One day I'll get what's mine...

through the Persistence of Time.

At some point last evening, while reading through some of the Dio obits, I stumbled onto some pics of the recently passed metal god hanging out with some of the guys from Anthrax, a band I hadn't thought about in years. I quickly did the re-acquaintance rounds (official site, Wiki entry, recent news), pirated (I really need to lay off the Mediafire, btw) some albums I deemed "essential", and was reminded as to why I liked these guys more than the other 3 of the big 4 (Metallica, Megadeth, Slayer, and Anthrax) thrash acts of my 'tween and early teen years: their clear links to NYC hardcore and their sense of humor. While history has shaken out differently and I have come to adore some of the earliest efforts by Slayer and Metallica (I still don't really get the whole Megadeth thing), as a lad, I could never get past the staunch seriousness displayed by these bands while playing music that, as I knew even then, was more theatre than most people were willing to let on. Anthrax didn't bother with the posturing. They were working class skater punks from Queens and made no bones about it. While they could write an angry tune as well as any of the others, their public personae were always a little on the goofy side. In this they were able to appeal to both my suburban white preteen angst and the side of me that considered the Naked Gun movies to be high cinema. (for the record: I still do)

Now don't get me wrong - I was never a serious metalhead. I don't think I would have been allowed to be one in my house. I don't even think I purchased any music by these bands (instead relying on cassette copies from friends) until I was already in high school. So I was shocked by the immediacy of the memories and the nostalgia I felt for Anthrax's 1990 album, Peristence of Time. I guess listening to it was somehow akin to my opening a time capsule - as all of the other music I loved way back when has either stuck with me through the years (Guns n' Roses, Whitesnake) or has been canonized by the indieretrofuckbag movement as the ultimate kitsch (Vanilla Ice) and become ubiquitous whereas this album's very existence had completely escaped my brain - because I couldn't get the silly grin off my face as I walked to school this morning rocking out to this album that I have unfairly forgotten. No, I am not here to claim its being on par with metal classics like Slayer's Reign in Blood or Metallica's Master of Puppets - nor am I even claiming it to be Anthrax's finest hour - but this record seems to represent a very special time and place for me, and, after all, isn't that why we like the records we do?
So think hard folks. What were you listening to when you were 13 or 14 years old? When was the last time you listened to it or even thought of it? Would it still resonate with you? Would it at least be worth the cheap nostalic thrill? There's only one way to find out.

Ride Like the Wind indeed!

Whether you know of musicians like Michael Macdonald and Christopher Cross because you were always a fan, have become a fan recently, have heard them sampled by hip hop producers, or just plain 'ol dig Yacht Rock (I refuse to link it, but you can go find it on Youtube), you all know these cats can sing; but did you know that Christopher Cross is a sick guitar player?! Neither did I. Check It:

Embryonic Review, or: The Return of Michael Ivins, or: The Record I've Wanted the Lips to Make for Some Time Now.

After taking my second class with Salim Washington at Brooklyn College, I finally convinced myself to swear of music criticism. I stopped reading album reviews (for the most part as old habits die hard), didn't renew my subscription to Paste, and have made a lot of efforts to not be such a dick about other people's tastes when different than mine. I have been fairly successful in this quest to purge myself of the world of negative and/or uninformed response to other people's art, but we all fall down every now and again. I only mention all of this because, while the title of this post does indeed contain the word "review", I am no way hoping to levy criticism or pass any judgment on the Flaming Lips upcoming album or their catalogue as a whole. The fact is, I am only eight songs in and feel the need to celebrate this album's accomplishment in making all of this l'il Lips fan's dreams come true.

Like so many people my age, I was turned on to the Flaming Lips via the lone hit single in their 20+ year career: "She Don't Use Jelly" from 1994's Transmissions from the Satellite Heart. At the time, it seemed something of a novelty and I didn't even get into the band proper until I picked up a cassette copy of the aforementioned album from the "cutout bin" of a local record store during my sophomore year in college. (During the cassette tape's last gasp, you could often find many fairly contemporary and even classic albums on cassette for as little as $1.99. Being as I was in a sort of "hording" phase for music and, as I did live in the 'burbs and only had a tape deck - as opposed to a CD player - in my oft-used vehicle, I loved rummaging through these "cutout bins") While it wasn't exactly love-at-first-listen, I was very drawn to the rather ramshcakle or homemade aesthetic. Raunchy guitars, raw natural drums, and Wayne Coyne's less than stellar (by "conventional" standards) vocals seemed to mesh seemlessly not only with the mid-90's slacker ethos I bought into, but also with the psychedelic element present in this music. All of these modifiers, however, never overpowered the great songcraft and universalist/world saving vibe that made this a fun listen - but, for at the time, only a fun listen.

