previous three, but nonetheless, his writing is obviously up to par with the best. He blends folk, blues, rock, bluegrass and country into a picturesque sound that you would swear was taken from some movie you've seen. People that love the indie artist sound will probably take a liking to Blaze. Its like Death Cab meets Tom Petty meets Bjork. I recommend listening to "Wretch" and "Might". Two finely crafted songs with tons of originality and character. Want to listen? Click here for Blaze Mckenzie.
So after the rant about how bad music has become, I had to even the score. These artists are all contemporary and are, for the most part, in the popular music category (with some rock and indie flair). Paired with all the great bands you guys suggested and the ones I didn't mention in the previous post, I think we can all rest assured music will never be entirely bad. Check out a couple of them, or all of them and let me know what you think about them. At Berklee, as well as being some of my friends, they were some of my favorite artists. I might do another one of these posts with another set of a few good songwriters if you guys really like the tunes. I have to split though, Im late for a gig.
Dylan
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
What Happened to Music?
Now before I go into rant mode, I must admit by doing so I will be possibly committing hypocrisy against my own musical creeds. One of these creeds that I believe is true beyond all else is that there is no such thing as "good" or "bad" music. There is only music made by musicians that have developed their craft to a level where there lack of knowledge is hidden by the amount that they have accomplished and musicians that have not yet developed enough to write, play and/or perform what ideas are inside their mind without their lack of knowledge obscuring what they meant. Besides that, all music is simply a matter of taste. Another creed of mine is that you should shut up and enjoy music. Never criticize. Find music you enjoy. If you don't enjoy it, don't listen.
That having been said, what the hell is wrong with music in the past few years? Remember the 90's when artists could write? The 80's when it was cool to have a guitar solo or a high proficiency on an instrument? When production value was just enough to smooth out the sound of the CD? When the radio played more than 3 genres?
It seems like every artist that comes out is an image-heavy singer that writes nothing but glam-pop and dance music. The hooks are relentless and simple, albeit extremely catchy, but thats all the music has got going for it. The artists themselves are usually very talented singers, but as writers I can't really say the same. Every song takes place in a club or is another remake of a remake of a cliched break-up song. Song ideas have all slipped into a few generic genres that new artist rarely seem to care enough to escape. Image and fan frenzy have become more important than the quality of the art; a sad day indeed. A part of me blames the record companies for desiring money of the quality of their service of the artists they provide, but real culprit is my own generation. How many of us have taken the time to savor the lyrics of Leonard Cohen or Bob Dylan? How many of us can sing along with the Beatles other than Hey Jude? The creative fire that kept artists at the top of their craft has died, and it's up to my generation of artists to try and rekindle it.
Here are some classic lyrics to older songs, observe:
"I've seen your flag on the marble arch love is not a victory march, It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah"
- Leonard Cohen, Halleluja..potent, beautiful and driving...if this song doesn't give you chills, something is wrong with you.
"Warm summer night on Copperline, I slip away past suppertime, it was woodsmoke and moonshine down on Copperline"
- James Taylor, Copperline...Within a few words you're already beginning to imagine what Copperline looks like, this is how you paint with a pen.
"Have you come here for forgiveness, have you come to raise the dead, have you come here to play Jesus to the lepers in your head?"
- U2, One...Haunting isnt it?
"Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice in the church where the wedding has been....she lives in a dream"
- Eleanor Rigby, the Beatles...The opening line in the song and you instantly feel pity for this poor Eleanor who is wishing she could have a wedding of her own.
AND NOW........................
Here are some lyrics that are currently topping the charts,
(proof of how much we either dont pay attention to the lyrics or are just borderline retarded)
be prepared to be amazed at creativity and philosophical wonder :
"Im trying to find the words to describe that girl without being disrespectful.....you's a sexy sexy bitch"
- David Guetta f. Akon...On, Akon, the guy that forcefully humps 13 year old girls on stage during his shows, no wonder.
"Soulja boy off in this oh, watch me crank it watch me roll, watch me crank dat soulja boy, then superman that oh"
- Soulja Boy.....WTF!? Was that English? Are you in the middle of repairing a grandfather clock?
