Chunky sections of the songs

When you put youself on the line to do something that is above the calling of the average person, you end up getting into a realm of obsession that tends to block out all else that fails to serve the obsession.

Danger Twin #2 sent me some text messages on Saturyday asking if I was still alive. Sure I'm still alive. I'm just not alive for sitting in pubs consuming shot after shot of "Jame-o".

Our rehearsal/audition on Saturday was spectacular. (filled with spectacle) The new drummer is offically our new drummer. His skill are a little rusty since he doesn't own his own kit and doesn't have a viable practice space, but he was very interested in working out drum parts that are unique for each song. No repetition of a beat. I'm very excited about that. I just need to rope him in for certain chuncky sections of the songs. What is a chuncky section of a song you ask? Well, I glad you asked. (about that thing, cause what I'd like to do is sing.)

A chunky section of a song is where the music escalates from a rather subdued and "pistol eating vib-ey" state into lots and lots of distortion/feedback noise/chaos ala the "Everybody solo" from a certain 50's pop song parody by a certain band. It's what I'm fast learning is a certain esthetic that I use in my songcraft to explore the less refinied sections of my brain. Much like an Alabama Frankenstein, "Fire Bad, Ya'll," where the ability to take in stimuli lacks the controlled restraint and supression from years of being raised in the Christian Sub-culture in it's expression coming out the other side.

It generally goes like this. "It needs more distortion. It needs more compression. Let's throw in some vibrato. How 'bout some delay? Second pass through distortion would be good now. I wonder what it would sound like with wah? No, no wah is needed." Then I'm usually satisfied with the sound of raw sadness screaching out of my amp. It's not processed. It's not subdued, it's at the point where everything fell apart.

There's a lot more exploring that I need to do in order to wrap my fingers around the neck of my muse. It ain't getting away that easy.

I would also like to apologize for the lack of excitement on my blog as of late. I've been indulging myself with lots of day to day boring stories that amuse me. I haven't found myself really being to engaged by the outside world as of late. Just obsessed with the band, the music, the hope for a better tomorrow and politics or ire-evoking current event ranting doesn't seem to really get us anywhere.

By the time we decide to do something about it, it'll be too late.

Excuse me sir

We have a song called "Excuse Me Sir (can I have back my soul)" that has an intro of just a guitar. I play an arpeggio and then hit some harmonics let it ring with delay and then repeat with a differnt note in the arpeggio. It's been in my head the last few days, making me think of something distant, but in a box. A scene of a memory burned into my brain as a moment in which to pause and reflect.

Joe has had the song "Jerkwater" stuck in his head for the last two days. It kinda got me thinking about where the working title of that song came from. My sister and I were visiting my other sister in the Evergreen/Conifer area of Colorado. Nell had taken time off and flew up to visit her and I happened to have spring break that week so I drove down. We stayed with her at the camp she was working at, with her gracious roommate. (Becky's house was being de-skunk-funked so she was staying with another single woman in her house on the grounds.) Becky had work she had to do and Nell and I went up to some ski hill whose name escapes me, Breckenridge that's it, to see an old roommate of hers when she lived in Leadville. We drove my car up there and met him and he had her old half-dog/half-wolf with him. Nell was happy/sad to see Luna. She was a pretty dog but she had gotten fat in her time with her new owner. We hit the slopes for some snowboarding after some brew and food in the town and on the drive back, Nell pulled out this cd that she had, which was of a band called "Freakwater." The songs were catchy and the lyrics were sometimes outstandingly funny.

I've had in my head from time to time the gist of one of those songs and it's always reminded me of that time that we were driving out of Breckenridge back to Evergreen (through South Park, no crappy I-70 for us, we're bon-a-fide Rocky Mountain Residents!) (yes, it's the South Park from the stupid show. One of the creators of that show grew up in Conifer and the kids from S. Park were snotty, over the pass types. But, S. Park is also the name of the valley that the town resides in. We drove through the valley, not the actual town, we had better things to do.) Somehow, over time, I had gotten the name of the band crossed with the term Jerkwater and it worked it's way into my working vocabulary. "Fuck this Jerkwater town, I'm going home." "Shut up you lousy, jerkwater hick!"

