killing Johnny's card

I think I might use this photo inside my new CD. I have no idea who the guy in the front is. Hope he doesn't get pissed. If you look closely, Anne (who is a beautiful woman to begin with) looks like Sade. So cool.
So, it looks like my friend Adam D. will be mastering my CD. Which will hopefully be sooner than later. I am thrilled to have his gifted ears. I couldn't really afford to go to the guy that I thought I was going to use. Looked like it was going to cost 1,300 bucks. I asked Joel if Adam would be interested and he said "Of course! And he'd do it for 13 beers." I don't know if that's true or not, but I'll find out. I have tons of respect for the talent that Adam has. He's the Ken Mauri of metal. The man can do it all.
Also from the yes-this-goddamn-record-is-going-to-come-out-after-all department; I was recently granted permission to use Henry Darger's work (for a small fee) for my CD art for "The Killing Card". I am beyond thrilled with this development. His work is unsettling, anxious, cryptic, childish and beautiful. I think that I tried to capture all the former adjectives with my new record so I feel it's a perfect match. Anyway, the date inches closer and closer.
J Johnson of Designfarm (and probably more notably from National Carpet) is going to help me along with the layout and manipulations of the CD artwork. Free of charge, as well. Such an amazing, supportive guy.
And please, I beg you Red Sox fans. Don't be mad at Johnny Damon. It's all about the money and location (mostly money) for every single person in the MLB now. When Cal Ripken hung it up he also ended an era. Here, let me help you understand. Who said this?
"Baseball isn't what it used to be. It's all about the money now. No one plays because they love the game solely, it's all about revenue."
It was fucking Ty Cobb. In 1910. So let it go. Oh, and think of this way. Now that Johnny's gone maybe his legion of 14 year old girls in pink Damon shirts are gone too. Making it easier for people like me (poor but obsessed) to get tickets to a game that aren't either in the last row of the bleachers or 150 dollars apiece.

I leave you with the track listing of "The Killing Card." Why? Why not.

1) home.
2) The pressure it feeds
3) Everyone is gone
4) Torture ground
5) The combing of the bottom of the sea.
6) The drugs have shaped the angles.
7) Jesus Christ, man down.
8) The whisper no one else can hear.
9) Unbecoming (1992-94)
10) Island of the burning trees.
11) Forever every evening
12) Elephant's glide
13) Firefly parade
14) Stamp and release
15) Medicine you sent
16) You are just like me. You will never be free.

The record is dedicated to Brox.

5 in 5

Here's my 5 for '05:

Music
Lightning Bolt - Hypermagic Mountain
Lou Barlow - Emoh
Rogue Wave - Descended Like Vultures
Winterpills - s/t
System Of A Down - Mezmerize

Movies
Batman Begins
Cinderella Man
Grizzly Man
Broken Flowers
Fever Pitch (Yes, I am a sucker)

5 things I loved about 2005
1) The San Antonio Spurs winning their 3rd Championship in 7 years. In a league filled with prima donnas and egocentric morons the Spurs handle themselves with class, dignity and respect. They also play team oriented basketball. Which is a rare (larry)bird in the NBA these days.
2) Dear friends (and AMAZING human beings) Killswitch Engage and Shadows Fall have had HUGE success this year. Here's to many more. They are proof positive that the age old adage of "nice guys finish last" is a crock of shit.
3) The Red Sox championship trophy came to the Brass Cat. In case you missed it, click here.
4) I won the WRSI singer/songwriter competition and I finished my second record, which should be out early in the new year.
5) Jen and I made it through another year of very long hours together and hope to continue doing so for years for our baby.

5 things I hated about 2005
1) Bands that put out records that sound exactly like an old band. White Stripes = Led Zeppelin/Aerosmith. Arcade Fire = Talking Heads. And bands that put out records where every song sounds like a different old band. My Morning Jacket. Modest Mouse. My advice for these folks. Crawl into a closet with your guitar, take a New York Times front page with you. Eat an entire bucket of paint with a spoon. Read the whole page of the paper and then write a song about it. You all must purge the notions of derivation. The saddest part about this is that there are people surrounding these bands (producers, walking wallets, engineers, friends, peers) standing around patting them on the back. Oblivious. Or knowing and not letting on for hopes of fattening their bank accounts. Sickening.
2) R. Kelly's video/movie thingy. Sorry Matthew, I understand why you enjoy this. It is really easy to laugh at and make fun of but the reality is that this is passing as the biggest thing to happen to R+B since James Brown. When a musical style has hit its collective head on the ceiling you would think that it would be the most likely time to look out for ground breaking talent. Someone who rethinks the whole genre or takes inspiration from as of yet untapped sources. What happens here, though? This idiot makes music into a soap opera for soccer moms. I can't tell you how much it sickens me that this thing is a huge hit. Marvin Gaye (who changed the dynamic of R+B in the 60's by singing songs about the horror of war) is spinning in his grave. And for good reason.
3) Our presidential cabinet keeps insisting on killing our poor (as in "impoverished") kids in a foreign land (that doesn't want us there and poses no threat to us) so the rich can get richer off the blood oil of that nations soil. Bile inducing. Sadly, this will probably be on my list for years to come.
4) The passing of Brox. The dog that was synonymous with the Brass Cat. Sleep well, dear friend. I am less of a man without you.
5) I can only think of those 4 things. I guess that's a good sign for 2006.

Happy holidays all.

Shadows Fall and Killswitch Engage at Night Owl

Not nearly long enough, sir.

A sad day. Richard Pryor past yesterday. First things first. Richard Prior was fucking hilarious. Truly. His facial expressions. His wit. His fearless deliveries. Any film he made with Gene Wilder. An amazing man born to entertain. Crippled by MS. Tortured by his drug-abusing past, Richard left us far too soon. 65 years. Not nearly long enough for this man who helped change the shape of comedy. He was fearless and undeturred. Calling his fellow men "niggers." Shocking his predominantly black audiences. Straying from the constant bureaucratic push of the men in suits that wanted him to be the next Cosby regurgetation. He challenged political avenues at every crossing. Pushed the boundaries of preconceived biases. During one show, after the return from his first ever trip to Africa, he decided to go on a rant about how often it is that he uses the word "nigger" in his show. Quoting Muhammad Ali he continues "...there is a dignity in their poverty that we don't have. That's what makes them so much stronger than us. As of this day...I will NEVER (pauses while beginning to sob)...use the word "nigger" again." So moving. To watch this perfectly successful (at that point, he was on top of the world) man embrace his own ethical developments in front of 3,000 people (and a video taped performance) was something that was, and is, unheard of. The definition of bravery. Muhammad Ali and Richard Pryor. Two of the most important men in American history. He will be be spoken of as a troubled comedic genius in the major media markets. He was so much more.
Not nearly long enough, sir. Not nearly long enough.

I’m no better than you, and you no better than I.

I won the WRSI singer/songwriter competition. I’ve barely ever won anything. Some baseball awards and a hundred bucks on Keno once. Oh, and a hundred bucks on a scratch ticket from my parents one Christmas. The prizes I received for winning this are a Martin LX1. Which is a cool, travel size mini-guitar. I like the way it sounds. Maybe I’ll put a pickup in it and play it live sometime. I also won some recording time at Signature Sounds Studios. 10 hours. That’s great. I already have a song in mind to do there. Maybe it will be available on a split 7” with someone. Sometime. Who knows? I also won a portable PA. Hands down the most important part of all the prizes that were rewarded to me. I haven’t picked it up yet. When I do, it will serve as a permanent system for our in-store performances at Night Owl and also as a rehearsal PA. I used to lug the PA from the Brass Cat back and forth every Saturday night. I played on Johnny Memphis’ show yesterday afternoon. That was fun. I played “Ghosting” because the River has been playing it constantly from what I hear. This all means so much to me. I’m shocked and most certainly pretty embarrassed about the whole thing. I’m completely grateful to Marty for talking me into joining. And equally thankful towards those of you who judged this thing. I had a great time playing with Alex, Brendan, Eric and Kyle. All great writers.


I am most certainly no better than any of the aforementioned folks. Music is subjective. Completely. You know, dancing about architecture. Everyone reserves his/her right to like/dislike anything that they wish. I personally didn’t think I had a remote shot of winning. Why? I thought that the River would be looking for someone who was a little more straight-forward pop/country songwriter. You know, someone who fit (what I thought was) their style. I rarely listen to radio. So when I put on the River last week I was thrilled to hear them playing some great contemporary bands like Rogue Wave, Sigur Ros, Spottiswood, Lou Barlow, Nada Surf etc. That made me nervous. Oh God I thought maybe I do fit. I still didn’t think I would win though. Truly. I was shocked to receive the phone call from those guys telling me I had won.