I finally got wrapped up in their world a few years later. While working at a shitty chain record store during the summer after I graduated (college), I decided to grab a copy of 1999's The Soft Bulletin. Critics had been raving (it was around then that I started my aforementioned dirty habit) about it since it dropped, so that in concert with my earlier casual, but enjoyable, relationship with their music and the cover art that made the whole thing seem somehow cinematic, was enough for me to take a copy home at the end of the summer (with my employee discount). It was nothing short of life-changing. It was beautiful, majestic, exquisitely produced, and, most importantly, incredibly human. There was life in these songs! Roughly conceptual (in both production value and lyrical content), this album seem to tap into many of the things I wrestling with as I stepped out of the sheltered world of the music conservatory and living on my parents' dime and into the real world. It was a mixed bag of louder-than-hell drum beats, chiming guitars, purposefully-phony-sounding string patches, pianos, organs, and the melodic (but always structurally supportive) bass playing of Michael Ivins - and all in the context of the inimitable Wayne Coyne singing about the one thing that matters more than the humdrum drama of daily life and the loftiness of science and the supernatural: love. I was hooked on the music and on the message. The only that seemed to have gotten lost in the shuffle was the reckless "homemade" qualities I found so appealing on that old cassette I had.

My best friend and now ages-old musical conspirator, Lucas, began drinking the Flaming Lips Kool-Aid, at my urging, around the same time - and he took a considerably larger dose, delving into their back catalogue and seeing them live. First the back catalogue: Despite our both loving The Soft Bulletin in a very big way, he was equally drawn to their preceding album, Clouds Taste Metallic. More in tune with the record which had gotten my initial attention (the aformentioned Transmissions...), this record seemed purposefully messy and organic from an instrumental and production standpoint, but seemed to be lyrically grappling with some of the larger issues that got me hooked on their then more recent release. In addition to the role that lyrics about love and whatnot began to play, the musical stylings of Steven Drozd (who plays almost all of the instrumental tracks in the studio) and the sure-handed and imaginitive bass playing of Michael Ivins really took centestage on this record. But, as I was a sucker for slick (and often overdone) production at the time, I didn't give too much thought to Clouds Taste Metallic 'til much later when, in a twist of fate, I found myself interested in it largely due the presence of that more youthful and raw (some would called it "sloppy") vibe that seemed somehow lost on later Lips releases. Luke also got to see them on tour in support of "Bulletin". I look back in horror at my having missed it as this was when the whole Flaming Lips "thing" really came into being. In addition to coming to the shows to sing along to the new and uplifting songs, fans around the country (as opposed to a more localized fanaticism in their Oklahoma City home) started showing up in costumes ranging from large animal getups to chracters from the Wizard of Oz. There was a gong. There was confetti. These concerts were no longer just musical performances, they were becoming "happenings". But let's be clear: the musical stuff was important too! In order to bring their new larger-than-life recordings to... uuh... life with only a three-piece band on stage, they starte encouraging their fans to bring small FM radios and headphone to concerts so that while the band was playing some (as much as they could) of the music live onstage, the remainder of what one would have heard on the album was transmitted via FM to those with headsets on so that they could get the "full" experience.

These changes were really only a stepping stone for the Flaming Lips. After this, things seemed to get even bigger; and as said wideing of scope transpired, my world was getting a big bigger at well. In August of 20002, three important events to this story coincided:

1) I moved to Brooklyn
2) The Flaming Lips released their follow up The Soft Bulletin, Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots
3) I went to my first Lips show

I was excited to just to find out what the new Lips record would sound like after hearing how things had progressed over their previous three releases. I was also excited to buy it from the indpendent record shop downstairs and next door to my new apartmenet; and while their inventory was made up of mostly hip-hop and R&B records, they were happy to special order it for me and I had it in my hands just a few days after the release. Man did it throw me for a loop. Programmed drumbeats? Synth bass? Synths in general? Breakbeats? Something about a young black-belted girl attempting to battle Pink Robots that have been sent here to eat us? There was just sooo much to digest. Frankly, I wasn't sure I liked it at all. While the inspiring lyrical palate that they had been drawing from over the previous two records (perhaps prefected in Yoshimi's "Do You Realize??"), the sonic landscape had completely changed. I mean: sure, they were moving towards this sorta sound on The Soft Bulletin, but this was completely over the top. The solid songcraft was ever present, but it seemed as though the heavy drums and organic and majestic mess from earlier in their career was all but forgotten.