And that's a story that'll never get on VH1's Storytellers. Amen.

New guitar case

I was searching online for custom guitar cases yestarday evening at work and didn't find anything that really struck my fancy. Everything is in the vein of molded plastics or plywood covered in fake leather or tweed. I don't think that it's a very diverse market at this point. I mean, seriously, who is not going to shit their panties when they see Jewel's handmade, beautifully detailed, $1,000.00, custom guitar case and then, after cleaning up their mess, hop online and see that they can get one for their own Ovation piece of shit guitar for a mere $200 (less detail in the inlays, of course.)

I spent last night cutting up foam for the interior. I've got to figure out an easy way to cut out the space for the guitar and the pick case. I also filled in all the holes with wood putty and decided to wait till tonight to sand it down again before applying the stain and then a first coat of polyeurathane (I think that's how it's spelled). After that, it's just a matter of insetting the hinges, attaching the hardware, and finishing the foam cutting/attaching the padding and fabric and I'll be done with the prototype. I've got an order from my sister in California for her acoustic guitar already. I also want to make one for my electric guitar since the case I have is in shambles. When I pick it up, invariably, I lose a pick or two, and the fake brass plastic trim is falling off. I does have a sweet Misfits sticker on it though. I hate the Misfits.

Today is also my sister's birthday. She sent me a text this morning saying that the leader of her band, or her old band, Yo Vee, kicked her out. I don't know what to say about that. I think that they will lose an important part of their sound, and by that I mean the interplay of my sister's voice with the lead singer. Their bass player quit last fall/winter to start his own project. I thought he was an important factor to their sound as well.

I take my sister's side. I told her to take it as an opportunity to get her ass out of this musical rut and start working on her own songs, her own sound. If she really wants it, it's there for her to take.

I've got to get back to work.

Prediction

I know that this is not funny for everyone else but eat it.

I have seen this man from time to time getting on the bus in the mornings while I'm driving to work. Not anything to remember about him. Just another dude getting on the bus to go to work. I didn't even start to notice him until a few weeks ago when I was walking on the square and saw this man scurry-ing to get his... well actually, it was more like waddle-ing... to get his ass on the bus before it pulled away and made him wait for the next one (which I believe was only a fifteen minute wait.) It was delightfully amusing for me to watch this man so uncoordinatedly propel himself that I made a mental note to post about it, but I felt guilty about finding it funny, and then I felt that all three readers would be offended, and then I thought that it was just downright mean. ... Screw that shit! Screw you for thinking I can't laugh at someone who looks funny running, albeit due to morbid obesity.

So I did post the story about it. And you know, it's not interesting for me to tell it and I'm certain you were bored reading it. I should have kept that little gem to myself.

But yeah, now I see him all the time and I can't help but laugh a little, on the inside anyway.

How bout this one instead.

I was waiting for my ride yesterday afterknoon (lousy Truck is in the shop again for the same lack of fuel to the carborator problem that was supposed to be fixed by the new fuel filter/new feul pump that was put in last month) and I saw about twenty squirrels running around on the capitol lawn. It made my day to watch them scamper and chase each other from tree to tree.

Okay? Better?

Now. I am working on a case for my $40.00, 1/2-size, acoustic, nylon string guitar. It's essentially a prototype for the case I'm going to make for my electric. The beauty of it is that I can probably crank out ten cases and sell them as hand-built custom guitar cases. $200 a pop and pretty soon (ten years from now,) I've got some extra cash to spend on hash. But then those squirrels will just end up stealing them and using them for sleds.