I would like to clear the air on a few things too. This was a competition. Yep. There were several rounds and one winner picked. I have never, and never will, see music as a sport. I’m a big sports fan. I find it hard to even talk about both in the same night. They’re two very different visceral and electric beings. I’ve never once played a single note thinking that I was going to “blow someone off the stage” (a phrase I’ve heard from tons of people of the years that still makes me cringe). I’ve never felt I was better than anyone else in any musical way. I can play guitar pretty well. I can’t do simple math in my head. I can reach the things on the high shelves in people’s homes for them. I can’t cook very well. I’ve just recently learned how to sing. I can’t fly an airplane (or even get on one). I can throw a baseball pretty hard and accurately. I can’t do anything that requires building and/or fixing anything with my hands. I can play bass, piano, drums and a small handful of other things. I can’t dance. At all.

What I guess I’m saying is, don’t we all have lists like this? Do any of the things on them make us any better than anyone else? Of course not. I think it’s a great brevity meter. It should allow us to acknowledge ourselves as imperfect. It should also allow us to harness our abilities and accept them for exactly what they truly are. Trivial. I’m no better than you, and you no better than I.

So I won. I won because there were a handful of people that were judges that evening that just happened to like my music. I never changed myself at all during the course of this competition. I still took my dog for a walk every morning. Busted my ass all day long and played music that night for a group of sweetly attentive people. Same notes that I play when I play at the flywheel. Same words as when I play at some bar. Same in-between song banter as always. I will never sacrifice my integrity for personal betterment. I will never sell out. Music means too much to me to do that. To anyone brave enough to think I would do so I would appreciate them telling me that to my face. So I could fucking drop them. I will never change what I do and how I do it. What I think or why I think it. Who I am and why. Never.

4.

“Two Years and Thirty Minutes” record release – PACE – Easthampton, MA – July, 2004

This is the most recent of my favorite 5 shows. Happening in July of 2004. Many of you who read this were there so I welcome any and all input in case there’s something that I missed.

I worked so damn hard at promoting this show. The hardest that I’ve ever worked at it, actually. I usually fall asleep at the wheel when it comes to promoting. Specifically, when it has to do with just me. But this wasn’t just about me. So many people were involved. It all started somewhere back in the fall of 2001. I had recently stopped playing in my last band (Hospital) and I began recording tracks here and there with one of my oldest (and closest) friends, Karl Ourand (Bloodbath, Pushbutton Warfare). After 6 years of being in Hospital I decided that I wanted to record as much as possible by myself. I was sick of being dictatorial. Most things never ended up sounding like what I wanted them too when I told other band mates what I wanted. I most certainly resented this sometimes. Acted like a child. Berated friends. It’s not their fault though, it’s mine. Being humble, I guess I just had a hard time telling someone what to do without feeling like some huge, egomaniacal prick. So I let people off the hook. Oh, that’s good enough I would think. I wanted to stop that. I wanted to make a record like the one that I’ve heard in my head for years. And this time, there would be no one to blame but me.

April of 2002 is when I quit drinking. I had a problem. A big fucking problem. It’s safe to say that I consumed 7-10 beers and 3-4 glasses of whiskey a day. Seven days a week. I only weigh 165 pounds (at the time 185) at 6’3”. Yes, I was killing myself. I called Kevin O’Rourke in tears, at 2 in the morning, yelling It’s got me and I can’t fucking get out. I talked with Matt Hebert about it. Telling him how scared I was. He told me that if I quit he would too. Out of complete camaraderie. I told him that I knew I was going to die if I didn’t . He could tell that I meant it. I got a lengthy email from Jose Ayerve that basically said that I needed to get myself together. It was very caring but also very demonstrative. I was embarrassing myself everywhere. JJ O’Connell repeatedly pulled me aside and through a broad range of concern and anger told me that I needed to change. Soon. It made him sick, what I was doing. He had a history of alcohol in his life. It really hit him hard. I remember pulling into some package store in West Springfield, MA on the way home from Bradley Airport so I could buy 4 nips of vodka to chug because I was convinced I was dying. It was 10:45 AM. I was borrowing money to pay electric bills because I drank all my money. I was beyond irresponsible and completely untrustworthy. If I promised someone I would be somewhere it was almost guaranteed that I wouldn’t. I would cancel gigs just so I could indulge. I stopped drinking the day after I refused to get on a plane because I was so scared, and partially sober (which made it worse). I ruined plans for my then girlfriend and I to go on vacation to San Antonio. We were going there because she bought me tickets to go see two Spurs games. I’m a big Spurs fan. Yes, she did it all for me and I ruined it. I couldn’t deal with myself anymore. I knew that if I kept drinking I would roughly have a half of a year left before I died. I was physically ruined. Let alone emotionally and mentally.

I didn’t use AA or any other sort of recovery group. I put the bottle down and never picked it up again. For the first 2 or 3 weeks I went through horrible DT’s. Sleeping an hour a night because my body was convulsing. I was still convinced that I was going to die. I was having irregular heartbeats and vertigo issues. I roughed it out. I haven’t had a drink since. It started a domino effect of changes. I left a 5 year relationship. Moved out of where I had lived for 6 years. Met Jen and fell in love. Opened a record store with her. Adopted a dog. Bartended (of all things) 3 or 4 nights a week for a summer or so. During all that time I was traveling all over the place with Lo Fine and Spouse. I was also recording my own songs, with a few friends, at Karl’s, Slaughterhouse and at Bruce Tull’s house. When I finally finished my first record it felt like it was someone else’s. It meant more than anything I had ever created before. I still think it’s flawed and a little scattered but there’s some genuine discovery on it. I finally realized what I could do if I wasn’t inhibited or polluted. I feel that it is important to air all of this out. This was the reason that when asked how I felt about the record release show I responded with a I can’t get my head around it. It means more than anyone knows. Well, maybe now (for the first time) I can really let you all know why.

The show itself was completely transcendent. My dear friends The Malarkies came up from NYC to open the night. They are one of my favorite bands of all time. Truly. In the top 10. Maybe 5. I remember pacing around during the afternoon of the show. I had hung up all the great posters that Max designed for me. I did a whole bunch of internet promotion and word spreading. Jen helped me so much. She covered my ass while I ran around thinking about nothing but this one night. I still felt like no one was going to be there. Not out of some attack of humble, but based on all of the bridges I had burned and the way I had treated people during my wasted days.

I walked outside of PACE about 5 minutes before The Malarkies started. There were probably 30 or so people inside. Outside, however, there were at least 50 something. Including old friends and people that I didn’t even recognize. Turns out the show sold out. 120 something people. All listening. All night. Matt Cullen, Paul Kochanski, Jose Ayerve, Kevin O’Rourke, JJ O’Connell, Philip Price and Flora Reed played every note of my record with flawless precision. I felt lifted. When I reflect on that night I find it hard not to think of Jose, Kevin and JJ. Three friends that helped me through so much. JJ, for instance, is like a brother to me. We yelled at each other. Got pissed. Wanted to punch the other in the face. But when it all came down either of us would take a bat to the head of anyone who crossed the other. I credit him with having a huge roll in saving my life. I’ll never forget that night. I heard a lot of people refer to it as being “magical”. I think I shied away from that for awhile out of embarrassment. But, you know? They were right. It was.

miss.

Just back from West Hurley, NY. Spent two days with Dan Pollard, Jose Ayerve and JJ O’Connell writing and recording songs for what will be the next Spouse record. It’s always great to see Dan. He’s currently working towards his PHD in Evolutionary Genetics (or something very close to that) at Berkeley (the one in California, not the one where you learn to get paid by the note). He studies DNA strains and genetic coding within insects (specifically flies) to determine how it is that the genes themselves evolve. Oh, and he’s a great musician. Really inventive and intuitive. And very objective. I’ve always had a really hard time separating myself from a piece of music as its being born and molded. I usually need to hear a recording back to start to understand where it is that the song is going. Dan knows this stuff immediately. Maybe he was bit by one of the flies he was studying and now has super powers. Actually, I guess that would be a pretty lame super power. He noted our angular, new wave approach immediately. I’m not sure why it is that the 2 songs that we all wrote together sound like that. I went in thinking (and vocalizing at dinner on the first night) that I’d love to hear the band get back to some of the things that were happening on Nozomi (Spouse’s first record). Strange sounds and loops. That record helped shape the last 6 years of my life creatively. Everyone was in agreement with the point that I was making. So what do we do? We write 2 angular, new wave songs. Oh well. Don’t get me wrong, I think the tracks are great and will probably be worked into something rather wonderful.
While we weren’t recording we had time to eat, sleep, shower, watch a movie, drink ginger tea, check email, hang out and catch up, call our spouses and most importantly listen to the other songs that have been recorded for this upcoming Spouse record during this 2 month long stretch. There are some amazing songs. I’ve already got my favorites from the roughs. Don Mcaulay played some amazing drums parts. I have to warn you though. There is a song that I’m pretty sure is finished and will most likely be on the next record. JJ and I sat and listened to this as of yet unnamed track. Stunned. Tears. Every hair on our bodies standing up and frozen in electric waves. I couldn’t say anything for 5 minutes afterwards. Actually, I still don’t know what to say. It’s a song about Jose’s father and so much more. All I can say is that it’s one of the most amazing songs I’ve ever heard in my entire life. Prepare yourselves.