Their show, however, was a completely different story. Billed as the Unlimited Sunshine festival, Prospect Park was beset by thousands of concertgoers to witness a lineup that included The Flaming Lips, Modest Mouse, De La Soul, Cake, and a few others I cannot remember at the moment. A bunch of Jersey peeps came in for the show (and to see my new digs) and after a few hours of "pre-gaming", we hoofed it down to the park's 9th st. entrance and found some spots. Generally overcast, the day came to something of a screeching halt when the inevitable rain decided to start falling in the middle what was already a rather paltry set from DeLaSoul. The entire enterprise was for shit. One of my favourite rap groups was doing a lame show that some of my friends came (at my behest and to the tune of $40 a pop) to see and now it was raining... blah. But wait! Now it's only drizzling! Maybe the Lips' set won't be delayed. Indeed it was not. The lips opened up (as pretty much always at this point) with "Race for the Prize" (opening track from Soft Bulletin) and the crowd went berserk. Singing and dacning ensued. There was confetti. There were people flanking the stage in animal costumes. The Lips' entire world of sound was blaring from the PA. There was a giant screen behind them showing cool images of god knows what. Down front stood their lead singer, Wayne Coyne: part manic-preacher, part Wavy Gravy, part stereotypical rock frontman. His energy was inspiring and infectious. To make matters even better, he proceeded to create what is, far and away, my greatest concert memory of all time. As the band headed into their second tune ("A Spoonful Weighs a Ton") and Wayne opened with the line "And though they were sad the rescued everyone, they lifted up the sun...", the rain came to a complete halt and the sun let itself be seen in all its glory for the first time in hours. Wayne had literally lifted up the sun. If there was any doubt as to whether or not I was ready to hand over a little piece of my soul to this band, it disappeared with the rain that august afternoon. *whew* In addition to this transformative experience, this show helped me in gaining more appreciation for Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots. The songs off of the new album translated much better and felt somehow less electronic and sterile with actual humans at the helm. The standout, by far, was "Do You Realize??" which so moved us that it has since started a tradition whereby if Lucas, our friend Chris, or I are at a Lips show that the other(s) can't attend, we will call the non-attendees on from our cell phones during that song and hold them up in the air in hopes that those not at the show can at least get a little taste of the Lips and their fans group performance of this uplifing anthem.

As time passed, I did start to dig that record for what it was rather than what it wasn't. Each time I saw the band live (which, btw, is my favourite place in the world: a Lips show. seriously: imagine being at gigantic birthday party celebrating the birthdays of every one of the thousands of attendees simlutaneously. yeah.), I dug into "Yoshimi..." a little deeper, and began wondering what they would do for their next record. How would they, if at all, reconcile aesthetic of their earlier work with the new paths they had forged on the last two albums. The answer came in the form of 2006's At War With the Mystics. To be honest, I feel like this record is kinda mediocre. It's something of a hodgepodge of a band looking to rock out and have fun with a band trying to continue along and avenue that looked to be something of a dead end. Some of the more "rock" elements of their earlier work were present, as were many of the more "digital" sounds from Yoshimi, but the album sounded like, at best, a collection of b-sides, and, at its worst, crude demos. Much like the tunes on their last album, they were a little more interesting when played live, but I was still never able to sink my teeth into "Mystics". Perhaps the facts that they continued to tour using the same stage set as they had used for Yoshimi and chose to include several older songs than ones from the new record spoke to their own lack of confidence in the material. Who knows? No matter how you slice it, I was disappointed.

Luckily, their being significantly low profile in the last three years gave them a chance to finish their movie and me a chance to delve into their back catalogue - and I am glad I did. Hearing their entire ouvre really put all of the aforementioned sonic and lyrical choices in the context of a much larger progression than I had realized. It also set me up to full appreciate their new album, Embryonic. I will be honest with you, I am still one song shy of listening to the whole thing, yet I am already prepared to name this one of the best albums of 2009 and, perhaps their career. Without getting too detailed (after all, I want you to dig it for yourself), I guess the best way can sum it up is by saying that they have finally found that balance. It's trippy, it's loud, it's spacey, it's synth heavy, it's got loud drums, big guitars, beautifully deep and moving lyrics, silly lyrics... it's really everything. It's like looking at Transmissions from the Satellite Heart or Clouds Taste Metallic with the scope of The Soft Bulletin (18 songs!!!) through "Yoshimi's..." lense - with just a hint of the intensity of their pre-"She Don't Use Jelly" stuff.

Yes. I know: all that backstory for a lousy four or five sentences about the title of the friggin' post. Well... either I am getting shittier at writing about music or better at not being a lousy music critic. Which one doesn't matter much. If you want to know more about the new record, go and find out for yourself, and check out this video for the album's first "single" (bullshit term as this will never get played on the radio) here. The record drops on Oct 13.

Running Down... in Circles.

At some point during my junior year in college, I made the decision to NOT go home for the summer and, instead, get an early jump on moving in with some friends in a house off campus. Whether it was a something of a lark, some way of exerting my independence from my family and old friends, or some combination of both, I cannot remember, but I count the summer of '98 as one of the best of my life. I am still not quite sure why my mother agreed to let me do this, but, as I recall, she had little issue ponying up the paltry $273 per month for May, June, July, and August provided that I cover all of my other expenses. In what, in hindsight, was a surprisingly responsible move for 21-year-old me, I got two, count 'em - TWO jobs: one working at "media center" (read: CD, LP, and VHS library) - which was really just my NOT taking the summer off from my regular work-study gig - and one at a local Ice Cream Shoppe/Cafe called Halo Pub.