'I don't know' anymore

I've found that things I knew are slipping away. It saddens me, scares me. T-rex went to Tomah to visit on Friday and he told me the next evening that it sucked to see that his old high school friends were almost exclusively people he had nothing in common with. I see that myself. I occasionally run into old friends from highschool and we have nothing to say to each other. I understand why, loss of a common activity/daily ritual involving interaction, and I don't really care about that, but it is the changing that I am a little unsettled by.

I'm staring down the long barrel of this week before I get on a bus and read a U2 biography and a textbook on recording technology. I'm not sure I want to go. It up-ends my daily/weekly routine and puts me in a situation that has lots of unknown variables. After yesterday afterknoon in Chicago, I don't know if I'm really up for lots of unknown variables. (Kristin made Travis and I go to this re-sale shop up in the "gay" district. It wasn't exactly where I see myself 'being.')

My friend is moving next weekend to Minnesota. She's Travis' roommate and I've known her since the Barn Daze. Her going away party was on Saturday night and it was fun but there was a moment of sadness too. I could see us moving into different currents again and I didn't like the thought of that. I don't like the feel of that, like I've been moving in disjointed currents for a long time, spreading myself thin, and there are too many people I want to keep abreast with, too many people I feel I need to give my valuable time to, undeserved-ly in those cases (mostly), and what of the giant bluff I front? When do actually get to put that to the test? (huh, Kristin? are you calling me on it?)

But...

Such is the nature of this. This, "I don't know," anymore. I can't know. To know is to see more than is allowed without paying a price. Probably an arm or a leg, or both.

Just wait. (with bated breath)

Fighting with rubberbands and bandanas

I've had four conversations with four people in the last three days that have been the highlight of each day and somehow I've managed to use those discourses in a way that keeps me going.

(You can throw rocks)

I called Kristin to make plans for going to Chicago to be a guest on her radio program. Travis and I are planning on making a day of it. I know Kristin will be singing (fiona apple) inside when she reads this. We talked about a lot of things but talking to her is always a good thing. She knows how to ask the questions and help me not only analyze my motives, but also understand my progress.

(From your house of glass)

I ran into my bosses daughter on the sidewalk on the way to work. She works a scant few blocks away from each job and takes the bus so sometimes I see her when I'm walking to/from one of my jobs. She bought me a scone and we chatted about stuff. She really encouraged me to apply for a job at Epic saying that she thought it would be a perfect fit for me (less the longer commute, and if anyone knows about long commutes, Clyde Park, MT to Big Sky, MT is about as long and as beautiful a commute that anyone would want. 70 miles one way, over a pass and through a long, winding canyon.) She should know since she worked there as an assistant for the CEO of the company. (Great reference to put on the resume, too.)

(It's no skin off of my ass)

Last night I talked to Travis about the plans to go to Chicago, my frustration with my desire to sabatoge the band and move back to Montana by accusing Joe and him of not caring enough about the band, and what I've been working on in light of our business plans for the summer. All in all, I need to spend time with Travis in order to keep myself focused on the reason why I think this band is worth it above any other band I could be a part of.

(My sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet ass)

This morning I ran into a woman at the coffee shop who I used to see on a more regular basis when I would hang out there in the afterknoons in my un-employed days last spring. She's an artist and she and I were catching up a little bit. She asked me if I was still thinking about law school and I said no. She then went on to tell me I was too nice to be an Attorney. I think it was more my inability to take a side in an argument that wasn't contrary to everyone else's. "Client? What client? They're both guilty... if being sexy is a CRIME!"

What? Oh, wait, so she gave me this book about procrastinating, being a pro artist, and said that I should read it. I started reading it and there was too many things that I wanted to put up on this site. I stopped myself from doing that. If you wanted to know any of the insightful stuff I gleaned today, you would be elsewhere.

So then, while tracking down some dude (according to the documents I have to serve upon him, he isn't good at keeping spoken contract agreements) I kept thinking that I was wasting time trying to find this guy and I should be working on my music. Sum of the story, I'm impatient and scatterbrained.

Speaking of which, Thom Yorke is in the works of a solo album.