I’m one steel string guitar, one distorted bass and one more vocal away from having a completed 16 song second record. Still looks like early 2006 for “The Killing Card” on Pigeon Records and Lucky Creature.

Not that this is anything new, but…
I bought the New York Times on the way out to New York and JJ and I looked at every story/sidebar on the first 26 pages. I actually read at least 20 of them (he was driving). There was 1 story that didn’t have to do with death, crime, corruption, rioting, terrorism or embezzlement. That story was about this wonderfully colorful event in Mexico. A huge festival to save an endangered butterfly. Ironically, the butterfly has to be near extinction for this wonderful outdoor event to happen. Sad world.

I watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (for the 10th or so time) on Tuesday night. I started it at 2:30AM. Next to a wood stove. It made me miss Jen and Scooter. What a perfect film. I miss wonderful moments only seconds after they've fled. Jesus, what a fatalist.

I miss the fall. It smelled like it at times but never quite looked right.

My brother comes home for Thanksgiving. Actually, he comes home on the Friday before. This is us:


I miss him.

5.

Over the next few weeks I'll attempt to do my best in telling you about my 5 favorite shows that I've ever been a part of. Hope you enjoy.

Sugar Plum Dandy –American Legion - Chicopee, MA circa 1993

The now irrational owner of the Chicopee VFW had turned on all the lights on. She was screaming at everyone that the show was over. One Poison Idea cover and two Sugar Plum Dandy songs does not a set make in my blurry, floating eyes. Why is she shutting us off? It’s still early. We’re no louder than the other 6 bands that played tonight. There are still people here listening to us. Well, all 60 of them are kinda pinned against the back wall. Watching something that they can’t quite make sense of. They understood the concept but just couldn’t figure out where this fit in their world. Which was good, ‘cause neither could we. And we all took great pride in being the most violently unsettling. I don’t think any one of us truly cared about anyone’s physical safety at shows. If you were there, and close to us, you might get hurt. We held this rite of passage very close to our hearts. Violence was an unfortunate side product of intense passion. That sounds slightly criminal. And we didn’t even remotely give a shit.

The rest of the bands playing this show were straight edge hardcore bands from various places. Worcester, Albany, Boston etc. All young, shaved-head, combat boot wearing tough guys. The reason we went on last is that the singer in the band from Worcester (whose name escapes me) insisted that they were going on before us. They felt it was their right because they drove 45 miles to get here. We only drove 10. He was pretty belligerent about it. Luckily for us (and unlucky for them) they said they’d still be willing to stick around while we were playing so we could borrow their drum set. We didn’t have one. Never did, I don’t think.

During the course of the evening, while the other bands were rigidly re-interpreting every cliché of the late 80’s hardcore scene, we were approached by several (not one, mind you) but several under age straight age kids. One at a time they would start to lecture us. About how we shouldn’t be drinking. How it would ruin our minds. So enthralled in their beliefs they were that one of them made a motion to take a beer out of one of our friend’s hands. After this something-teen year old was threatened with having his spleen removed with a spoon (an actual quote from that evening) the harassment died down. I guess this justified our anger. Why should we be treated like misanthropes in our own musical community? In a community that was fragile and neglected by most of all of the musicians in the area? One that we helped build for kids (much like the aforementioned ones) to help them connect with new people from all different walks. To not judge and not to be judged. To be freed from your daily stasis that was known to be filled with judgmental dictators. Bullshit. Unacceptable. It was time for us to react.

Jamie (Bloodbath, Hatebreed) manned the drums, Karl (Bloodbath, Pushbutton Warfare) grabbed the guitar, Rob (Home) grabbed the bass and Dave (Briteside) and I grabbed the mics. We tore through Poison Idea’s “Getting the Fear”. All I truly remember was rolling around on the floor with 5 or 6 other people in some crazy gang vocal gone awry. I was bleeding from the forehead and from somewhere else that I never found. Rob had essentially removed the entire headstock from his bass somehow. As the cacophony of the first song came to an end we were received with complete silence from these 60 or so kids. I then sat behind the drums and Scott grabbed the guitar (which continued to howl in feedback pain) from Karl. Rob stayed on his mangled bass and Louis grabbed the blood soaked microphone. We played 2 songs of our (Sugar Plum Dandy) own and it was during the second one that all the lights came on in the basement of the Chicopee American Legion. I saw this little, very pissed off old lady screaming at everyone to get out. As I stood up behind the drum set I noticed that two of the drummer’s cymbals were cracked. The hi-hat stand bent. The snare drum had a softball-sized hole in it. The floor tom was literally on the floor after snapping two of its legs. The kick pedal was imbedded in the torn head of the kick drum. And there were nothing but chards of sticks laying everywhere. In the chaotic shuffle of the aftermath I remember very little. I’ve been reminded of these forthcoming things by people who were there. See, I tend to lose control when playing music. Only sometimes. When things lift beyond the grounded normalcy of G major. These are the times that I live for. People in bands from earlier in the evening (specifically the drummer of the band that let me borrow his drum set which I just returned to its natural state of metal and wood) were being held back by random Legion patrons. They were trying to kill us. Or maybe it was just me that they were trying to kill.

Supposedly I screamed something about hating everyone and then managed to rifle (I have a pretty strong throwing arm) two beer bottles into the scuffling crowd. I was grabbed by the back of the neck and the next thing I knew Rob and I were running down the street in the rain. Through the blurry lights and the electric haze we see roughly thirty ATF people with shotguns screaming and rushing into the building across the street. Turns out there is a massive drug bust going on right next door. Simultaneously, there are four cop cars with screaming lights and sirens screeching to a halt in front of the hall that we just left. Looking for us, I presume. In the chaos some of the ATF people get spooked and turn their guns on the cops that are there for us. They begin screaming at each other and a handful of the completely armed and prepared ATF guys follow the sprinting police into the legion. We drive by slowly. In my friends ‘78 Grenada. Sweating. Bleeding. Chests heavy with fear and elation. We get about 4 blocks down the road and someone says “When do you think we should call them back about another show?”
Awesome.

question.

I was sent an online survey. I usually delete these things faster than you can say insecure. I decided to give this one a whirl. Hope it's not as boring as it seemed when I was doing it.

What is your name? Mark Thomas Schwaber
How old are you? 33
When is your Birthday? September 12th, 1972
What is your zodiac sign? Virgo
Where were you born? Noble Hospital. Westfield, MA 01085
Where do you live now? Easthampton, MA 01027
What color eyes do you have? Blue
What color hair do you have? Red
How tall are you? 6'3"
How much do you weigh? 165 lbs.
What is your race? 100 meter
What is your worst fear? JESUS CHRIST! You just scared the shit out of me.
Do you smoke? Currently
Do you drink? Formerly - beer, wine, whiskey. Currently - water, soda, tea, coffee, juice.
Do you swear? Not too fucking often
Do you use drugs? Formerly - things I shouldn't say. Currently - aspirin, nicotine, a little caffeine, allergy medicine.
Have you ever or will you ever steal? Formerly. Was arrested at 16 for stealing a connect the dots book in Enfield. Never stole again.
Are you dependable and/or trustworthy? Isn't that essentially asking me the same thing twice? If you're truly trustworthy aren't you obviously dependable by default? I understand that one could be dependable (show up for work everyday, rake your Mom's lawn every year etc.) and not necessarily trustworthy. For instance, A compulsive liar could always run on time. But does untrustworthy mean compulsive liar? No. But anyway...kinda, I guess.
Do you play in a band or play an instrument? No.
Do you have any tattoos and/or piercings? Several.
If you had a favorite serial killer who would it be? Whoever it is that ends up ritualistically slaying George Bush, Dick Cheney and every other member of their cabinet.
If you had a choice about how you wanted to die what would it be? Unloved and violently. Or in a bed of flowers with Jen. You guess.
Do you ever get jealous of somebody else? Yes. Scooter.
Are you obsessive and/or compulsive? *Rocking back and forth in chair* *Perfectly aligning mousepad* No, not really.
Are you a violent person? Ask me again and find out where your teeth go.
What is your favorite game? Baseball
What is your favorite movie? Being there, Field of Dreams, The Natural, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Punch Drunk Love and too many more to mention here.
Who is your favorite band? Dave Matthews Band.
What kind of books and/or magazines do you read? What kind? Well, the ones with words would be a good place to start. How about authors because books are too numerous to mention. Saramago, Ichiguro, Steinbeck, Vonnegut, Eggers, Plath. Magazines are easy. Rolling Stone, Spin, Guitar World and MR+R because they sit in front of me many days a week.
What is your favorite color? Blue.
What is your favorite food? Baked Potato. Salad. Cheese.
What is your favorite drink? Water. Coke. OJ. Coffee.
Are you a virgin? At handgliding.
Have you ever shaved your head in a socially unacceptable way? You would never ask me that if you knew me. I'd look like a bug. Actually, what the hell is a socially unacceptable way? The only thing I can think of that thing they do with your head when you join the military.
Are you religious? Spiritual.
Do you stand for originality and creativity? Do I stand for it? It's the only way I know how to live.
Do you like meeting new people? Not really.
What do you like most about life? Love. Music. Friends. Family. Dogs.
What do you dislike most about life? The state of the world. The perpetual, endless, cyclical spiral of the political state of every country on earth. Sadness. Death.
Do you believe in love at first sight? I don't know.
Do you own a car? Yes.
What is your favorite season? Fall.
Pick One...
Snowboarding or Skiing? Watching a movie.
Coke or Pepsi? Coke. But Pepsi is OK.
Cats or dogs? Dogs. Dogs. Dogs.
Really smart or really hot? Depends on whether you're talking about people or my dinner.
Really successful or really popular? Both mean nothing to me.
Really rich or really famous? Both mean nothing to me.
Smart and depressed or stupid and happy? I have this conversation often. I am, by no means, a man of supremely elevated intellectual capacity but I do believe I can hold my own. Sometimes the fear. The anxiety. The sadness. The anger. They make me wish I was born with the IQ of someone with less ability to be affected by such environmental flaws and synapse misfirings. I don't know if I could ever say that I would like to be close to vegetative (W) but I could settle with being congruently listful and ambivalent (Adam Sandler).
Summer or winter? Winter when it's not freezing. Summer when it's not sweltering.
Spring or fall? Fall.
Hot or cold? Cold.
Love or lust? Depends. Not the diaper.
Chocolate or vanilla? Vanilla.
Skateboarding or surfing? Reading.
Rain or Sun? Sun.