"It's 4:03 and I can't sleep without you next to me I toss and turn like the sea if I drown tonight, bring me back to life"
- Shinedown...well, not as bad as soulja boy, but this is a tad cliche. Very stereotypical "I miss you" song you guys can do better.
"Im a be Im a be Im a Im a Im a be Im a be Im a be Im a Im a Im a be Im a be Im a be Im a Im a Im a be"
- Black Eyed Peas, you have fallen so far since "Joints and Jams"...what the hell is this!? No really? This is like someone with turrets AND a stutter on a Tilt-a-Whirl trying to introduce themselves using Ebonics.....rubbish! Dustin Hoffman in "Rain Man" was more concise with his words.
"Im talking bout everybody getting crunk crunk, boys trying to touch my junk junk, going to smack him if he's getting too drunk drunk"
- Kesha...Im not even going to start on this....I would undoubtedly develop carpal tunnel from how much I would have to write to approprately slam this steaming dump of a song.
"Dont be a little bitch with your chit chat, just show me where your dicks at"
- Kesha again.....see what I mean? Need I even say anything?
Can you see the difference in quality? Is it obvious now? Why do we let them get away with this crap?
Of course, you must realize, when I say "it seems like every artist", I do not mean EVERY ARTIST.
So who is keeping the good writing, originality and melodies alive? IMO, here are a few artists whose lyrics you can compare to the massive waves of crap crashing against our heads and notice they contain much more originality and character:
Muse
Damien Rice
John Mayer
Norah Jones
Rufus Wainright
Coldplay
Sara Bareillis
Eminem (Yes, even him, although I'm not personally a fan of a lot of his subject matter, like killing and raping a pregnant girl or tripping on mushrooms, but time after time he builds stories seamlessly with a ferocious tandem of rhyme scheme and emotion)
Corinne Bailey Rae
Each one of these artists seems to rise above the ranks of the others in their genres. Keep in mind these are only those who fall close to the Pop/Rock category. Each one of them has an instantly recognizable sound, strong, clever and/or original lyrics and and image that does not overshadow the talent presented on their albums.
Kudos to you elite few (including the many many artists I did not mention) who take pride in your craft. Keep rocking. If you read this and don't agree, let me know! Also post any artists who you think I left out, either from the crap list or the good list.
And remember, there really is no such thing as "good" or "bad" music...just opinions. You've heard mine. Let's hear yours.
That having been said, what the hell is wrong with music in the past few years? Remember the 90's when artists could write? The 80's when it was cool to have a guitar solo or a high proficiency on an instrument? When production value was just enough to smooth out the sound of the CD? When the radio played more than 3 genres?
It seems like every artist that comes out is an image-heavy singer that writes nothing but glam-pop and dance music. The hooks are relentless and simple, albeit extremely catchy, but thats all the music has got going for it. The artists themselves are usually very talented singers, but as writers I can't really say the same. Every song takes place in a club or is another remake of a remake of a cliched break-up song. Song ideas have all slipped into a few generic genres that new artist rarely seem to care enough to escape. Image and fan frenzy have become more important than the quality of the art; a sad day indeed. A part of me blames the record companies for desiring money of the quality of their service of the artists they provide, but real culprit is my own generation. How many of us have taken the time to savor the lyrics of Leonard Cohen or Bob Dylan? How many of us can sing along with the Beatles other than Hey Jude? The creative fire that kept artists at the top of their craft has died, and it's up to my generation of artists to try and rekindle it.
Here are some classic lyrics to older songs, observe:
"I've seen your flag on the marble arch love is not a victory march, It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah"
- Leonard Cohen, Halleluja..potent, beautiful and driving...if this song doesn't give you chills, something is wrong with you.
"Warm summer night on Copperline, I slip away past suppertime, it was woodsmoke and moonshine down on Copperline"
- James Taylor, Copperline...Within a few words you're already beginning to imagine what Copperline looks like, this is how you paint with a pen.
"Have you come here for forgiveness, have you come to raise the dead, have you come here to play Jesus to the lepers in your head?"
- U2, One...Haunting isnt it?
"Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice in the church where the wedding has been....she lives in a dream"
- Eleanor Rigby, the Beatles...The opening line in the song and you instantly feel pity for this poor Eleanor who is wishing she could have a wedding of her own.
AND NOW........................
Here are some lyrics that are currently topping the charts,
(proof of how much we either dont pay attention to the lyrics or are just borderline retarded)
be prepared to be amazed at creativity and philosophical wonder :
"Im trying to find the words to describe that girl without being disrespectful.....you's a sexy sexy bitch"
- David Guetta f. Akon...On, Akon, the guy that forcefully humps 13 year old girls on stage during his shows, no wonder.
"Soulja boy off in this oh, watch me crank it watch me roll, watch me crank dat soulja boy, then superman that oh"
- Soulja Boy.....WTF!? Was that English? Are you in the middle of repairing a grandfather clock?
"It's 4:03 and I can't sleep without you next to me I toss and turn like the sea if I drown tonight, bring me back to life"
- Shinedown...well, not as bad as soulja boy, but this is a tad cliche. Very stereotypical "I miss you" song you guys can do better.
"Im a be Im a be Im a Im a Im a be Im a be Im a be Im a Im a Im a be Im a be Im a be Im a Im a Im a be"
- Black Eyed Peas, you have fallen so far since "Joints and Jams"...what the hell is this!? No really? This is like someone with turrets AND a stutter on a Tilt-a-Whirl trying to introduce themselves using Ebonics.....rubbish! Dustin Hoffman in "Rain Man" was more concise with his words.
"Im talking bout everybody getting crunk crunk, boys trying to touch my junk junk, going to smack him if he's getting too drunk drunk"
- Kesha...Im not even going to start on this....I would undoubtedly develop carpal tunnel from how much I would have to write to approprately slam this steaming dump of a song.
"Dont be a little bitch with your chit chat, just show me where your dicks at"
- Kesha again.....see what I mean? Need I even say anything?
Can you see the difference in quality? Is it obvious now? Why do we let them get away with this crap?
Of course, you must realize, when I say "it seems like every artist", I do not mean EVERY ARTIST.
So who is keeping the good writing, originality and melodies alive? IMO, here are a few artists whose lyrics you can compare to the massive waves of crap crashing against our heads and notice they contain much more originality and character:
Muse
Damien Rice
John Mayer
Norah Jones
Rufus Wainright
Coldplay
Sara Bareillis
Eminem (Yes, even him, although I'm not personally a fan of a lot of his subject matter, like killing and raping a pregnant girl or tripping on mushrooms, but time after time he builds stories seamlessly with a ferocious tandem of rhyme scheme and emotion)
Corinne Bailey Rae
Each one of these artists seems to rise above the ranks of the others in their genres. Keep in mind these are only those who fall close to the Pop/Rock category. Each one of them has an instantly recognizable sound, strong, clever and/or original lyrics and and image that does not overshadow the talent presented on their albums.
Kudos to you elite few (including the many many artists I did not mention) who take pride in your craft. Keep rocking. If you read this and don't agree, let me know! Also post any artists who you think I left out, either from the crap list or the good list.
And remember, there really is no such thing as "good" or "bad" music...just opinions. You've heard mine. Let's hear yours.
Friday, April 30, 2010
You know James but do you know Livingston?
"I've seen fire and I've seen rain".
These lyrics, I'm sure, are familiar. Classic, poignant, pictoral. James Taylor. As I have decided to expand my sound and begin to really try and develop my own acoustic style, I have been listening to more and more classic artists like him. I always knew he was a great, but like many of greats I have not yet gotten into, I simply didn't listen enough to become a fan. Well, after about 30 repeats of his "Best Of" CD I can assuredly say I am a convert. Before I was never crazy about his voice, but now that I have really listened to him, I am astounded by his smooth copper tambour, with an earnestness that makes you swear he's personally telling you a story. His guitar playing? Forget about it. He's an alchemist; a player that simply transforms pictures and feelings into the surrounding air with nothing but the grace of his hands and the steel on the fretboard. Every song is a world of its own, an entire chapter of descriptive detail with only a few words. A few of my personal favorites are: "Copperline", "Walkin' Man" and "Don't Let me be Lonely Tonight". But no no, James isnt the only one who can draw you into his world with only a single sentence.