Tolerance and Understanding

"This is a song I wrote about tolerance and undersanding..."

I watched a caterpiller change into a butterfly today
(She watched a caterpiller change into a butterfly today.)
And you can throw rocks from you house of glass, ain't no skin off of my ass
Ain't no skin off of my ass
(Ain't no skin off of my ass)
Spoken:
People, don't look at each other as black and white,
look at each other as light and dark,
Be sensitive today.

And YOU CAN THROW ROCKS FROM YOUR HOUSE OF GLASS!!!
It's No skin off of my ASS!
My Sweet Ass!!!
My Sweet Ass!!!
My Sweet Ass!!!
I LOVE MY ASS!!!!

my sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet ass.

(I love Home Movies.)

Big ol' crybaby

I was listening to Cloud Cult last night on my way home from the gym and about broke down into tears. Something about these lines:

It's the thoughts that you feed.
It's the habits you need.
It's the things that you don't think that you're seeing (When you're really seeing).
It's your tongue in my mouth.
It's the things that we're too scared to talk about.
It's the feeling that you're dreaming (But you're not really dreaming).
It's the feeling that you're falling (But there's a fine line between falling and flying).
It's the feeling that you've lost it (Why don't you get it?)
That man jumped out the window (Come back in the window).

Running with the theme of the last post and all...

Then I was watching the Series Finale of Home Movies. Just about started crying again. It's got way to many memories attached to it. Graduating. Having Kristin watch it on the replay at 3am. Just sitting there realizing that it was over. I started watching that show my first year in Montana. It was over my last year in Montana.

BUT...

I ran into my bosses daughter this morning. She and I chatted over a scone at the farmers market. She said that I should apply for the job with epic. I'd make more money, have benefits that are better than a flexible schedule. I could afford a real amp. I could afford a practice space. I could afford a G5 and other assorted recording studio type hardware. I'll give it some time and mull it over for once I get back from my escape into the realms of temporary homelands. (It was a good book but also just a dry read. It's effect was similar to reading the Lord of the Rings. All I want to do after I read those books is just get in my truck and drive. I don't care where, just far. Off to the petrified forest in AZ, or up to AK, or just to Black River Harbor.)

Someday. Someday soon.

More musings from the post hangover

I learned a new word. Skototropism. I really like that word.

I have ideas spinning in my head. The Isthmus is running their "best of Madison" again. I felt like voting but decided it didn't matter one way or the other. Most of the time I don't even care.

Favorite place to buy coffee? Coffee Crossing isn't even in Madison. Flavorite place to Ski? Big Sky. Favorite place to see outdoor shows? Pine Creek. I'm not meant to be here in Madison.

Skototropism.

(There's the link. Sheesh. Learn to do your own legwork. Lazy lazy lazy.)

Piss an Vin

I'm just a bit on the angry side of a moment. Got wrapped up in my old ways on saturday night. Went out for a few beers with Andy's brother and his old roommate and Dave's old girlfriend. That was good and well. Five beers (Murphy's, Black & Tan, Harp, Bell's Oberon x2) in four hours, quick talking, one whole pack of cigarettes and then some. (Camel light Wides, Winston lights) and a stroll around the downtown. It was kind of raining on and off. Smoking wasn't that big of a deal since there was a stoop at the Irish and we didn't have to stand in the rain. (Madison thinks it's cool because it thinks that California is cool and it has a smoking ban just like California.) So, back at James', his roommates get back from some party and then his other roommate gets back from Portage (at like 4am) with a mostly full bottle of Jack Daniels. We proceed to pass the bottle around and I end up getting piss drunk to the point of madness. I stumble off to my truck, which is in a parking ramp and plant myself in the seat and lock the door and wait for the deeds to begin. I don't remember how many times I crawled out of my truck to vomit behind the SUV I was parked next to, but there was a sweetly sickening pool of stomach bile and sadness waiting for someone to find sometime later that day. I went home a nine. Slept all day. Watched TV in the evening. Went to bed. Still feel like shit for allowing myself to go back to that. I don't binge drink anymore. (Yeah I don't.)