So there you go. Sorry to burden you with all of that. I'm going to go...I've got more ideas that are brewing. I just finished writing my last song (I mean it this time, I swear.) for the next record. I have the date of November 3rd booked at Slaughterhouse to mix down the rest. Mastering at the end of November. Out at the end of the year-ish. I'm also kicking around the idea of making a book of letters that Jen, myself and a good friend of ours out west are sending to each other. More on that later. Hehe...I just said More on.

this exhausting month

This is Tom Campbell (Jen's Dad) and I embracing this past Sunday night at the Apollo Grill in Easthampton. I don't know at which point of the night it was but I think this picture beautifully sums up the evening. Thanks to everyone who helped us raise over $7,000 for the Miguel Ayerve Scholarship Foundation. It was a night I'll never forget.
Since I still can't get my head around how wonderful the entire evening was I figured I'd write another random-ish thoughts thingy. Sound good? No? Tough shit.
1) I have a new pet peeve. Though this one reaches deeper than just chewing with your mouth open. I'm really sick of people asking me

"How the store is going?"

when they 1) rarely come in to support it in any way and 2) are people that I've met through music in some fashion. My answer to that question is always the same.

"Pretty good, slow and steady...but steady."

I wonder if this statement is keeping people that I know out of here. Maybe they're thinking

"Oh, cool...he's fine. He doesn't need my help."

Which couldn't be further from the truth. This calendar year has been really bad for us. Don't worry though, we're not going anywhere. We're too stubborn. We're down from last year but our store is more filled with stuff than ever. What am I trying to say? Well, I guess I'm trying to say that the next time you get the urge to ask me how our business is doing just squelch it and substitute it with the idea of stopping by sometime soon and spending 10 bucks. Is that too much to ask?
2) The new Winterpills CD is amazing. I already know that it will be on my top 10 list for 2005.
3) Things I bought yesterday:
PETCO
45 Holyoke St.
Holyoke, MA 01040
413-539-9197
Description Price
DC-MD PUDDLES RAIN $9.99
FCY-BEAGLES-POPULA $8.99
BDA-LG TERRY COW $7.99
TFH-REGULAR PORK C $3.99
AXX-QUICK TAG PET $7.00
Sub Total $37.96
Tax $1.45
Final Total $39.41

Barnes and Noble Bookseller
7 Holyoke St.
Hoyoke, MA 01040
413-532-3200

DOUBLE
9780156032582 $14.00
Sub Total $14.00
Tax $0.70
TOTAL $14.70

That's one raincoat for Scooter, a pork chop Nylabone, a stuffed cow toy, Beagles Magazine(for....err, Scooter...yeah, that's it) and a new name tag for the little man. "Double" is actually "The Double" by Jose Saramago. I also bought 1 pack Camel Lights Box. 2 rolls of HALLS coughdrops. I have no fucking idea why I'm telling anyone this. Oh wait, yes I do. It's because my ego is so fragile that I must let everyone know that I know how to read and dress my dog up in weird outfits. Not sure how that's gonna help my ego. Come to think of it, it should probably get me arrested.
4) I love rainy days. But this is ridiculous.
5) I posted a new song on here. It kinda sounds like crap. I think it has something to do with my less than stellar mp3 burner. It's a tribute song to Elliott Smith called "Forever Every Evening". I promise it will sound better on my next record. Which I keep pushing back the release date for. It now looks like the end of the year. I don't know. Money sucks. Guess I should return Scooter's raincoat. Here's some shows I've got coming up:
Tuesday, October 18th at the Bishop's Lounge with Carter Little and Dennis Crommett 9PM
Friday, October 28th at the Iron Horse with the Stone Coyotes. 10PM
Saturday, December 3rd at the Basement with Dennis Crommett. 10PM
6) Check out The Moves (no, not that all-female punk band...I loved them)and their great video for "Straight Outta Hadley". Too funny. We've got their new CD/DVD here.
7) This week, both the Batman Begins DVD and this amazing baseball CD boxset get released. So much for saving money for mastering. That's right. In this DIY world that I live in it must be good to know that if you like my music at all you have to wait even longer to hear it because my 33 year old ass has to get a Batman DVD and a baseball CD...jesus.
8) The Red Sox are eliminated from the 2005 playoffs. Bringing this magical and drunken championship ride of 2004 to an end. We only die once; but for such a long time.
9) October 9th's benefit, let alone my life, would not be possible without the hard work and huge heart of this person. My hero.

I hope to see you there.

anything you need

Went to see Grizzly Man last night. Fascinating. I feel like I have quite a bit in common with Mr. Treadwell. The constant struggle of trying to find what balances you. Getting lost in the beauty and the horror of connection. Searching. Constantly searching. Openly lost and scattered. He had an unbridled passion for staying close to what he found most wondrous. You can also feel his overpowering ties to his failed past. Living side by side with these animals was his penance. It gave his life meaning.


Was he met with challenges? Of course. There most certainly seemed to be a bipolar-like static coursing within but he chose the higher road to keep it from enveloping him. His child-like passion will be discarded by many critics. His heated anger towards the government will be seen as leftist ramblings by most. I am not one of those people. I saw a man who was once lost, lifeless and failing. I saw a man who searched for (and partially found) that which he believed would make him complete. The challenges that come from reaching that pinnacle must be immense. Just letting go of the search itself must confuse and overwhelm. It must be even worse when you find that this perfect emotional haven is still flawed and unfair. Sadly, I think this crippled him. Skewed his ability to decipher love from ambivalence. He wanted more. Maybe too much. Massive shifts in emotion must feel like tidal waves during this synapse search and rescue. But make no mistake, his reactions were passionate, elemental and pure. I truly believe that Mr. Treadwell loved those creatures as much as he said he did. Imperfect peace. How many people that you know could ever say that they've reached that plateau? How many of you have an even remote shot of making that climb? How many of you have even started? Rest well, Tim.


Received a letter today. It's typewritten on the back of a paper bag. It's from a friend who just moved far away. It starts with "...". I love that. The feeling of being alive in someone else's world before any writing begins. I just wanted to share one line.
"I numb the instinct of protection. Keep my head up, heart open and mouth wide with words."
You're right Sheri, this is most certainly just the beginning...


There was a tag sale sign lying in the mud next to a sewer grate near our house. The sale was 2 days prior to me finding it. It read "Tag Sale: All money goes to help Katrina victims". It was written in heavy crayon. The author; a child. A ten year old selling his toys for strangers in need while our government sits on its hands and makes excuses. I don't know if I've ever been painted a more bitterly sweet picture.