I had frequented this place since my freshman year and there seemed to be a revolving cast of students from my school behind the counter, so securing employment was quite simple. As most of the other college-types were home for the summer, thus necessitating the establishment's hiring of several local high school and/or community college/live-at-home kids, I was one of the oldest people on staff, so I progressed fairly quickly from lowly ice cream scooper to barrista (making coffee and espresso beverages) to shift supervisor. I was pretty proud, to tell you the truth; but my rising up the in-no-way-corporate (this joint was family owned and operated) ladder was really only a nice perk. The real fun at Halo came from the people I worked with.

Be it this girl Nicola who I took out on one date, my college friend Constance (who got me the gig), another girl who's name I can't remember but about whom I wrote a really great but as-of-yet-unfinished tune, or our hippy manager (and the big boss's son-in-law) Tom, there was always an interesting cast of characters that took an otherwise thankless and mundane job and made it fun. The ones that had the biggest impression on me were the North Brunswick emo kids: Mark and Robyn. Now I know what you're thinking: "EMO?!?!... yuck! Isn't that the adjective used to describe 13 year olds who wear their hair in their face a pretend that their rather pleasant suburban existences are far more dramatically terrible than they actually are to the point where they cut themselves?! Isn't emo some shitty music with screaming and/or whiny vocals about melodramatic teenage bullshit with vague references to the gothic or gorey all set over annoying clichéd punk guitar playing?!" The answer to these questions is a bit complicated, but that's why we're here.

To be fair: the only reasons I remember Robyn Tesauro is 'cos I have for years been trying to write a song in which I rhyme her last name with the word "bureau", she was cute, and was friends with Mark - and he's the important one here. I wish to god I could remember Mark's last name, but it completely escapes me at the moment. He was a skinny kid from North Brunswick who shaved his head and looked like a skater and seemed to be really hip to what was going on in the world of below-the-radar punk music. I was pretty hip to all sortsa other genres at the time, and since we seemed to dig talking music with one another, we agreed to make each other mix tapes. I spent some serious time on his, making sure to include some Phish, some Moondog, some Stravinsky, some Tom Waits, some Monk, and (I am guessing) some Barenaked Ladies and Ben Folds Five, but I really don't remember if he liked it at all. Again: not important. What is important is how lifechangeingly great the tape he made me was.

He said the the tape was made up of songs by all of his favourite punk and "emo" bands - a term he defined for me as "short for emotional punk". Boasting early tunes by soon-to-be-famous bands like Blink 182 and Jimmy Eat World along with seminal proto-emo artists like Sunny Day Real Estate and masters of texture The Jazz June, this tape instantly changed my life and remains one of my favourite compilations ever. (I still have it!) Knee deep in the world of classical music and very arty and/or bubbly pop, this tape full of angry and emotional young men and women playing music that combined the energy and drive of punk with the guitar orchestration skills and attention to texture that really got my brain working, I was in serious need of a reminder as to what first excited me about music. This cassette, called "Chuck's Oh So Political Tape #1", was just what the doctor ordered. It not only forced me to immediately rejigger my values and tastes, but also changed the way I approached contemporary music. I thought Emo was just about the coolest thing in the world.
The knowledge I gained from that tape, in concert with the fact that many of the bands whose music was included were still "underground" also gave me a certain amount of caché when it came to the occasional cultural pissing contest I would often engage in. A few years later, when I started a band that was made up of me and three professional music critics who were always three steps ahead of me in terms of new tunage, my knowledge of emo, which was not even a word in the general public's conciousness yet, allowed me to tread water in the inevitable "what's next" conversations we always seemed to get into. As it was indubitably a young people's music, it also made me seem just a little hipper to my first group of middle schooler students when I taught right out of college. So not only was this tape awesome, but it was helpful too!
Over the course of the last few years, "emo" became a dirty word. Riddled with my aforementioned assumptions about your reaction to the word, it hardly carries any of the weight it did ten years ago. It's become a name brand of sorts - and one that seemingly no one wants to wear. BUT WAIT!! What is that I see?! Someone looking to remedy and explain this in a way that is much clearer than my babble? Indeed. While I have something of a love/hate relationship with Paste Magazine, I still read its online content fairly dutifully, and I couldn't let one today's articles pass without being linked to and commented on. I freely admit that what I have written here is most likely longer than the article itself, but I seriously suggest you give it a read and give the musical examples a listen, because these guys seem to want to rescue the term emo as much as I do.

You can read it here.

Your To Do List:

1. Buy this!

that is all.

The internet has the potential to be even cooler!

Last Tuesday, I (along with my buddy Torres) drove out to Jones Beach to see my first Phish show in 13 years. In addition to the weather (we even got a rainbow!), venue, and music itself being fantastic, I was reminded just how great the whole Phish scene and vibe were. I will try my best to get something up about that night at some point, but we all know how that goes. Anyhoo: I was so thrilled by the experience (and the general ease with which Torres's friend Scotty scored 5 tickets in 15 minutes for 50% of face value) that, despite my yakking never amounting to anything, I talked about going to either one of both of their two remaining nights out in Wantagh, LI, NY. I even considered going down to see them in Camden, NJ last night, but I guess I am just not enough of a fan to make it happen.