He has a brother, Livingston, who is every bit as good! He even looks similar to James...but also bears an uncanny resemblance to Hugo Weaving (Agent Smith from "The Matrix" see for yourself:
See? Maybe its just me....anyways,
Livingston was one of my teachers while I was at Berklee. He taught a stage performance class that was absolutely invaluable. Im still trying to master everything we learned in that class. See, playing for people isnt just going up and playing some songs and looking down at the guitar. You need to engage your audience; play TO them not just at them, make eye contact, smile, emote, believe the lyrics you sing...all while thumping your foot in time. Sound hard? It is. One of his many creeds was "Dont make your audience come to you, go to them!" Some people are so talented and attractive that people will walk over broken glass to get to them...they can start at the floor and play selfishly and people will sit on edge, eyes fixed on them, for hours. 99% are not like this. Don't count on being one, because you probably are not. Look right into your audience's eyes and sing right to them. You will give them a feeling they will never forget, and they will follow you for the rest of your career if you do it right!
Want to see what Im talking about? Check out a perfect example of this teaching philosophy in action as Livingston plays his original "Life is Good".
So this is where Im trying to get to and its going to be a while. I have been drilling away at fingerpicking etudes and songs much like this one, so in the next months Im looking forward to seeing where it takes me.
These lyrics, I'm sure, are familiar. Classic, poignant, pictoral. James Taylor. As I have decided to expand my sound and begin to really try and develop my own acoustic style, I have been listening to more and more classic artists like him. I always knew he was a great, but like many of greats I have not yet gotten into, I simply didn't listen enough to become a fan. Well, after about 30 repeats of his "Best Of" CD I can assuredly say I am a convert. Before I was never crazy about his voice, but now that I have really listened to him, I am astounded by his smooth copper tambour, with an earnestness that makes you swear he's personally telling you a story. His guitar playing? Forget about it. He's an alchemist; a player that simply transforms pictures and feelings into the surrounding air with nothing but the grace of his hands and the steel on the fretboard. Every song is a world of its own, an entire chapter of descriptive detail with only a few words. A few of my personal favorites are: "Copperline", "Walkin' Man" and "Don't Let me be Lonely Tonight". But no no, James isnt the only one who can draw you into his world with only a single sentence.
He has a brother, Livingston, who is every bit as good! He even looks similar to James...but also bears an uncanny resemblance to Hugo Weaving (Agent Smith from "The Matrix" see for yourself:
See? Maybe its just me....anyways,
Livingston was one of my teachers while I was at Berklee. He taught a stage performance class that was absolutely invaluable. Im still trying to master everything we learned in that class. See, playing for people isnt just going up and playing some songs and looking down at the guitar. You need to engage your audience; play TO them not just at them, make eye contact, smile, emote, believe the lyrics you sing...all while thumping your foot in time. Sound hard? It is. One of his many creeds was "Dont make your audience come to you, go to them!" Some people are so talented and attractive that people will walk over broken glass to get to them...they can start at the floor and play selfishly and people will sit on edge, eyes fixed on them, for hours. 99% are not like this. Don't count on being one, because you probably are not. Look right into your audience's eyes and sing right to them. You will give them a feeling they will never forget, and they will follow you for the rest of your career if you do it right!
Want to see what Im talking about? Check out a perfect example of this teaching philosophy in action as Livingston plays his original "Life is Good".
So this is where Im trying to get to and its going to be a while. I have been drilling away at fingerpicking etudes and songs much like this one, so in the next months Im looking forward to seeing where it takes me.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
With Endway at Hula's
A burly doorman half sits on a stool, arms crossed. Scattered patrons shuffle to and from the bar. The cash register jingles with the first sales of the night. All of this barely visible from the stage lights, but the venue is still pretty quiet. I walk up center stage and take my weathered Martin off the stand. The microphones sit comfortably nestled above the hastily painted black stage, which is garnished with a garden of quarter in cables and dull black chords. Like water through a crack in a dam, the people quietly trickle in as I plug in my Martin and begin to strum and pluck and stomp. A few of my friends come up and stand in a circle near the front and seem to be enjoying themselves, reassuring my secretly self-questioning presence on stage.