Is there a heavy handed moral here? I don't know. Do you need anything that you have? Maybe that's not the question. Maybe it's, do you have anything you truly need?

dream away

Inspired by Henning and his great website I will list the songs I performed at shows. Last night I played a solo set with Matthew Hebert at the Dream Away Lodge in Becket, MA. What a beautiful place, with amazing food and wonderful atmosphere. The music is performed without a PA so it was a little intimidating (as you can see from the mistakes I listed below) but it was a grand time. Here's what I played:



FIREFLY PARADE
THE PRESSURE IT FEEDS
TORTURE GROUND (aborted before 2nd verse, forgot words)
ISLAND OF THE BURNING TREES
FOREVER EVERY EVENING
GHOSTING
STAMP AND RELEASE
TORTURE GROUND (I remembered all the words and was encouraged to do it again)
JOIN ME WHILE I WASTE THE DAY AWAY (forgot 2nd verse again, head in hands...the sock monkey saved me)



Most of these songs I'm sure you don't recognize for they will be on my just about finished 2nd record. Looks like it will be out in November or so.
Hebert's set was beautiful. After a short break we all grabbed guitars and passed out percussion to all our friends and did numerous covers together. Great time. Thanks again to Matt for hooking me up. When he moves, he will be deeply missed.

Gonna.

Just when I thought my record was done. Just when I thought I had put the final touches on the final song. Here comes more songs. Ones that I like. Ones that fit in with these 11. Shit. I'm recording at home starting tomorrow (thanks to Jose). Gonna make some drums blowup and some guitars strum. Gonna make some ladies sing and play piano and cello. Gonna cut the cable of conventional record making. Going back to why I started this wonderfully insane lifestyle in the first place. Gonna put as many minutes that make sense on this CD as I can. If you're gonna pay 10 dollars for it then I have no right to make it only 40 minutes long. Gonna include various sound collages that I made back in 1990 or so. Stuff from tapes of daytime television and crazy band practice boombox recordings of songs making fun of Henry Rollins. I want to make this whole thing an experience, not just some jukebox throwaway singer/songwriter CD. Don't get me wrong, I'm proud of my last CD. Had a great time conceiving it and making it. That being said, I'm completely sick of that kind of mentality. Everything's safe. The songs all start and stop. The single is towards the beginning and the "weird" tune is at the end. Fuck all of that. Boring. Art should challenge you. Make you think. Make you get lost. Make you fucking FEEL. So bye-bye papier-mache cliches. So long safe, milquetoast world. Gonna challenge you again. Gonna kill the winners. Gonna spite the losers. Gonna get lost again. Gonna.
Upcoming solo shows:
August 25th - Dream Away Lodge - Becket, MA w/Matthew Hebert
August 28th - Apollo Grille private party - Easthampton, MA
September 16th - SPACE Gallery - Portland, ME
September 24th - Dartmouth College - Hanover, NH
October 18th - Bishop's Lounge - Northampton, MA

the gentle whisper

I hope everyone is having a great summer. I wish I could spend mine here. In Cuba. At the decadent and lavish Hotel Moron. I shit you not, that is the name of this hotel.
Speaking of hotels, I want to put in my 1 1/2 cents on the state of politics in the our country. 24,000 Iraq citizens/soldiers verified dead. Yes, 24,000. That's about 5,000 more people than all of Easthampton. Last night I watched Bush attempt to speak(and I'm not just trying to be a judgmental prick, the man literally can't form sentences)about the state of Iran's nuclear platform. He's basically ready to bomb them too. Parents who have children in the military really should consider funeral arrangements because this is going to make Vietnam look like an afternoon stroll through Look Park. For the record, I'm not a Democrat, Republican or a Liberal. I believe that democracy is on the brink of no longer being a viable means of installing a government. In my opinion the whole system has to be thrown and started from scratch. Coupled with the fact that our economy is in the toilet, the environment is being completely ignored (anyone else notice that our winter was 2 months longer than normal and our summer is the hottest on record?), and treason (Karl Rove) gets the proverbial turned cheek by the White House AND the press. All this chaos. It makes it hard to stay balanced. Hard to find peace. Hard to choke back the 24 hour bile.
Yesterday, I went to lunch with a friend at the Apollo Grille. We then put the finishing touches on a benefit show at the Pulaski Hall this Sunday. It's for a 22 year old friend of a friend who is probably no longer with us as I type because of ruthless cancer. Shortly after dropping off my friend (who's preparing to move across the country and loves to speak passionately from the heart about art and life) I took my beautiful dog, Scooter, to the park to go swimming. I had to hose him down when we got home because he was a mud pit. He hates it as I put my thumb on the hose to gently mist him. Crooked rainbows dancing across the glowing grass of our home. I was laughing like mad. As soon as it stops he goes on crazy, playful runs and smiles from ear to ear. We settled in for a few and watched 20 minutes of a Elliott Smith DVD and 10 minutes of the Sox. I then went out to dinner with the love of my life and then came home and fell asleep on the couch with her while some Judy Garland movie gently whispered us to sleep...
So, for those of you who let politics consume you my advice is just take a step back and look at who you are and where you are. If you can't find the balance and peace in that then you might as well book one of the rooms at the good Ol' Hotel Moron.

Half way round the year

Half way through the year. What have I been listening to you (didn't) ask?:
1) Lou Barlow - emoh
2) System of a Down - mesmerize (well, 4 or 5 songs of it)
3) Ben Folds - songs for silverman
4) Fruit Bats - spelled in bones (well, the first 2 songs are amazing...)
5) Foo Fighters - The new single is great. Haven't heard the rest yet.
6) Red Door Exchange - s/t
7) Jennifer O'Connor - the color and the light

Things I've been listening to a lot that didn't come out this year:
1) Lightning Bolt - wonderful rainbow
2) Owen - I do perceive
3) Mastodon - leviathan
4) Miles Davis - kind of blue
5) Killswitch Engage - the end of heartache
6) Poison Idea - feel the darkness
7) Elliott Smith - either/or
8) Lunatic Dub - on myspace only. Click on the name to listen for yourself.

Things from 2005 that I just don't get:
1) The White Stripes - The drummer sucks, period. The singer guy seems to be so concerned with image (very reflective of the corporate music world) that it's hard for me to take anything he says seriously. If I wanted to listen to 1987 Aerosmith then I would listen to 1987 Aerosmith. Because that's exactly what the 10 or so songs I've heard have sounded like. Oh wait, no I wouldn't. I hate Aerosmith.
2) Son Volt - A new record. A completely different lineup than the band from Trace (which was amazing). So these unispired songs are nothing more than a solo Jay Farrar album. Apparently he can't sell records anymore under his own name and has tried to make up ground by reverting back to his last bands' moniker. Lame.
3) Coldplay - They wrote a really good song. Then kept writing it for 3 or 4 records. I don't turn them off the radio or anything but I can't tell you how aggravating it is to listen to this guys sad attempt at writing lyrics. They are the dictionary definition of trite.
...all those signs I knew what they meant
something you can't invent
Some get made, and some get sent
oooooh words go flying at the speed of sound
to show how it all began
birds came flying from the underground
if you could see it then you'd understand
oh, when you see it then you'll understand
No I won't, jackass.
4) The Killers, Franz Ferdinand, The Strokes, The Hives and every other blantantly 80's band. I was never much into knitch or kitsch when it comes to music. The only band I've heard do something like that even remotely well is Hail Social. It's all over compressed, radio ready milktoast to feed the children. Don't even get me started on that band Jet. They might rival some of the horrible 80's hair metal bands as being the most thoughtless, heartless, passionless bands of all time.
5) Has anyone heard this band Seether? I'm not even remotely shocked that major label folk are still blind, deaf and dumb (and always will be), but this is pathetic. It's not humanly possible to sound anymore like Nirvana if you tried. I think it's time for someone to shoot the messenger.

anthem of indifference

Not so long ago, a friend and I were talking about Westfield High School. We both went there. I graduated in 1990 (he, in '83) and he was wondering what our class song was. I was fairly convinced that his class song must have been that Billy Joel song. This is the TIIIIME to hold onto, this is the blah blah blah... That song sounds eerily like a cross between this early 19th century concerto (that I used to have on one of those pastel-blue/yellow/pink maxell tapes) and some Van Hagar song. Something off of 5150 maybe? Dreams? I don't know.


Our class song was by the Simple Minds. Don't you forget about me. I voted for Minor Threat's "Minor Threat". It wasn't on the ballot but I wrote it in. I thought it fitting. We're not the first, I hope we're not the last 'cause we're all heading for that adult crash...but of course, it lost. Rather dreadfully I suppose. I played guitar in the 5 piece band that was to perform the song at the graduation ceremony. I remember that it was in the key of D. Well, that's the key that our souless, crazy-eyed band director wanted to do it in. This is a relatively meaningless sidebar in my life. I only share this because of this one image that I have stuck in my head. I'm sure most of you are familiar with the song. It's got a huge group of "La La's" at the end. We play the song and it comes to the big outro and I remember looking up at 400 kids in caps and gowns singing in semi-drunken unison Laaaa, La La La Laaaa...la la la Laaaaa... and realized that this was perfect. The verse, chapter and story of the high school experience. The lovely anthem of indifference. Genius.

devil music

Shadows Fall
Marilyn Manson


My friend wanted to have a fully clothed woman crawl on hands and knees across a bar top. Slowly and seductively inching closer to the camera. A three second shot to be used in a four minute video. Nope. Can’t happen. At least not according to MTV. My friends name is Matt and he’s in a heavy metal band called Shadows Fall. They’re doing extremely well for themselves. Playing massive festivals in Europe. Performing on the main stage of Ozzfest this year. Their musical neighbors on that stage include Black Sabbath and Iron Maiden. You might have heard of them. Shadows Fall’s newest record “The War Within” is being critically heralded with “redefining the face of heavy metal”. And not by some pimple-faced, eighteen year old zine writer. By Rolling Stone. By every guitar/drum magazine under the sun. Last I checked, their record sales were soaring around the 250,000 mark. So why no fully clothed woman crawling across a bar? Why in this day and age of hip-hop videos featuring woman in hardly any clothing, pouring champagne all over their chests in hot tubs, can MTV so demonstratively say no to this 3 second long idea? Well, I have a theory.