Despite my disappointment in both myself and the fact that I likely blew my only chances to see Phish live more than once this summer, I was sated in one regard. As a result of the combinaition of cunning, the tradition of "taping" at Phish shows, and the lighting speed at which digital and mobile technology has evolved in recent years, someone (and on two nights more than one person!) was streaming video of the show live via his or her iPhone. I KNOW! The video and audio quality was only passable, but it was thrilling to even have the opportunity to watch a Phish that I was not otherwise able to attend from the comfort of my own couch!

Due to Phish and their fanbase's long tradition of taping shows and then trading said tapes, this seemed to me like the next step in a rather logical progression. Recently, Phish themselves started offering high quality audio recordings of their shows direct from the soundboard to your PC via download a mere few hours after the end of a show. They even offer an exhaustive audio and video archive - all of which can be downloaded for prices similar to those of iTunes. So I was shocked to read somewhere online (I feel somewhat irresponsible for not remembering exactly what or where it was. I have tried multiple Google searches and have come up with nothing) that Phish seemed none too pleased with this. While their taping policy has always allowed only for audio recording and specifically states that streaming audio is not cool, I would like to believe that with the advent of both livephish.com and the technology that could allow for such a cool opportunity would make the decision to either endorse this or provide an "official" avenue for video streaming something of a no-brainer. Phish has not released an official statement concerning the matter and rumor has it that the stream will be back up for tomorrow night's show, so there's no telling where we're headed on this one.

I know that the Allman Bros. Band did something similar to this for their annual run of shows at the Beacon Theatre this past March. Fans paid x$ in order to watch live streaming video of the entire series of 14 shows. I think it was something to the tune of $110 - which seems reasonable to me - and while the Allmans are certainly not your average baby boomers, it would only make sense that a jam band from a later generation (I dunno, maybe... Phish!) would be even more likely to offer a similar opportunity to its fans. My fingers are crossed - and apparently so are those of many other on the web. There is currently an online petition requesting that Phish provide a live video stream of their shows. I have signed it, and I urge you to do the same. Be you a Phish-head, a casual fan, or even just a lover of live music, this petition is the beginning of what is bound to be yet another chapter in the ongoing discussion about the inevitable meeting of antiquated copyright legislation and the developing technologies that force us to reconsider the connection, or lack thereof, between intellectual property and artistic commodities. While I do believe that this is a large scale discussion well worth engaging in, I also really wanna watch Phish shows live on my computer, so please click through and sign the petition.

Click here to sign it.

If you need any extra convincing, here's some video from the show I was at:

The little guy goes "social climber" even in the digital world. (or: Why emusic is pissing me off right now)

I have a few massive posts on the way. I am hoping to find the time this weekend and early next week to roll out a few days worth of reading for y'all, but, in the meantime, I need to blow off a little steam.

For more than three years, I have not only been a loyal user of Emusic (link intentionally not provided) for many of my music purchases, but I have often trumpeted it to friends and family and even gotten a few people to sign up. They have offered a wide array of independent pop music and a healthy dose of classic jazz, blues, and fold recordings on a track-by-track basis for (depending on your monthly plan) as little as twenty-four cents a song. They have been able to maintain this price model by dealing exclusively independent (and mostly small independent ones at that) record companies. You had no chance of getting the new Jonas Bros. or even Springsteen record there, but I always found a way to wisely spend my 65 downloads a month (for $14.99!) by using their recommendation section or by reading other customer reviews. Between the prices, the less than flashy site design, and the knowledgeable and discerning customer base, it was really the digital equivalent of going to a local record store.

Alas it appears that even in the digital world of the web, the quick and the dead are getting separated all to quickly. Just a few minutes ago I went on over to my ex-favourite online outpost for new music to see how many downloads I had left this month and found out that things are about to change there. Apparently, Emusic has struck a deal with one of the big bad wolves of the recording industry (Sony) and will be drastically altering its pricing plan, user interface, and (obviously) catalog.

Yes: I get it - I could now have access to MORE music. Now I can get the new album by some obscure Finnish prog-pop band at the same place as the new Michael Jackson or Modest Mouse record... but this all makes me very sad. To be honest: it started out as anger. See: as someone who has been around for a while, I am currently covered under and older plan which has continued to be granted to me via grandfather-clause through a few pricing tier changes. Well, now that's over too. If I continue to download from emusic, I will now get LESS THAN HALF of the downloads I currently get for the same price. (the grammar of the last sentence is so sloppy, but I am too upset to fix it) But after stewing for a minute I realize that the money is an infintessimally small part of the problem. What it's really about is watching the online equivalent of my favourite local record shop get bought out by Borders or Best Buy or whoever else sells physical copies of music these days. It makes me deeply and profoundly sad. Yes, I buy Levi's and Converse and shop at Guitar Center and the Gap sometimes, but anyone who knows me also knows that I have spent a lot of dollars supporing local and small businesses since I have had the dollars to spend. I have also made a point of it to apply this principle more heavily to the world of music. For every $10 I spend at Guitar Center, I spend $50 or more at local independent music retailers. For every two albums I get through iTunes or Amazon MP3, I get 10 from emusic. I am not looking for a soapbox moment here (though this is my blog :) ), I am just looking for a way to deal with the fact that even in the near-imaginary world of the internet a "small local business" can't survive without selling out to the big boys.