On the flipside, I haven't had a cigarette since Saturday. They smell horrible to me now. God bless the two day hangover.

Another stupid Dream

I was out last evening with friends on state street and I got home early this morning. It was about 4 am when I woke up and realized that the segment of my dream where I was in a bathroom was my bladder dreaming of waking me up. So there was a need to take care of, and I also swigged down some more water with the dose of Vitamin I that I would've needed in the morning anyway. So... I had a can of Redbull and that always gives me nightmares these days (or so it seems) and I was having this dream. I was at a house party and there were a bunch of big men hanging wearing Hip Hop Apparel and it turned into huge brawl, a rumble if you will, so I bolted.

I remember having my keys in my hand which I assume meant I was walking to my truck but instead I was walking back to my hotel room. There were other people fleeing the fight at the party too and we were heading up this hill but the hill started to erode and I had to climb up this plastic edging to get up to solid ground.

In the hotel there were people tearing around the place, because the fight had spread and there were just people everywhere kickin' the shit out of each other so I ducked into my room. In my room was my friend Tom and his dog "Freckles" (Freckles is crazy, he was abandoned as a puppy was abused a lot and he gets really vicious when people leave Tom's house or when they smell like booze.) and Tragic Shisler was there too. So we are in this room and this black dog, much like a cross of a Pit Bull and a Rotwieller, comes charging through the screen door attacking Freckles and I just dive right in, pulling them apart and getting bit up by the black dog. These Hispanic dudes come walking up to the door and it turns out it's there dog so I'm shoving it out the door with a "get this thing the fuck out of here" deal and I shut the door.

I woke up after that.

How's that for inspiration? Huh?

Early Start to the Day

I had this moment of glee this morning as I pulled into the coffee shop parking lot. On the front page of the WI State Journal is this wonderful photo of some children in a garden. But the Headline was what made me laugh. "I'm all for saving the environment," but that's just taking it a little to far. Jesus was way more political than you.

I worked out the mix of Joe's vocals on "I'm an American" last night. It was a pain realizing that I need to construct an isolation booth and get some sweet headphones that don't allow sound to escape. I kept hearing this ring from the drum track he was listening to through them mixed in with his vocal part. It's indiscernable once the rest of the music is mixed in but it keeps me from running compression on that track. Anyway. It translated into a lot of cleanup between phrases. I slapped a tremelo on his guitar part, rewrote the sampled drum parts a few times and decided to mix that after I get the bass part recorded. So all that's left is a tasty bass part and then cleaning up "America's Song" and then writing a transitional piece, somehow using the national anthem and (Buckshot go) Boo-yah!!! (It's a Psychobetabuckdown, Baby!) The last track of the EP will be completed. (pending discussion in the next band meeting)

I also bought my ticket to MT for the 4th of July. I can hardly wait. I leave Madison at 12:45am and get into Livingston at 2:55am. I don't have a long layover in Billings though. I really feel as though I'm missing out if I don't get to spend a quality 4-5 hours sitting in downtown Billings in the middle of the night getting propositioned by shellshocked old men to use some meth or lectured by denture removing, pain pill popping hippies on the oldest religion in the world. Cuthluh? Yeah.

Laugh it up

I was out tossing a frisbee yesterday with some friends on the capital lawn. One toss ended up floating it's way off the sidewalk and I was manuevering to catch it when I realized I was getting awfully close to the chain that divided the sidewalk from the grass. Sure enough. Hit that chain and rolled on the concrete. Fortunately, it was a graceful spill and the people drinking across the street could only laugh for a few minutes. I did straighten out that chain pretty good though.

I grind my self down to establish a point.

If you are going to toss a frisbee, do it in a park where there aren't things to trip over, such as chains.

There would be more but I've work to do and never enough time to do it.