Heavy metal is devil music. There. That’s why. I know how simple and silly that sounds to those of you reading this. Whom I’m assuming are somewhat leftist-leaning, open minded folk and all. But really, let’s just think about how true this might actually be. Let’s really look.


It’s a long standing tradition. From the Medieval Period (1450 and before) through the latest documented case during the Romanticism Period (1810-1910) of traditional (more commonly referred to as “Classical”) music there were mandatory death sentences to be predicated upon any church organist who played a “tritone” during a service. A tritone is the root note of a scale played simultaneously with the sharped 4th of that same scale. Death sentence? Why? It was commonly referred to as the “devil’s tone”. So filled with dissonance and lack of resolve that it instilled panic amongst the common folk. If you want to know what one sounds like just listen to the first side of any Black Sabbath record. You’ll hear at least a hundred of them. Tony Iommi would have lasted two seconds in a church back then.


I don’t want to bore you to death with an undergraduate synopsis of the tritone. Point being that this heavy handed religious involvement with the arts (for this point of interest, music) has yet to cease. The pioneers of the delta blues scene in the early 1900’s? Evil. The first avant guard horn players in the 40’s? Satan. Ray Charles and his boundary-crossing sounds of gospel and soul, mixing sex and the church? The Devil. Elvis. Lucifer.


And on and on. In most recent history one can simply look back at the tragedy of Columbine. Marilyn Manson was pigeonholed as the martyr of all things terrifying. In some eyes he was the initiator of these tragic events. His over the top live shows and scandalous lyrics being used as fuel by every soccer mom protester. Manson, however, is a practicing Satanist. An intelligent, if not silly man who’s greater focus is shock as opposed to political sentiment or riotous action. This incident is all that the religious right needed to focus their attention back at censorship and purity. He was protested, in heavy militant form, at nearly every tour stop following that tragic day in Colorado. A Karl Rove-like strike at the heart of the FCC. Trying to get even more big headed and heavy fisted government into the smallest of holes. They were truly burning this man at the stake. Piling on and pillaging the first amendment in droves. In some twisted cases, holding this man responsible for the deaths of those boys. Granted, Manson is (or was) a practicing Satanist so there wasn’t much that the media would ever let him say. The only quote I find from him at that point is this:


"I have been asked to comment by numerous organizations on the Colorado school tragedy," Manson wrote. "It's tragic and disgusting any time young people's lives are taken in an act of senseless violence. My condolences go out to the students and their families."


But it didn’t matter. Shows were cancelled. CD’s were pulled from shelves. And the onslaught of picketing outside of the venues continued for the rest of his tour.


“ …Manson was the most prominent musical target Thursday. The New York Post ran a photo of Manson with a sidebar article headlined, "Telltale signs your kids might be ready to explode," along with photos of Hitler, three children in goth makeup and a man with multiple piercings in his face.”


From the same article that originally appeared in Addicted To Noise, a now defunct music website.


“Manson no longer embraces the goth imagery of the devilish persona he used while promoting 1996's Antichrist Superstar. For 1998's Mechanical Animals the artist took on the persona of a wild-dressing, red-haired glam rocker.”


Most should be able to see through this Marilyn Manson persona. Notice that it was more about imagery than calculated rebel rousing. Some might think that ended there. That the hectic and revenge-like attitudes have softened since this ridiculous indulgence. I mean, in one way I understand. When tragedy strikes one of the first reactions is to find an answer. To try and justify the act. To point fingers. Most times, aimlessly. It’s hard to be cohesive during such times, I suppose. However, it’s the trickle down that kills me. The endless, subtle leftovers that are more horrifying than the original strike. I guess its similarities to actual warfare are pretty clear. Just last year, guitarist Dimebag Darrell of the band Damage Plan was shot and killed during the first song of his bands set. Senseless. Tragic. The attack was made by a young man who was supposedly angered by the fact that Darrell’s previous band, Pantera, were no longer together. Not much to report on this sad kid. Obviously the case of someone suffering from some form of mental illness that helplessly spilled out. I talked to a dear friend who’s also in a hugely successful regional heavy metal band called Killswitch Engage. They were on tour when these tragic events unfolded. He noted that everyone on the tour was on edge. Thinking about their fragility and mortality. Feeling very unsafe and violated and obviously, deeply saddened by the loss of one of their colleagues. I watched a handful of hours of news coverage on the case that next day. From various network affiliates. Fox, CNN etc. And lo and behold, there it was. All of them, towards the end of their reports made mention, however so vaguely at times, to the “music of the devil”. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. You can do the homework yourself, Damage Plan and Pantera were no more involved with the church of Satan than Martha Stewart is. (Oh wait, maybe that’s not the best analogy. I have my suspicions about her). I would say a safe number of Satan-free metal bands hovers around the 99th percentile. Unbelievable, I thought. They’re going to dig this up again. Send the FCC into a spin and bring down the hammer on heavy metal. On the devil. How far reaching is the church? Could they change the face of the entertainment industry? Could they reshape our political structure? Could they sneak their ways back into the classroom? Could they elect an ape? Seems that the answer is a resounding yes.


Meanwhile, my good friend Al and his fiancée were shopping for clothes for his then 9 year old son. While perusing through the isles of some huge, nameless department store, looking for a Spiderman shirt or somesuchthing, he stumbled upon the undergarment isle. The sign read “Thongs. Ages 8-12. $5”.


So sex can now be sold to children. It’s now a passionless after effect of the ad industry. You can pour booze all over yourself in a thong in a video on MTV that’s shown at 4 in the afternoon on any Wednesday of the week. Believe me, I don’t want to censor that either. I believe that those decisions are truly up to the artists. But if we can mass market misogyny then why can’t my friend’s band have a fully clothed woman seductively crawl toward the camera for 3 seconds? Why? Is it really what I suspect? Can it be as simple as the ageless question of that which you don’t understand is what you fear most? Heavy metal music is just that. Music. Made by passionate people who are extremely skilled. Sometimes it’s filled with anger, isolation and sadness. It’s always loud and it’s always fast. However, it is never made with the intention to initiate some sort of mass destruction. It’s art. Made as short, powerful statements. How much further can this really go before things are drastically confined? Before this heavy hand chokes the life out of our freedoms? It’s a truly horrifying thought. One that would make great subject matter for, well, a metal song I suppose.


Killswitch Engage
Madjef video shoot

No Punk?

This was intended to be in response to a post on masslive.com. that talked about punk music in Western Mass...
Wow. What Western Mass have you been in? I wouldn't know music if it wasn't for Western Mass' long standing and fertile hardcore/punk scene. "Punk" as a Wal-Mart inventory tag is completely sterile and empty of anything other than image. "Punk" as a term applied to bands who are infuriated, isolated and completely independent of traditional morality and sheepherder cataloging was (and is) rampant in this area. Larry named many, many great bands. Some that helped shape my entire life. I get pigeonholed sometimes as the quiet guy, or the sensitive pop guy...nothing could be further from the truth. I have so much more in common with fans of this style of music than I do with any quiet pop songwriter. Somehow (maybe just through not being around here too long) people don't remember that I grew up neck deep in punk. Was in my first hardcore band in '87. As a matter of fact, I didn't settle into anything even remotely slow and melodic until 1994. Up until that point it was nothing but one hundred miles an hour and brutal political discourse. I loved it. I STILL love it. You'll be more apt to catch me driving down the road listening to MDC or Bad Brains any day of the week then you will find me listening to Nick Drake. It's all because of Western Mass' scene that I am who I am today. Wishful Thinking, G-Man, Rumble Puppy, Bloodbath/Pushbutton Warfare, 4C Club, The Gutters, Sugar Plum Dandy, Deep Wound, early Outpatients, PSD, The Hutus...man, those were the days. As I recall, there were hundreds of kids at all of these shows. Pulaski Hall, every VFW this side of Worcester, Pearl St., Katinas etc. And I'll tell you...no other time has been even REMOTELY as intense, frenetic, crazy and wonderful as those times. Some of you need to do some homework.

the killing card

"What about dignity?
You will die, and when you die, you will know a profound lack of it. It's never dignified, always brutal. What's dignified about dying? It's never dignified. And in obscurity? Offensive. Dignity is an affectation, cute but eccentric, like learning French or collecting scarves. And it's fleeting and incredibly mercurial. And subjective. So fuck it." - David Eggers
My next record will be done on August 2nd. It then needs to be mastered and pressed so it seems set for a fall release. It's tentatively titled "The Killing Card" and will be a dual label release for both Pigeon Records and Lucky Creature Records. The majority of the subject matter is about my severe hypochondria that only one person I know helps me through. A couple songs about an old friend who remains a black cloud. And one written in tribute to Elliott Smith.

wedding spoon

Timothy and Elizabeth

Our dear friends Tim and Liz tied the knot last week. Great time. Beautiful couple. The best wedding I've ever been to, by far. Not a big fan in general.