I understand that there is a certain conceit here. I also am fully aware of the indie-elitist bullshit I am bringing to the table. That part of me is sad that now the customer album reviews (which I trust and rely on heavily)may read like the non-musical uninformed drivel you can find in the customer ratings and reviews at the iTunes store. Go ahead: call me an elitist, culturalist, classist dick; but if I wanna read the commentary of an 11 year old still suckling at the teet of the faceless douche bags that buy and sell art like it's hunk of tin, I have 500 students in my school that can give me their opinions. And while those kids opinions carry a lot of weight with me, something tells me my tastes are gonna be a little more similar to the guy or gal on emusic who has downloaded all the same shit that I have. I am getting off topic here...

I probably shouldn't click on the "publish post" button just yet, but I have a class coming in in a few minutes and i need to cool down and perk up before they get here. Please console me - or convince me somehow that I should keep my eMusic subscription, 'cos right now I am planning on writing and angry letter, and cancelling as soon I can without them taking any more of my little guy money for just another big box experience.

Look, Ma! I'm on TV!

ok... not tv exactly - but this is still pretty cool.

Even though I only sat in for one tune, my getting to play in with my friend (and Randy Bandits keyboardist) Russ's group, Russ Kaplan+6, was one of the highlights of my musical year to date. In addition to getting to add some texture (and an 8-bar solo!) to Russ's super-sexy arrangement of Radiohead's "The Bends", it also meant that I was on hand to watch the third gig for what is seriously one of my favourite groups in NYC right now.

Choc full o' funky and jazzy dreamscapes that straddle the great divide (and somehow find all the common ground) between Radiohead and Charles Mingus, Russ and his crack team of musical assassins premiered the first act of his as-yet-unstaged ballet based on Homer's Odyssey at Monkeytown earlier this month. While I am usually (and often unnecessarily) down on all things Williamsburg, the people at this cool new venue really got it right. As if the restaurant out front's adventurous menu (I had Kobe, Ostrich, Wild Boar, and Elk sliders after the gig) were not enough, the performance space in the back boasts high ceilings, a huge projector screen on each wall, and futon-like full-service couches that surround the performers completely. This place is super cool and I was lucky enough to play there with some other musicians who are well out of my league.

So why all the exposition? Oh yeah! One of Russ's friends videotaped (though I am guessing there was no actual magnetic tape involved) the entire performance and posted it over at his blog. I urge you to put aside an hour and watch and listen to this entire performance, but for those of you who are either impatient or related to me, you can let the video load and then fast-forward to just shy of the 53-minute mark to see my little part. You can also click through the link above to see a larger version in all of its HD glory. Enjoy!

Russ Kaplan Plus 6 May 5th 2009 from Nicholas Whitaker on Vimeo.

Trying to take something seriously...

My dad bought me my first guitar for my 11th or 10th birthday. Not quite sure. I took all of two lessons separated by way too many weeks for me to "get" anything out of it from his friend Lee, who was a helluva nice guy and a wonderful guitar player from what I remember. I am guessing that somewhere in my folks' attic are the yellow legal pages on which he wrote down the "blues scale" and a few chord diagrams that were not in the book my dad had bought me to go with the guitar. They may even still be attached to the sheet on which he drew the fretboard on, leaving most of it blank so I could fill in the corresponding pitches for "homework". For what it's worth, I still have my guitar students do this to help them more quickly memorize the instrument's layout.

I played guitar on and off for most of my teenage years, eventually making sense out of the aforementioned legal pages and getting my friends whose folks got them guitar lessons at local music store to teach me whatever they had learned that week. I always had a good ear and my wanting to write songs that reflected what I heard in my heard (and my spending money on various guitar magazines) forced me to teach myself a good bit about the instrument, so, without ever taking another lesson, by the time I was in late high school (a little late for this, I know), I had found my way into a decent and somewhat serious rock band in which *I* was usually the one who was in charge of knowing all the changes and forms of the songs we covered - in addition to writing half of the band's originals.

By the time high school ended, recognizing that I wouldn't get very far lacking the proper technique I would have picked up in formal guitar lessons, I had modeled myself as more of an all-around musicianly type, proficient on a few instruments (though a master of none) and well-versed in music theory, songwriting, arranging, etc. This also served me well as I transitioned into college. The ear and aforementioned theory knowledge I had forced myself to develop allowed me to make the jump to conservatory-level musicianship in an easier fashion than some of my peers and it wasn't long before I was applying all sortsa cool new compositional and arrangement techniques I learned during freshman and sophomore years to the tunes I was writing and working on with my band(s) at the time. I became more proficient at the piano and became a naturally better bass player (if only as a result of my new-found understanding of harmony), but, while I was the guitar player in my main band at the time, I could still only count myself an intermidiate player due to my lack of techinical know-how.