After I somber off to chat with all my friends who came out, I hear Endway begin. A perfect volume AND mix; something that the majority of bands I have heard live do not even consider. They are smooth and extremely well rehearsed, a definite must- hear band. With a driving rock ambience, at times anthemic, these guys know how to rock and play and work a crowd.
Aside from the sound guys not showing up to set us up or the DJ plugging his equipment into my mixer mid-set and distorting a couple of my songs and cutting me off from announcing Endway, it was a very good night. Morgan from Endway was actually very good with the mixing board as well as singing and playing guitar and playing the perfect frontman for the show. Kevin is a great guitar slinger, extremely clean and has good balance of taste and rock flair while playing. Scott and Chris were locked all night and were a perfect blend of extra energy and backbone. They all play great together, I suggest checking out their stuff:
ENDWAY
People of the night:
Dean - thanks for running the music stand! I hope to be seeing you again at a future show, maybe at the Duck once again, I hope you enjoyed all the tunes man!
Sarah - you were great to talk to, I really enjoyed it, I hope you find yourself adventuring out of Towson more and more, talking to you was inspirational you have instilled me with a reservoir of confidence in my music. Thank you!!
Alicia and Rene - Im glad I got to see you last night, its been a long time! You two seem like such a well balanced couple and a good team. No drama, just smiles and stories. I hope Ill be seeing more of the both of you, and I hope you enjoy the CD! There will be many more to come. And yes I am now looking forward to going on a cruise sometime, well not real soon, but eventually. I just have to find one with a rock wall.
Candice - What need I say? You are always so fun to hang out with. You need to visit more. Goat abortions and Barrack Obama just don't have the same comedic value unless you are there to laugh and chime in....and then help me find my car keys that are actually in my backpack.
Sean and Josh - your sexy dances were the only thing that kept me alive in a time of tribulation. I sincerely thank you guys for being the ideal audience members that every stage performer wishes for. And for being hilarious, too.
Thank you to everyone who showed up, and Scott for inviting me to play with such a good Boston band!
After I somber off to chat with all my friends who came out, I hear Endway begin. A perfect volume AND mix; something that the majority of bands I have heard live do not even consider. They are smooth and extremely well rehearsed, a definite must- hear band. With a driving rock ambience, at times anthemic, these guys know how to rock and play and work a crowd.
Aside from the sound guys not showing up to set us up or the DJ plugging his equipment into my mixer mid-set and distorting a couple of my songs and cutting me off from announcing Endway, it was a very good night. Morgan from Endway was actually very good with the mixing board as well as singing and playing guitar and playing the perfect frontman for the show. Kevin is a great guitar slinger, extremely clean and has good balance of taste and rock flair while playing. Scott and Chris were locked all night and were a perfect blend of extra energy and backbone. They all play great together, I suggest checking out their stuff:
ENDWAY
People of the night:
Dean - thanks for running the music stand! I hope to be seeing you again at a future show, maybe at the Duck once again, I hope you enjoyed all the tunes man!
Sarah - you were great to talk to, I really enjoyed it, I hope you find yourself adventuring out of Towson more and more, talking to you was inspirational you have instilled me with a reservoir of confidence in my music. Thank you!!
Alicia and Rene - Im glad I got to see you last night, its been a long time! You two seem like such a well balanced couple and a good team. No drama, just smiles and stories. I hope Ill be seeing more of the both of you, and I hope you enjoy the CD! There will be many more to come. And yes I am now looking forward to going on a cruise sometime, well not real soon, but eventually. I just have to find one with a rock wall.
Candice - What need I say? You are always so fun to hang out with. You need to visit more. Goat abortions and Barrack Obama just don't have the same comedic value unless you are there to laugh and chime in....and then help me find my car keys that are actually in my backpack.
Sean and Josh - your sexy dances were the only thing that kept me alive in a time of tribulation. I sincerely thank you guys for being the ideal audience members that every stage performer wishes for. And for being hilarious, too.
Thank you to everyone who showed up, and Scott for inviting me to play with such a good Boston band!
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