Went to Fenway on Fathers Day with Jen, my Dad, her Dad and my brother (he flew in from Phoenix). Great time. Great game too. Well, not really. We blew out the Pirates so I guess if you're a baseball purist then it wasn't a "great" baseball game. But if you're a Sox fan it was a great game.


I'm in the middle of finishing my next record. Recorded some more at home with Jose. My good friend Joel from Killswitch Engage came by and played some wonderful guitar on what will be the first track on the new record. In the middle of playing one of the guitar parts he stopped mid-chord and pet Scooter who was sleeping on the couch next to him. Pretty funny. Scooter doesn't care that he's in one of the biggest metal bands on Earth. If it's not Will Smith he just doesn't care. Don't ask.
Looks like this record is going to be either 10 or 11 songs. It's so much work (albeit, fun) making a record by yourself. Finding the right times to put different instrumentation on certain tracks. Playing around with counter melodies and weird percussion ideas. Mapping out edit times to try and shorten the mixing process. Trying to figure out which order the songs should go in. It's been so great, so far.
A few things about the forthcoming record:

1) It's terribly depressing. I mean, REAL depressing. Dirgy and minor-keyed. Not a quintessential summer record by any means. More like a record for people who live in the tundra of Alaska in December.

2) There are no swears. That's right, not a single curse word on the whole fucking record.

3) The people that have performed on it thusfar are:
JJ O'Connell, Paul Kochanski, Anne Pinkerton, Matt Cullen, Ruth Keating, Joel Stroetzel and Jose Ayerve.

4) I thought I had a title for it but I'm now starting to think otherwise. We'll see what happens. It might just be untitled. Or maybe it should be called *No need for fucking parental advisory stickers*

5) Want to know some of the song names? Well hell. Here you go:
The pressure it feeds
Forever every evening
Island of the burning trees
The whisper no one else can hear
Stamp and release
The drugs have shaped the angles
You are just like me. You will never be free.

6) "Forever every evening" can be heard on a new compilation by Lucky Creature Records in Nashville. Night Owl will have them in a matter of days.

7) Batman Begins is absolutely amazing. I can't get over it.


Wedding Daze

Keep us like the snow blanketed woods

Championship Cat

There it is. Unreal. This is not photoshopped. THE trophy was at our second (OK, maybe third) home. Saturday, May 28th at 12:30PM the Red Sox trophy team stopped by the Brass Cat for 15 minutes. We had less than one day of warning. Regardless, at least 60 people showed up. My Dad, Mom, Uncle, Grandmother, Grandfather, Jen and I were all there for it. As the hour was approaching we all started to get a little nervous. Mike Lavalle (one of the owners of the Cat) said "God, I hope this isn't a hoax". I was standing outside looking down the street waiting to see the Red Sox car that the trophy travels in. Yes, the entire car is painted with Red Sox logos and whatnot. When they finally pulled up I waved them into a parking space and introduced myself and thanked them for making it. They were very gracious. As we entered the bar we heard an explosion of clapping and hooting and hollering similar to that grand evening of October 27th. Hundreds of pictures were taken.


Baseball is talked about (and written about) to death in this area. Please bear with me. I wish to briefly join that heralded (and sometimes, ridiculed) community.


I didn't think it would be as moving as it was. After all, it's just a piece of hardware. Just a static, inanimate object. Big deal. My dear friend, Eric Poulin said the same the night before. It's just a trophy, we all have them. Eric's entire family was there too. His Mom, brother, sister and all their kids. He relayed a story to me the night before game 4 of the World Series. His brother, Donny pointed out to him that this was much, much more than just a baseball game. This pulled people in a similar direction. It helped make people who were already close, closer. It also made friends of strangers. The Sox winning it all would be justification to so many, in so many different ways. Eric and I are very similar. We were raised by a thinking man's blue collar family. We were born with gloves and bats in our hands. If I wasn't playing baseball I was talking about it. If I wasn't talking about it I was thinking about it. The Red Sox were the core unifier in that way. It made you new friends. It made conversation for you with people you might never have had the chance to talk with otherwise. See, in New England (specifically, Massachusetts) it's the only constant thing. The seasons all change. People move from town to town. The factories all close but remain as giant, ghostly reminders of failure. But no one ever speaks ill of these things. They deal. They move on. They continue to support and believe in the people around them. The Red Sox embody the famous quote "The more things change, the more they stay the same". Players hop around like hired mercenaries. The ballpark is run down and broken and filled with inevitable failure. You always think that this must be the year. Even the 65 year old snakeskinned mechanic thought that '46 was their year. Or '67. Or '75. Or '78. Or Goddamn '86. That is, until October 27th, 2004. They did it. The Red Sox became World Champions. People rejoiced. Strangers hugged. Teenagers ran down the street jumping and hollering. Church bells rang. Car horns honked. Fathers hugged their sons. Sons hugged THEIR sons. People wept. Wept like they never had before. Something died that day. Peace blanketed everyone. Kept us like the woods at night during a snowstorm.


So here we are, Eric and I. Cheering as they march the championship trophy into our front yard. The jaded and rough edges of our opinions dropped and lost to the overwhelming accomplishment of those 25 men. I had my photo taken with my father and grandfather. Three generations of silence finally vindicated. Eric stood with his brother and sister and their kids. Also three generations. Eric's mom refused to be in the photo. She just wanted the kids to be in it. Nestled in Eric's somewhat freakishly large arm was a photo. A small, wooden frame decorated with tiny baseball gloves and bats and balls. The picture in the center was that of his father and himself as a toddler. See, Eric lost his father, Don Poulin Sr., to chronic lung disease in 1999. The man that taught him everything. The man that always made sure he kept his faith. His belief. His hope. The Red Sox were one of their strongest bonds. Baseball and all its gentle prose. And all it's vigilant passion. I've got a great picture of all of them. Everyone beaming from ear to ear. The small picture of their father gently tucked in Eric's arm. When it was winding down my father grabbed Eric and hugged him. And just like that this sterile piece of gold and platinum leapt to life. Telling wordless stories everywhere in that room. Beautiful and strong and filled with an odd familiarity. It really happened. We were really there for it. We are lifted. So high, as a matter of fact, that you can almost feel those hugging you who are no longer standing here with us. Yes, it was that important. The tears came from nowhere. I saw him and grabbed him and lost it myself. "He's here, man. He's right here." I kept whispering to him.


On behalf of everyone I love, thank you Red Sox. Thank you more than you'll ever know.

21 50

my team

Yes, I love the San Antonio Spurs. Why? I met David Robinson in his Navy days and thought he was so cool that I vowed to follow whatever team it was that drafted him. That was 1987. There were many, MANY horrible years after that. The Chuck Person and Dennis Rodman teams being the worst of it. In 1997 the Spurs beat out the Celtics for the #1 pick. Tim Duncan. Amazing. In 1999, with Sean Elliott healthy and Avery Johnson running the team, we ran through everyone and won the championship for the first time in team history. Yes, it was the strike shortened season. There was much criticism of this title (most notably by Phil Jackson). Some said it should have an asterisk next to it. I completely disagree. We were so good that year that no one would have beat us if we played 82 or even 182 games. In 2003 the Spurs did it again. David Robinson's final game was in San Antonio, 16 years after being drafted by the same team. He won his second and final championship. Retiring as one of the greatest players to ever play and more notably, one of the greatest diplomats for the league. A family man who never spoke an evil word. A true leader. His constant ear to ear grin was almost as big as his heart.
Now it's Duncan's turn. With a promising 2-0 lead over Phoenix in the Western Conference Finals it looks like we might have another shot again this year. Too soon to tell, but I'm just as nervous and excited as I was back in '99 when they did this for the first time. I really like the NBA. I know that's not a popular thing to say. Maybe it's because I'm a Spurs fan. With all the arrogant, primadonna morons in the league I take pride in the fact that our team has none of that. It plays as a team, with its head down. All business. And nothing but respect for the game of basketball.
Still recording the new record. Lots of fun with Jose and Mark Alan Miller over the past few weeks. Getting excited to get this thing completed. Looks like fall of 2005 is a realistic release time. Fingers crossed. For the record, and the Spurs.