Now let's be clear: I am not singularly blaming my folks for not getting me guitar lessons here. I don't think I hounded either of them much and, besides, I was and (to a certain extent) still am a notoriously lazy student (grad school 4.0 be damned!); so lessons may have been just a waste of money at the time. Besides, I was still content on modeling myself as something of a musical jack-of-all-trades types and perhaps taking one instrument too seriously would have limited me in some of my other musical pursuits. I do realize how ridiculous that sounds, but it's what kept me from being frustrated with my lack of more specific skills for years.

As college led into my life as a young professional (boy does that sound "official") I nearly fell into the familiar music educator trap of being an "ex-", or even "failed", performer as my musical activities rarely extended beyond the confines of my own bedroom during the first two years of my teaching career. Frustrated with the fear that I too could become an ugly suburban stereotype (that music teacher you used to have was a real live musician at some point, y'know), I quickly found some peeps and started a new band wherein I was the bass player and spent the next couple of years becoming an honest-to-goodness bass guitarist. I practiced, studied, rehearsed, wrote, recorded, toured, etc. as a bassist with a few bands in NJ and NY and even made a little scratch playing on various little recording sessions and pit gigs. I still kicked the guitar around, but seeing as I was out of practice, now living in NYC (whose Native American name I am almost sure translates to "Land of Too Many Guitar Players"), and was never a great player in the first place, I pretty much stopped referring to myself a guitar player.

At some point in 2004, I did start playing guitar on the regular again. I bought a bunch of new gear and started a rock band, so I figured I better get practicing! And so I did; and for the first time ever resigned myself to being an inferior technician and actually sat down and played scales and drills to a metronome for the first time in my life. I absorbed the styles of guitarists whom I could most easily emulate and actually took the guitar sorta seriously! Gone was my former cop-out of "who needs technique when they have style and ideas like mine?!". I actually almost sorta kinda considered myself something of a guitarist. Then I just sorta stalled out.

I am not sure why I was content being a knowledgable-yet-mediocre guitar player. I guess I just thought I could coast on the basis of my larger base of musical know-how - and to tell you the truth: no one called me out on it. I mean: no one was banging down my door offering me guitar gigs, but I was playing guitar regularly on and off in a few bands and it always appeared as though I was holding my own. But at some point last winter things changed. Y'see: every year in late January or early February I have something of a musical mental meltdown wherein I decide I am at best the 10th best player I know on any given instrument and that I am thoroughly incapable of doing anything even remotely valuable as a songwriter or in any other musical avenue I pursue. Luckily, I kept my annual crisis to myself this past winter and as able to contain it to a mere few days, but during the darkest months of early 2008, I was one sad sack. I was ready to quit playing everything. There were quite a few nights when I actually sat on my couch attempting to drown my sorrows in TV only to be distracted by angry tears directed at the tools of my supposed misfortune - still in their respective cases, of course. I went so far as to start investigating the market value of about 90% of the gear I owned in an effort to rid myself of all the things that were there to remind me of the failed musician I once was. I know this all sounds very dramatic, but it's true. It was really quite a shitty time. I am not quite sure how I decided this (in retrospect I think it was a combination of wise words from Melissa and Jay), but I decided to have one last go of it.

While I can't remember the date or time or even place, I do remember there being a very specific moment wherein I resolved to learn to play the fucking guitar. As if the impending self-imposed end of my life as a musician was not enough inspiration, I also had a more specific moment to work my toward. My band had booked Memorial Day weekend to record an entire album's worth of new material almost 100% live. Now: I am not sure how much most of you know about the recording process, but I can assure that two things in that last sentence certainly place my band in the minority. First: recording live is becoming more and more rare these days. More often than not, bands and solo artists record albums by meticulously stacking one track on top of one another - one at a time. This leads directly to the other point of interest above. As you might imagine, this process is painstakingly lengthy, so the idea of cutting an entire album's worth of tracks in a single 4 day span (8 hour days) is almost unheard of these days. (Murphy waits for his dorky music friends that know about this stuff to point out several examples of other recent albums recorded almost live in a very short amount of time) Needless to say, the prospect of only having one or two chances to rip a sick improvised solo that would then be immortalized on a compact disc was a terrifying one. Were we recording using the more popular method, I would have a squintillion chances to play the "perfect" solo and could even edit together the better bits from lots of solos digitally long after I had played them in an attempt to "construct" said perfect solo. Where was I going with this? Oh yeah. In addition to the need to be prepared to improvise something worth listening to ad infinitum in only three or four chances, I was also terrified of the prospect of even playing my non-solo parts on these songs. If I dropped the ball on the fourth bar of the last verse, there would be no punching in. The whole band would need to do a whole new take. To be honest: there are quite a few clams on the finished product as a result of this philosophy, but it was all worth it as the energy on most of these tracks is amazing. The only way we ever could have gotten where we did was via the hours of intensely focused rehearsal we did. The only way I could have been prepared for said intense rehearsals was via lots and lots of practicing... and so, for the first time in years, I practiced... a lot. I spent the majority of the Spring of 2008 busting my hump to get these parts down and, in the process, got at least some of my musicianly-mojo back. I even took a guitar lesson with the intention of my finally getting my technique caught up with my know-how. Sure, it only lasted one lesson, but I somehow thought the effort was indicative of some larger progress being made. The recording sessions proved a success, the surrounding gigs went swimmingly, and, due to the time I put in, I felt like a "real" guitarist for possibly the first time ever.

But old habits die hard and, at some point the following summer and fall, I fell of the wagon and became a lazy musician once again. I thought about becoming a "serious" upright bassist and devoted a good chunk of my time this past fall to practicing and playing my upright. For a little while I even considered playing drums in a band I was starting. While I was playing more gigs than ever, I was even less focused than ever. I was busy as hell, however, so I was kinda oblivious to it all. Here's the other thing: I just wasn't that interested in the guitar. I mean: I had spent plenty of money on customizing my guitar and gadgets that would make it sound cooler, but I wasn't in love with my guitar - and that was perhaps my last hurdle on the road to taking the guitar more seriously.

As sure as the pope shits in the woods, when this past winter rolled in, so did my doldrums. While I didn't hit the skids quite as hard as I did in '08, I did spend a good bit of January and February questioning my place (if any at all) in the world of music. Maybe I should devote another post to my complex, but what's most important this time around is how I found my way out. I'll give you a clue: it was the guitar. ; ) There is an half-written 3,000 word missive sitting unpublished on my blogger dashboard about my reborn love of Phish. That story may or may not ever see the light of day, so I will simply say here that after not listening to them for some ten years, I somehow found a renewed and greatly revitalized appreciation for Trey Anastasio and his boys. Maybe I just understand a little more about music than I did when I approached theirs last. Maybe I am jonesin' to make my guitar lines sail like Trey's do. I am not sure, but for some reason, this new-found love found me with the guitar in my hands more often than ever. I was playing and practicing every day for the first time in a year. I was even shocked at the amount of relief I felt when I found out that our hosts on me and Melissa's recent jaunt to L.A. had an acoustic guitar around so I could at least keep up with part of what was becoming a slightly stricter practice regimen. While I was there, said host, Adam, and I attempted to jam on some Phish tunes that I thought I had worked up. This experience told me two things: 1) Trey Anastastion is an arpeggio-junkie, and 2) I was not prepared to jam with a musician on Adam's level. Here's where it gets interesting: Unlike every other time I have found myself victim to my own musical ambition, I did not fall into my usual shame spiral of pity and self-loathing - instead I resolved to fix it so that the next time I am in a situation like that I could hold my own (and play those fucking arpeggios).

It was also around this time that I fell in love with the guitar. I am not really sure how or on what day it happened, but at some point I looked down at a guitar in my arms and it just felt right. The strange symbiotic connection that so many great musicians claim to have with their instrument of expertise suddenly made sense to me. I was somehow meant to do this. I instantly found myself more able to "speak" through the guitar and much of the physical tension that accompanied the mental duress of having to play amidst a vast inferiority complex simply melted away. I looked forward to spending time practicing in a way I never had before and new techniques came to me more quickly and with more fluidity. To be honest: I have not been practicing in a very focused way for a set period of time every day like I should. I haven't memorized the Phish catalogue just yet, but I can't remember a day that has gone by in the last month wherein I haven't picked up a guitar - if even for a minute - and felt some of that magic. .

...And that's why we're here. Not only to proclaim my love for the guitar, but also to proudly announce that after a somewhat thorough search and a really great post-gig conversation with two of my favourite musical conspirators about lessons they have been taking recently (maybe a post on this at some point), I have picked a teacher and, in a few weeks, will start taking guitar lessons. I am excited, not only because my soon-to-be teacher is one of the best players in town, but also because I can't remember the last time I have been so sure of one of my musical decisions. I really want to be a guitarist. After 20 years of dicking around a ton of different instruments and roles in the world of music, I think I may have found some direction. Now let's be honest: in two months I could be at this very blog talking about my newfound love of the Simandl method for upright bass and how I am about to give up sleeping to go late night blowing sessions at jazz clubs in Manhattan; but for now I am rip-raring to go on the guitar and hope that in a year's time I will be writing about how awesome it is to be able to play whatever I want on the guitar with whomever I want without feeling "less than" or out of place. Wish me luck!

...just as much twee as I can handle.

Sorry if I am late to the party on this one. I just stumbled onto it today.

It might be the uke. It might be because she's cute. Either way, Kate Micucci has found my proverbial line in the sand between cute and fucking stupid and managed to err just a wee bit to the former. Happy saturday!