Lou and I for sale

westfield

Found this poster on Lou Barlow's website. I used to be in a band called "Hospital" and this was from one of the many, many shows we did together.
Looks like the show that I did with Lou Barlow back in March at the Middle East in Boston is on sale by clicking here. Sadly, you have to buy both of our sets seperately but I bit the bullet and maybe you can too. I would deeply appreciate it.

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.

No cohesive thought to put together so here...10 random things:

1) I bought Johnny Damon's new book (the aptly titled "Idiot"). Let's just say it's pretty obvious that he had a concussion after that collision with Jackson. Why did I buy it? I'm a sucker for baseball stories from the horses mouth. If you're a baseball fan and you've never read either Ball Four or Foul Ball by Jim Bouton you most certainly should.
2) Scooter took a record amount of craps on Monday mornings walk. One walk, four dumps is a great metaphor for spending a day in the suburbs of Manhattan. Congrats to Matt Hebert for being the sole winner of the "Guess how many times my dog shit this morning" question. Weird thing is, it didn't even faze him. The question, that is. Not the amount of turd.
3) I heard the first track off the forthcoming Red Door Exchange CD. Holy shit. Hands down the coolest and most creative song I've heard come out of the valley in years. Don't know the name of the song or else I'd let you know. I think the CD comes out fairly soon though. They were talking about mastering it real soon.
4) Don't know why I need to tell anyone this but I'm going to get steaks tonight with Killswitch Engage. My good friend Wayne (who's their merchandise guy) has started a new death metal band called "Colostomy Grab Bag". Hands down the best band name of the year.
5) Jen's play starts this weekend. She's been rehearsing for months. I can't wait to see it. It's called "Misery for Breakfast" and it's at the APE Performance Space in Thornes Marketplace in Northampton. May 6,7,13 and 14th. Tix available by calling here.
6) Did you see us on the cover of the advocate? Such a great piece by Dan Oppenheimer. Much thanks.
7) Latest favorite record? The new Ben Folds
8) I threw batting practice to the Easthampton High baseball team and the next morning found muscles that I never knew I had to begin with.
9) Ted Williams
10) The above collage of photos is a puzzle. It will most likely be the name of my next record. The person who correctly figures it out AND tells me where it comes from (yes, I will most likely get sued for this one) will get a free copy of my last CD and a spot on the guest list for the brass cat, full band show I'm doing with the Winterpills and Harper (featuring Tom and Terry from NRBQ)on Saturday, June 4th. Good luck.

voting sucks

time to vote

Hey all,
I was accepted for NPR's "All songs considered". I was hoping that you all could vote for me (unless you think I suck, then please refrain). You can vote by clicking here

If I get the highest score I think I become president of NPR. Or I get a box of meats. Or maybe I'll be pope. Or maybe these voices in my head will stop.

Thanks everyone,
Mark

School for the What the Hell?

school for the what the hell?

Jen and I went to see Henning last night at the Bishop's Lounge. We knew we couldn't stay too long (which sucks because Lesa sounded great and Matt Hebert told me he was covering Sarah McLachlan's "Adia") but had a great time nonetheless. Pictured above is Henning. At least that's what a google search for "images" told me. He looked a little diferent last night. Not so, I don't know...tilted.
Henning writes wonderful songs. I can laugh like crazy one moment and then be musically and lyrically stunned the next. His stuff breeds jealousy. I'm going to cover that song about the wedding as soon as it's recorded...fucking beautiful. Go read his wonderfully funny and crazy busy blog.
My next record is underway and we already have 2 songs mixed. The beginning of May brings Ruth Keating (the Malarkies, Ida) and more recording. She's playing drums on a few songs of mine. What an honor. I would love to see you guys at Night Owl this Saturday at 7PM. I'm playing a short solo set and then a band called Ponies in the Surf are playing. If you haven't heard them you should. They have really complex jazz changes and weird little indie pop melodies. Very cool. Thanks to Chris of Aboveground Records in Martha's Vineyard for hooking us up with them.

Ponies in the Surf

boys amongst the biggest man

the legend
Going to a Red Sox game for me these days is like mapping out the invasion of Iraq. I have no idea how the hell I got there or what the hell I'm even doing there. My good friend Brian Oakes (pictured, right) landed free tickets to April 13th's game against the Yanks. Schilling's debut. I started the wheels in motion. Get someone to cover the store (Jen had a prior commitment), move around some rehearsals, get the work I needed to get done on Wednesday done on Tuesday, finish taxes (Jen did 99.9% of them), make sure I have decent notes to train my friend Tim to run the store, pet the dog...
So we go. Schilling looks like God for the first 3 innings and then looks like me for the next 3. Jaret Wright does just the opposite. We lose. Great time though. Great seats (the last 2 innings we sat 10 rows up from the field in-between 1st and home). I bought a T-shirt and a 6 dollar soda and 4 hot dogs. Don't ask. I also bought a 2005 Sox yearbook. Why? Well, I always try and get one anyway and it just so happens that as we are heading into the stadium we see generic computer printed signs that say "Autograph Alley : signing today : Johnny Pesky"
There were only 60 or so people in line. This can't be right. We get in the line and start asking people around us "Is Johnny really here?". A resounding yes is our answer. This isn't really happening. No one is getting in the line. No one cares. People yell *Hey, who's signing?* and when they find out they just shrug it off and say "Oh, cool" or "Awww...he's so cute". One guy even admits he doesn't know who he is. I get the distinct feeling that if any of these folks that were wondering who was signing found out it was Manny or Ortiz or Foulke or Damon etc. etc. it would have been a madhouse. You know, one of those cabbage patch kids mall fights circa 1984...limbs of soccer moms flying everywhere. But nope, no one cared. Just Brian, about 60 other people and I. Out of 35,000.
Let me start by saying this. I am biased. I love baseball. I played a TON of baseball. I can even safely say that I was pretty good. I love everything about the game. The smell of the glove. The click of the cleats on rock driveways. The green grass. The electricity of the crowds. The sound of the ball when it hits the bat...you know, all the field of dreams stuff. However, I do NOT like what has happened to baseball over the past 10 or 15 years. The egos. The weightlifters. The steroids. The homeruns. The horrible lack of parity thanks to a revenue sharing plan that might as well have been written by Napoleon. The hired mercenary feel of free agency (don't bother buying a jersey that has a players name on it for your 10 year old son...whomever it is will be gone within 1-3 years).
John Michael Paveskovich (better known as Johnny Pesky) was born in September of 1919. He broke into the majors in 1942 with the Sox. He played one year for them and was then shipped off to WW2. For 3 years. Alongside him in the war was fellow teammate Ted Williams. They both did their fighter pilot training at Amherst College. Pesky returned and played for the Sox until 1952. He then played for the Tigers for 3 years and the Senators for 1 before retiring. His career batting average is .307. In '46 he took the wrath of New England when he was pigeonholed by the shithole Boston sportswriters (they were bad then and they are unreadable now...as a matter of fact I think a few of them should be assassinated, but that's a whole 'nother story). He was accused of holding the ball in the '46 series while Enos Slaughter (who ran like me) scored from first. You know this. You have the Red Sox World Series DVD. Johnny went on to manage the Sox, briefly and still hits fungos in spring training. He sings the praises of everything Red Sox. He wishes that Tom and Jean were still alive to see championship. He cried in Nomar's arms at Ted Williams memorial. With the exception of maybe 4 or 5 years of his adult life this man has lived, breathed, slept and ate Red Sox. He encapsulates everything that is great about the game. He is truly, one of my heroes.
Brian and I were convinced that we were going to somehow lose out. Pesky’s going to leave before we get to the line. The line is moving like a slug and it’s creeping up on game time. 20 minutes left. 15 minutes left. 5 minutes left. We’re 6 people back.
Well, as you can see from the picture above, we made it. He was lucid and sweet. Kind and genuine. Hilarious and honest. I congratulated him on his ring. He looked at me as if I was the first person to congratulate him. “Thank you son, thank you very much.” He joked with a young Yankee fan in front of us by taking off his hat and threatening to throw it over the banister. Huge smiles. He gazed longly at my yearbook that I asked him to sign. “Wow, this is a great book. I need to get one of these.” I tell him that he should probably get one for free, I felt he earned that much. He got a great kick out of that. I asked him where his ring was, after noticing that it wasn’t on his finger. “Home.” He replied. “Home?!” I retorted, perplexed. “At my age, kiddo I’d end up losing it if I wore it tonight…and my wife would kill me.” As Brian and I went around the counter to get our picture taken Mr. Pesky stood up and looked back and forth between us and had bug eyes. “Holy cow, these are some big fellas!” Hardly, Mr. Pesky. Next to you, we are but boys amongst the tallest and strongest man.